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Victims of the Night

By , Beaverton, OR

We are vigilantes in the day. In the daytime we are emperors — bold, victorious, golden. We are the stalwart allies — we make you smile and stand with you even if your life is in crisis. But when the light switches off and we are blanketed underneath the cloak of darkness, our smiles fade.

 

We are thieves of the darkness, robbers of justice. We are the tormented pariahs of Eternity. We are victims of the night.  This is the reality we are forced to live in, one we had no choice in.

 

My alarm clock’s feeble peeps brings me back to reality. It glows 12:00. I lay back in my bed, trying to breathe straight. My body is tensed up in anticipation. When the clock ticks twelve the Monster jumps you, screaming and tearing at you in your sleep. He hurts me. How can something so small and forgettable come back to be so hurtful, like knives ripping through your skin?

 

From the corner of the room, I think I see him. The moonlight angles in a way to conceal the Monster’s face from sight, but I know he’s there. I can hear its poisoned, pained breathing coming in short, sharp bursts.

 

“No,” I whisper.

 

“I’m bigger now,” he said.

 

“I’ve had a bad day,” I explain.

 

“Do you know who I am?” he asks me.

 

“You are my Monster.”

 

“No,” his laugh shakes my bed. “I am your Victim of the Night. You can’t run from me. You thought you were the Victim of the Night?” he smiles devilishly. “You’re wrong. We are parts of each other.”

 

I stare at him. I want to scream. He wants to devour me. He wants to masticate my humanity. And then I let him.




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