Every now and then she would ask. Why there wasn’t light, in this murky room, where the moon squeezed in ghastly patterns at night. Where she would often press her eyes tightly together. Where her memories were splashed with an orange sunlight, but as her irises were revealed again, saw that reality was nothing but black. Eternal night.
There had been no light. The memories had been misty in her mind. But there was one. The girl had played with a pink ball. It had rolled off, into the darkness. She had hesitated, waddled to the corner where she heard it thump against the wall. But this corner she knew, was where morass would grow one night, and disappear the next. Where a cadaverous human spirit, was clamped by the neck with a chain, tongue hanging out lifelessly. Where painful keeling would slice. Shrieking. Screaming. Ululating, and mournful wailing. She knew that it was a place of pain. But the girl didn’t understand.
The girl clutched her knees tighter, still retracting back from the darkness, into a warmer corner. At night she would hear frenzied whispering, and would strain her ear to hear little nips of words. “Child…Daughter…Satan!” But on one night, when she pressed her head on the icy floor, she had heard. As she was slowly lulled into the realms of a fidgeting sleep, she had heard a sentence being hushed to her. It came clearer than the others, but like them, she couldn’t understand it,” You are his daemon…”
She wouldn’t cry. But instead had shivered with the anger that scorched her heart. As it coursed through her veins, awakening a malign agitation that vexed her to be vengeful to the unknown being, that had conceived her into the darkness.
But know she knew. After her hair had grown longer, and small little bulges of red skin started pricking her skin. She knew. That night, her chest had throbbed. It wouldn’t stop! Thrashed. It had beaten against her chest. She had gaped. The air in her lungs, pouring out, leaving her with a void space inside her. One that was heavy with death. One that made little black dots, prance in front of her eyes. She had thought she would die, but a ripping pain pealed then. Out of her chest, sprouted a jagged claw, muscular. Fierce. She felt as the adrenalin in her body was channeled into it, her consciousness slowly ebbing away into the monsters spirit. The transformation was maddening. But she felt as power pulsated in her thick arms, her legs elevated on faun-like hoofs. The voice she had long grown nostalgic to was louder, now in a reedy morbid tone. Audible in her head, yet sending chills lashing down her hulking spine. It spoke into her mind, “You are the daughter of the devil, and you have become!”
M.V Darko