The Malevolent

The man she buried is back and knocking. Knocking on her door, constantly. The man is like a demon bowing over her. The demon is attached to her, yet, stands behind her, like he is her shadow. She is like his marionette; he holds the threads; he controls her, but it seems to others as if she does this by herself.

A shadow truly is always present, but not always seen as well; when the sun shines brightly, your shadow is seen evidently. When the sky is cloud-clapped, the shadow remains, although not as visible as when with a bright sky.

The man can be seemingly nice, when she does as he wants. Sometimes her threads are hold by him somewhat looser, then she can move the way she wants, is the principal. But control still remains within his hands, never truly hers.

Shadows are a way of getting our darkness out of ourselves. So, when the sun shines brightly and the sky is blue, we feel less of the darkness raging within, and feel more of the brightness. On a cloudy day, this means, our darkness is not outside of us, it is within us. It strikes everything. It strikes our organs; brain, heart, and veins. And yet, people wonder what seasonal depression is.

As she grew, the man grew also. As she took a shower, the man made her then slip in mud. As she lit a lucifer, the man filled the room with gas. As she did her best, the man gave her more tasks; more things to worry about; more stress.

To others, it is so easy to just assume that it’s true. That it is true she goes wherever she wants, whenever she wants. To others, it is much easier to assume than to ask. And so, she stands alone. But she remains to stand on both her feet. She remains to stand strong, as always.

On some days, he held more threads than others. On other days, she could move more freely. She was even able to cut a few strings. But string by string she cut, the knife became more and more blunt. On sunny days, people had given her a sharpener for the knife, so she could cut another string. But then on the other hand, by cutting, the knife went blunt again, but the people had already taken their sharpeners with them.

The man sometimes tells her that a blunt knife can cut her. The man told her not to do this, but then he used reversed psychology. This move of his makes her curious. It is usual human behaviour to do what was told not to do. This made her to cut not a string on a dark day, but to cut the demon’s puppet; the marionette; herself.

As she grew up, the man grew also. As she made the next step, the man pushed her down a flight of stairs. As she dreamed of tomorrow, the man showed her as to what she must sorrow.

One day, her mindset shifted. She fought back. She cut many strings. But with a blunt knife, cutting the strings resulted in spending a lot of energy. Days went by. She fought back, and she kept fighting for a long time.

Then suddenly, she cut him. She felt guilty for cutting him. She made sure he was okay. She made sure he was okay, because she believed that, although he had tortured her for many, many years, he still did not deserve to be hurt. No one deserved to feel hurt, not in her eyes. Because she had been there. She had felt that pain. She knew what it was like to be hurt. She felt sorry for anyone hurting, even if it were her worst enemy. She felt guilty for cutting him. She did not notice that he, although to her thinking not, accept he did, indirectly had been cutting her. And did he regret it? Did he feel sorry? Did he try to make sure it would never happen again?

It took her four years to get back on track with her original plan; to find her own peace; to maybe be somewhat selfish; to fight him. Mind those words; four years. That moment, four years after having wanted to fulfil the plan’s goal, is when she decided to end him.

She had found something positive. Something she enjoyed, and there were no things about this particular thing to sorrow. She found a light. This made her stronger. And so, she fought. She fought, and kept fighting. She did not cut him. She hung him in the strings he used to hold. His neck bruised. His body finally limb. Her body free of all his wishes, all he had ever been. She then buried him. He was buried nine feet deep, in a coffin. She even gave him a tombstone. The tombstone called: “Here lies The Malevolent”.

The demon isn’t truly a man. The demon’s definition is considered to be men. The man referred to in the first sentence of the story, is supposed to be men; plural. And by that, it is not necessarily meant to indicate men, as in males, are demons to her, but rather meant to indicate men; people; human kind, are like demons to her.

The door isn’t truly being knocked on. The knocking on the door is a euphemism; knocking on a door is a polite way to indicate one is about to come through the door, but men won’t politely knock and wait for an answer. Men shall storm in. Men won’t wait for her to answer whether they are welcome inside her life.

And so, the story of the man knocking on the door is a complex metaphor. How is one supposed to connect words to it? Let alone, the right words. The right words to capture its essence, its fiendish essence.

The Malevolent cannot be captured. He cannot be controlled. He cannot be stopped. He was never dead. Demons never die. He rose up again. And with that, the man she buried is back and knocking.