Darkness of A Tortured Soul
A litle something, written many Winters ago, asking myself questions, I still do not have the answers for...
Darkness Of A Tortured Soul (c) Cederwyn Whitefurr June, 2003. All Rights Reserved.
*** This story is not a work of fiction, but is based in cold, hard reality. Its a 'snapshot' of the very real pain and suffering I live with, as pennance for my crime. For when I was seventeen, I made the mistake of falling in with a Coven of Satanists - and I spent two years under their cruel, merciless control, before I and my beloved Amelia, fled and went into hiding for years, fearful for our very lives. I won't lie to anyone - this story is *not* all peace, love and happiness, and you have been warned, and I sincerely apologise to all. It had to be written...wether I liked it or not. ***
I lay myself down, I feel the bed beneath me, its soft, comforting me - and allowing me to slip slowly and silently into the ether. I am free. Free of mortal constraint, free of the physical bonds that tie me to the living, breathing world around me. Allowing my spirit to roam free amongst the shades of those who have gone before, and those luminous spirits of the living who share this realm with me, I turn away. For it is not them whom I seek - but something dark. Dark and elusive, that has haunted me for years.
Turning away from the light, I willingly move into the darkness - the dark, festering morass of my own subconscious, and here I find a part of the whole, yet it is not a part. A splinter in my mind, that I can not face, for to face it would not bring me the release I so crave - but plunge my screaming form into the darkness, from where it very well may never return.I look deeper into that darkness, feel its seductive lure as it promises to make my pain go away forever, I feel its cold touch on my cheek - like that of a wanton lover. It is comforting - yet I know how seductive it truly is - should I but give in to it, then my very existance will cease to be.
Casting aside the false promises and alluring comfort that it offers me, I go even deeper, seeking the source of my pain, knowing what it is, yet telling myself I do not know. At last the darkness swirls and eddies - and I find myself face to face with that which I have long since known, but had banished into the furthermost recesses of my mind. As if I am but a silent witness to this nights events - I am helpless to do anything to stop it from being replayed again and again and again. How I wish this living nightmare would end - knowing what darkness lies curled within me, like some venemous snake...then it strikes - burying its fangs deep into me, injecting its potent venom...but it is the venom of memories - memories I have but long fought to forget.
I rememeber - and wish I never had.
She was beautiful - her wide, brown eyes terrified, her squeals and struggles seemingly going unnoticed by the men who so cruelly dragged her towards that dark, horrbile altar...her screams as I was forced into....
NO! I will not allow that tragedy its voice - I will not - and I can not.
Not now, and not ever. She did not deserve that dark, cruel fate that befell such a beautiful and noble creature - nor did she deserve, with her last moments - to be denied her death - but instead, forced into a jail she could not comprehend, nor escape from. She should have been allowed, with her death, as cruel as it was - to pass into the next world, to find her peace there at the feet of the Goddess, yet even this was denied to her, bound as she was through a powerful and dark enchantment - forced into her prison against her will, there to be a part of me for the rest of my life, there to remain - driven to madness by her unending terror and pain....
Every full moon she comes to me in my fevered nightmares; reminding me again and again of that which I was forced to do, for I was as helpess as she herself. In my meditations, I am forced to return to her prison - to watch this proud, noble creature, long since driven to utter madness, yet I know, I am powerless to make her suffering end.
Yes - every full moon I wake, soaked in sweat, shaking in such dread my bones should surely snap under the strain, clutching my pillow and with tears of rage and hurt streaking down my cheeks, my throat locked against the scream that burns so hotly within my tortured form...every full moon I pray for her forgiveness, for that which I had done to her.
It is a prayer I fear I will never recieve.
I wake in my bed from my meditation, crying openly, my body soaked in sweat and shaking as if stricken with a virulent fever. I close my eyes to try and stop the hot, bitter tears - yet all I see is her tortured expression, staring out at me from the darkness within my soul - the prison into which she was thrust...
I do not cry for myself - but I cry for her....
For how can I expect her to forgive me for that which I had done...when I can not find it in my heart, to forgive myself?
END