A Good Samaritan
I kneel on the cold hard tiled floor and scrub with both of my hands on the brush. The steady up and down movement calms me. This is the eighth one. The blood stains take a long time to scrub off. Demon blood, I remind myself.
They’re always after me. The demons. They put up a good fight. They could almost fool me. In human shape and form, crying and whimpering and begging for mercy till the end. I could almost believe them. They make me believe that I’m the insane, evil one. That’s how demons like to play. They get in your head and make you doubt yourself. They’re attracted to me. I’m bright, funny, giggly, popular, and always the life of the party. It makes them jealous.
That’s why I have to do what I do. I have to get to them before they get to me. I can see that they hate me and are fuming on the inside. Every once in a while I see envy and lust.
I bring them home. I befriend the girls. I kiss the guys. Make them happy. Make them feel wanted. Make them think like they’re winning. And, then I hurt them. Slowly and painfully. I watch the light go out of their eyes as they lose their hope, and then their lives.
I’m doing well. I’m stopping the demons. I will be heavily awarded in heaven. But for now, I will keep it a secret.
A Good Samaritan never boasts now does she?
~Susan North | Edited by Indu Arakkal