Death has become a routine now (it sickens me to call it that). I wakeup every morning knowing I will be dead in less than 24 hours.
It all started when I was around ten years old. It had been a hot day and I was desperate for some relief, so I went to my freind’s house. His family had installed a pool recently so we had fun laughing and splashing water on eachother.
I got thirsty and my freind said to go up to the balcony where the cooler was. Once I got up there I put my hands on the railing and smelled the fresh summer air. Suddenly something grabbed me and tossed me over the edge. I only caught a brief glimpse of the thing as I cratered to the concrete patio below.
The figure had on a dark robe and a white mask with no nose or mouth, only slits for eyes. My head hit the concrete and the last thing I heard was my skull cracking and my own blood pouring out.
I woke up in my own bed drenched in sweat glad that it had all been a nightmare. Unfortunately the nightmare continued My mother said that I did go to my freind’s yesterday but there was no skull splitting, I had returned home just fine. I had no memory of these things happening, but I didn’t want my mother to worry. Over the days that followed the process repeated again and again. I would always see the figure just before I died looming just out of reach.
In my teen years I tried to tell my parents what was happening to me, but they did not listen. My father assumed I was on drugs and my mother thought it was some kind of manic episode. They sent me to therapy but no amount of therapy could fix my problem.
I have died countless times. I’ve had my throat slit in front of my wife on our wedding day. I’ve been gutted in front of my children. My mother in her final moments watched me gargle on my own blood as I was shot through the heart. But everytime I wake up and no one has any recollection of what happened.
I only made the mistake once of confronting my tormentor. One day I called off work and made sure my wife and kids were gone, then I locked myself in my room with a bowie knife. I heard something behind me and whipped around just as the figure stabbed a javelin through my chest. Before I could die I reached torward the figure and ripped away its mask. What stared back at me was darkness. Not the kind of dark like nightime. Pure, cold, and inky darkness.
I now know what has been killing me must be death or some form of it. But what cardinal sin had I commited to warrant this torture. What inhumane act could have caused this? What barbaric torture had I inflicted upon another being to warrant such cruel recompence?! I have no clue. Maybe death is toying with me for its own enjoyment. If a being such as that can feel enjoyment.
I will never know till I die naturally.