The convert pinning me in place lets go, but thick bands of metal remain where his claws used to be. I watch him back away, slip into shadows, and as he does, his face transforms into one I know all too well. Not a convert anymore. Still, just another monster. One with blond hair and piercing eyes that glow out of the darkness, ready to pounce.
It’s easy to be brave during the good times. To dare the devil when he’s nowhere to be seen. The truest test of strength comes when you’ve been beaten down so deep, you can’t see the surface anymore. When your heart struggles to keep up its beat, and your soul feels so light it could float away on a breeze. When you reach out for help, and all you see is a reflection of yourself. It’s not how you fall that writes the stories people will tell about you. It’s how you choose to get back up—whether you choose to get back up.
“Kill me,” I plead. “Kill me. Kill me…”
When my eyes go blind and my ears turn deaf, I know he already did.
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