“Yes, you will, Leanord.” He observes. And I am tired of Him telling me what I will and will not do. Tired of Him knowing what I want. Tired of all of it. Like an ignorant child, I am just plain done with listening.
“On one condition.” I spoke my thoughts aloud this time, because among the other things, I am tired of having my voice stolen from me. It is the one thing left that is mine, and I will not allow that to be taken as well. Because so many things, already, have been ripped from my grasp. My secrets, my thoughts, my life, my love, my faith; everything that I held dear to my heart for so many years. I want them back. I want them back now.
“Have you not heard me, Leanord? I have promised you torture beyond fathom, and still you challenge me?”
“Yes! I challenge you! I challenge you and you like it.”
And even though I know His extent on pain and fear and torture, even though I know what He could make me, I know He won’t do it. Suddenly, terror loses its vice on me. What extinguishes it is worse. A supernova of rage fills me to the core, and my vision goes blurry around the edges. It shakes every tension-filled muscle within my body, the tremors rocking me back.
I hate The One. Hate him, and as much as that fills my mouth with the putrid taste of bile and anger, I know it is justified. He has torn everything away from me. All that I once was is now gone, and He is the sole thing to blame. He acts strong on the outside, unbreakable. But He is a mirror. A mirror that shows your worst fear, your worst nightmare. But all it is, is glass. Fragile. And I used to think that He was so unbending, unyielding in His ways of dark detachment. But I was wrong.
In life, I only had to worry about my illness. About the bullies that saw it as a weakness. They poked and prodded until I broke into the flurry of the world of the Lost. I awoke with bodies scattered around me, bones broken and blood running down the street like a river. Bullies tore any normalcy I had wished for away.
Flashbacks take my vision from me, and I am sucked back into the world of the living. It was before I met her, in the mental hospital. Before my life turned for the better. I was sitting in the rec room, the sea of blue. Everything, from the clothes to the floors to the walls to the ceiling to the eyes of the staff, were blue. An ugly blue. Children started filing in from their activities. Mostly therapy, but some of the kids got to visit family. That always puts everyone in the worst mood. I was sitting in the corner, watching them, when one of the kids stalked up to me. Spit in my face.
“What are you looking at, freak?” I was shocked, to say the least. The most sympathy I got were from the fleeting glances of the other kids. None of the staff lifted a finger. “I said, what the fuck are you looking at?” He caught my jaw in his chubby fist. He lined our eyes up, so that I couldn’t break contact if I wanted to. And instead of being scared, I was angry. Who the hell was he to say I was a freak? My gaze began to waver and I looked him square in the eye, my brows joining in frustration. I said nothing. He slapped my face beet red, and walked away. Throwing a “That kid’s too special to know when to talk and when to shut the hell up.” over his shoulder. I wished I had said something then. But I didn’t. And I realize that now is my chance to redeem that moment. I am done being “that kid”. The one everyone thinks is special, and not in a good way. I hate bullies and I hate The One. Because He is just another bully.
And one thing that I know, that has not changed since Life, is that everyone, even Kind of the Dead, has a weak spot. And I just found His. Me. He is soft as a rotten fruit. Spoiled to the core. And I am the worm that weedles its way to the center of him. And I don’t know how, or when, His power over me turned to affection, don’t know how his hatred turned to a sort of love; I just know that it did.
“You are fond of me, Master. You and I both know that you do not share things with any random soul. But I am different, special. I challenge Your power. And for so long, Your rule was so simple and easy. You like that challenge. “
“My thoughts are not of the mindless glob of gray. They are still living thoughts. And I cannot help that, I do not know why it is that way. But it is. That is the challenge that you face. The living dead.”
I face the portal, the glassy smoke showing me only my own face, though it does not have the anger written in its eyes. It remains almost emotionless, though you can see age and sadness inked into my skin, if you look close enough.