D for Demons by Joel Gomes
D for Demons by Joel Gomes

D FOR Demons




It really doesn’t matter where I look or where I go. Wherever I am, they are there. They are always there. I know that because I can feel them. And it only gets worse when the night comes. Every time I feign to sleep, that’s when they decide to make a full appearance and remind me of my sins; tormenting me with pleas of closure and understanding. All the things I don’t know how to offer.

I open my eyes and, more often than not, I see blood on my hands. Too much blood. Too much death. It never washes away. I know my hands are clean, but I still feel the blood tainting them. It doesn’t come out. It will never come out.

I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

Ignorance is a weak excuse for murder.

I have to make up for a lot for the mistakes I’ve done in the past. A lot to redeem myself for. If only they wouldn’t scream so loud. Just one good night's sleep. That’s all I ask. That’s all I need.

They trained me to become anyone. Right now I want to be no one, a stranger among a crowd. With no guilt, no worries, no stress. I want to be me: Jarod. At least once. I want to take the time to understand, to assimilate, but I know it will probably take longer than what I have left to live.

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