He was the complete opposite of who he seemed when they first met.
The truth is, he was that monstrous blight wearing a human-skinned mask, the one that tumbled the dominoes of her life leading to her destruction.
All hell broke loose when he opened the door from the inside as soon as she gave him the keys to her heart, allowing his brood of malice to pour in.
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Photo by Peter Leong on Unsplash
For years, they tried all their diabolical tricks in their pockets, choking her spirit with their poisoned tendrils and twisting her perception with their malicious lies.
They made her back a target, tying her up and throwing knives at her. As soon as the wounds on her back began to heal, they would begin their assault anew, a never-ending campaign of slander and discredit.
Together with their bare hands, the insidious family strangled the life out of her.
Shackling her as they dragged her to hell as if there's a placard reserved for her there.
They kept pushing her to the brink, poking and hooking the sky above her until it came crashing down upon her.
She wished she had never existed. Suspended in perpetual torment, it was the agony of a living hell where even death felt alive, each single stab and cut felt immensely painful.
Such was her brutal fate for falling for the illusion of who he was. What could she expect from the spawn of the wretched demoness?
She shouldn't even dare to think she could eradicate that generational evil. She was just too naive.
She might just forget about fighting, surrender to the reserve she didn't even deserve.
Utterly overpowered, the demoness already had her in her claws, and yet in her naivete, she still harbored a faint hope, oblivious to the hell that had already claimed her as its own.
No holy book, across the entire existence of this world and all its religions, would have sufficient description for such a depravity unleashed by a single pack of evil beings determined to ruin a person's life like that.
Know that everything mentioned was experienced but written in creative form.
Ordinary words often fail to convey the truth of such experiences only to be met with skepticism or misunderstanding when told in a straightforward manner.
The only thing that could truly paint that image and the truth of such experiences for the world to see is creative writing, an indirect publication of the truth without fear of further retribution.
Thank you for the prompts. Every one of them became a catharsis for a story untold.
©Britt H.
Thank you for reading this.
Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2785: RESERVE by @Freewritehouse. Thanks to @marianneweste @latino.romano, @wakeupkitty, and @felt.buzz
I'm writing as hellobritt on PEAKD and emmabritt on Steemit due to my initial ignorance about the workings of Hive blockchain.
But I'm still Britt either way.
Here's My Introductory Post from the other side.