For The Love Of The Beast

For The Love Of The Beast

DEAD! Desirably dead or dreadfully dead? My soul knows not the answer. I’ve escaped
yes, escaped the torment, the burning torture of constant abuse, neglect and fear. Oh the
fear! The relentless dread that every waking hour brought. My body senses as though it should be rejoicing in its new liberty…Yet, I feel…I feel as dead as the corpse laid out
before me, the cadaver of my existence; my captor, parental figure, abuser and…lover.
Yes. That sentiment, THAT agonizing guilt-glutted feeling of mindless adoration for the beast, yes, it was that sentiment that acted as the catalyst to my crime, my immoral, heart aching crime. I am now bound by Hell for my sins and shall perish in the flames that impending death will soon bring. I would not mind. Fearful, yes, but it would serve as due punishment for what I have just committed to the one I loved…the one I hated…the one that composed of all my tiresome existence, for it could be deemed; the one of whom I had to love, for if I did not love him, I would have no such entity in my bleak being.
Hatred consumed me, thus I fell for the beast, converted my loathing into lust. My obsessive detestation twisted into fanatical desire, of which I am insanely, deeply,
horrifically ashamed.

The slaughter took place somewhere in the last hours of darkness, or was it last year? The splashes of crimson on the dagger, the scream, the fading heartbeat…they have all maddened my brain; I am uncertain of every inhalation. Am I mad? I cannot be. The murder was planned to almost obsessive analytical detail. It gave me a purpose, since I was restrained in that windowless room all those wasted years. He imprisoned me away from the stability of civilization and laws. The chamber took home on the fifth floor of the monster’s mansion, a room to which no-one was permitted entrance; a room where only He held the key. That stone chamber became my entire world. The steel-capped beast became my only company. For the first few years I wailed myself into slumber, but those animalistic cries soon faded along with the hope of freedom.

The chamber imprisoned only my half-dead body. I wasted an eternity staring bleakly at the grey walls that caged me in this desolate room, even the pure sight of those four stone walls infuriated me. I’d sit upright on the iron bed, the intense coppery smell making vomit burn my throat. I’d gag as my mouth filled with that terribly familiar taste of blood; the metallic-like taste making me nauseous. Through blurred eyes I could see a dismal iron sink which half-heartedly dripped grey water in a steady beat throughout those depressing nights. I was alone. I was so terribly alone.

I loathed the beast’s words more than I loathed the man Himself. That bitter prose that
spat from his mouth. The mouth that had kissed mine all those times before. He said He had loved me. I held that notion in both hands and clasped so tight I could hardly breathe. Love. It’s what we all want, isn’t it? Hopeless, intoxicating, terrifying love. And it drove me to insanity. It was then that I decided to aim for the throat. I wanted to slit those torturous words from that very gullet. I spent those endless, desolate nights in the chamber envisioning, no, no, fantasizing about holding the dagger in my palm, clasping my fingers around the blade, seeing raw fear in His demonic eyes, having all the power. I illustrated beautiful depictions of a most glorious shade of crimson pouring from His oesophagus. I wanted him dead. I intoxicated myself with magnificent images of the light fading from His eyes, feeling His pulse weakening as he had weakened me, watching Him fall to the ground in a limp mess, examining over Him as the blood drained from His face. It was the only spark of light the chamber held. I remember those steel-capped boots as they slammed down on every one of the stone steps leading up to my chamber. CLIP CLAP CLIP CLAP. My pulse quickened with every step as nausea crept into my senses. I felt sick with horrified dread. I’d wait as the key turned in that heavy chamber door, waiting for my fate with hopeless complacency. I’d close my eyes and pray to thy Lord to keep me from waking. Death was my only escape from His torment. I longed for it to take me away on its wings to wherever, because I know that nothing else could compare to this insufferable agony. He’d arrive daily but at different times, it was His decision. Sometimes He’d enter with whisky on His breath and rage in his fists. Other times, He’d arrive with red lust in those black, black eyes, as red as the rage and desire in my own heart. I could never anticipate Him and that was what I feared the most. My life was in His hands. I was His. Like an animal in a cage, He could keep me alive if he so wished, but once he grew tired of this sallow-skinned plaything on His chamber floor, he could discard me like yesterday’s papers, ripped up and thrown away, forgotten. He could end the game. End the game, end the game, end the game…

Am I insane? He told me I was. I believed Him. That was how it worked. But, to question
my sanity must mean I am truly sane, am I correct? I think the isolation and torment has maddened my senses and robbed me of my sanity. The guilt overpowered my senses. I loathed to love him. It tore me apart. I fell for my torturer and I shall never forgive myself. I’m looking down at Him now as he lies lifeless on the chamber floor. His malevolent eyes are shut now, His mouth is slightly parted but no evil is spilling from it, His hands lay flat and limp at his sides. I run my quivering hand down His face, flinch back as its iciness attacks my weak flesh. Yes, He is defiantly dead and maybe He has been for some time. I could escape but…the world is a perilous place and I am better in this chamber. That’s what He told me. I was stolen from The Outside before my brain could fully articulate its surroundings. I was a child, but to what age I do not remember. Seven, maybe eight…my recollection has suffered with this godforsaken chamber. I remember my mother. Blonde. Lavender and nicotine scented. Dead. I remember…A red-bricked house, a murky lake, a horseshoe pendent. Then…a scream. My mother’s scream. Running, running, running. A scarlet tinted grin, dripping. A knife. A deep throated laugh. A hand over my mouth. Blackness.

I lie down by His side; hold His hand in mine as though we are bound by marriage, not sin. I wished for marriage, like every other little girl, but this little girl was tainted, ruined, broken…and only the beast would want her now. And where does he lie? Dead.
Dead on the chamber floor. I was alone. This time I was completely unaccompanied, unaided, without a single soul. With the beast slayed I was truthfully, agonizingly alone. I reach for the dagger. His blood is dried onto the blade. I lift it up to my face, inhale it deeply, the exhilarating stench of death intoxicating my senses. My breathing grows heavy as I feel the coolness of the blade prickle at my flesh, then my veins, and then…pain surges through my body. I have never felt so alive and yet so close to death. Is this what it is to feel happiness? An alien sensation possesses my body as I stare down at the corrupted crimson that escapes my bruised wrists. A smile. It will be over soon and I will join my beautiful monster in whichever place we find ourselves. Death will soon come for me, but not with steel-capped boots. It will come any moment now and take me away from this stone chamber. I take a final glance at the beast and I question why I was ever afraid of Him. Was it truly hopeless love that stole my sanity? I feel enveloped by the black shadow of death and rejoice in the fact I am finally leaving this torturous place. I’m fading. I’m fading away from this chamber, from the steel-capped monster and most gloriously—from my own self. Freedom awaits me in death, thus I am glad of it. Oh so glad of it. My hand keeps in that of the beast, and--after a while--we are just two corpses in a stone chamber. A glorious murder. A beautiful suicide. And, finally, the little girl was free of those steel-capped boots, that godforsaken place, that horrible heart. The game was over, at long last. And freedom had never tasted so, so sweet.