The Devil Inside

I stopped the smile from coming out as I held the knife in my hands. I shivered at the strong emotion I felt. I breathed, calming my nerves. Who knew what would happen if I let it take control of me. I breathed once again and placed the knife down gently.

Chopping onions, chopping onions, chopping onions. I repeated the sentence in my head like a broken record. I exhaled loudly. I never get angry. Not that much anyway to the point of violence or even an argument. I keep silent during those. I could not trust my own anger as much as the actions I could and might do.

Pent-up anger was never a good idea. I knew that. But it felt so exhilarating. The feeling of this anger, this rage, this devil inside me. I could see in my hands' blood, I could feel it.

The warmth, the smell, the excitement. It made me happy. The things I could do. The things that I would do sends shivers down my spine.

How did it become a monster in me? A monster turned into a devil after long days, months, and years of hiding it away. All the anger, the rage, the things that make human, human; slowly melting away like ice.

—

Bashing their heads on the ground again and again, smiling, laughing. Blood splattered on my face; I could taste the blood that splat on my mouth. Metal, tangy, warm. It felt so exciting. No, rather exciting was an understatement. I could not fathom what it felt like to see this. It was so euphoric. Yes, that! That! Euphoric!

Laughing maniacally as I saw the smashed face of the person, all bloody, messed up, they groaned. They tried to moved their hands toward my arm, but I had other ideas. I smiled widely. I grabbed unto their fingers and bent it outward. I heard them scream. Ah, so euphoric is makes me want to hear them scream in agony. I laughed and bent another finger outward, and another and another and another.

I could do this all day, hear them scream. No, that would make bending fingers a bore if I do that all day.

I looked down and smirked. I could feel the devil inside me. Rumbling in anticipation. What fun thing do I do with you next?

I looked into their teary eyes. I want to see the fear. Fear of death.

Or maybe I could just gouge their eyes out. I laughed as I held into their head, thumbs leveled onto their eyes. Now, will they see fear? I want to see fear of death in their eyes.

I want them to look me in my own and fear death.

—

I exhaled. I looked up from the knife I held and to the chopping board. I feared my own self. From my own anger. Because that was what I wanted. That was what the devil in me wanted.