Demon

A Story by None

He stood at the edge of the river, his short red hair flattened against his skull by the torrent of rain. In his hand he twisted a small piece of cloth, blood red and tinged with black. It was soaked through, and the trickle of rain ran from it, a single line of rushing water falling to the ground.

He stared out across the water, his eyes dark with emotion. His face was streaked with dirt, beginning to run with the rain and the tears. The cloth tightened round his hand, caught in the twists and folds of his hands as his mind ran quickly, rushing through thoughts and feelings.

Hope was gone. No chance of better days. He had tried to save them, his friends, tried to help them. They never cared. He ran from them, angry and full of fear. He was alone. He had been down and back up so many times, for them, but now he refused to fly with the black balloon above his head.

The cloth covered his hand like a glove. He pushed everything he felt through his hand, through his fingertips, into the cloth. It grew with every burst of energy, every flash of anger pulsing through.

He clenched his fists, and his tears stopped. The rain soaked him; his bare back like a waterfall. He felt nothing. The soul inside gone, nothing but a hole. The material was snaking its way in through his skin, in through his mind. It filled the emptiness, stopped him feeling.

Slowly, it encased his whole body. Trapped in the thriving embodiment of his emotions. He felt no need to fight it, just kept pushing through, further and further.

His eyes to the sky, black and lifeless, didn’t blink as rain fell in, burning like fire.

Flames. Flames in his eyes, in his soul. The cloth convulsed, tightening around his unresisting body. Anger consumed him, and the cloth shimmered, the red of the cloth shined as the colour dripped fresh blood.

Slowly, the material shrank, falling back into the fresh wounds in his back. He smiled in the pain, revelling in his own misery. Licked his lips in thought of revenge, spread his new wings and flew.

Looking down over the world through eyes like flaming obsidian, he screamed his anger through teeth sharpened to a point. His hair stood on end, spikes of flaming golden red.

He would have his hell become theirs.