The Incandescence of Death

I wrote this story a while back for a contest on Deviant Art, and just got around to editing it recently. Feel free to leave questions, comments and critiques as posts here, or as private messages to me. Thanks for reading!

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The demon's incandescent eyes glowed something fierce, and it scared me. I looked to my left; an advancing horde of virulent beasts with decaying sludge dripping from sharp fangs. To my right; an abundance of tall creatures that seemed to sway towards me, preparing for a fatal lunge to my throat. I wasn't sure what to do, fear was overwhelming me. Beads of sweat began to roll down my forehead, and then I remembered. In one swift motion, I rolled up my left sleeve, but I was not quick enough, one of the demons latched onto my side, causing a searing pain where it bit me. After several seconds, the demon was exposed to my tattoo, and scattered with the rest of them. I looked gratefully to my fresh tattoo. The simple cross, the tattoo I had been told many times not to get, had just saved my life. The grin on my face told me that I had won, the battle was over, but the war had just begun.

Waking in my bed, I found myself in a slight haze of confusion adding to the steady throb of a headache. A downward glance showed that I was soaked in pink, a mixture of sweat and blood. I sat up, and felt the pain in my side. Lifting my stained shirt displayed a very gruesome looking gash in my side. I picked myself up off the bed, and wearily carried myself to the bathroom. The mirror cursed at me as I looked at my reflection. My dark hair was superbly messy, and my white dress shirt was quite disgruntled with my mistreatment of it. My face was a horrid sight, it had soot crawling around, and making the bags under my eyes even more hideous. The only thing that the mirror didn't scoff at, were my eyes. My eyes maintained the glow that had won me many a friend, as well as a few enemies. The green out-shined the black of my pupils, or maybe it was just the bright bathroom lights. I couldn't remember how I made it to my bed, or why I had slept in my clothes, but care was not rearing its wretched little head today. I had conquered my demons, for the time being, and I felt quite proud. I was stripping to shower when my reflection caught my eye once again.

My body was coated with scar tissue, most of which I could remember clearly the when and how they had been collected. The ones on my wrists were from a lifestyle I care not to mention, as were the gashes in my thighs. The thick lashes across my chest and shoulder blades had been delivered by an uncontrolled encounter with my demons during the morning hours. The ones that stood out the most, the deep, smiling ones that protruded firmly from my shoulder blades, had been from a full possession.

I turned the water off, and watched as the clear liquid tinged with a bloody pink rolled down the drain. Once I stepped out of the shower and patched my wound, I began to dress. I pulled a pair of dark jeans on over my underwear, and then tossed a white undershirt over my neck before sliding into a fresh white dress shirt. Long sleeved, of course. Even before I had my forbidden tattoo, I hid my arms from my fellow classmates because the scars shame me. Questions would be asked that I care not to answer. I buttoned my sleeves firmly in place before grabbing my backpack and sprinting out of my small ranch house. I expertly swept my long tangle of pale blonde hair with my hand into a neater tangle and I readjusted my backpack, shifting from a steady jog to a sprint. My feet collided with the concrete with enough force to create a slapping noise as I rushed to school. My alarm had not gone off when I awoke, or if it had, I had slept though it, and I was late. Several minutes later, as I was beginning to become winded, I slammed through the front door of my school. It was a revolving door, so when I hit it, it began spinning with a great force. It was spinning with enough speed to make it difficult for me to exit the door. I went around once, twice, thrice, until I dove through the sliver of space that allowed me to enter the building. I swiftly made my way through the hall that was thriving with children, and shot into my homeroom class, about two seconds before the bell rang.

“Edward! Where were you? You never push the clock this late!” said Shane, one of my only friends at school.

“Well... I'll tell you later.” I said, involuntarily clutching my side. My eyes widened slightly as I felt wet blood seep through my shirt. “Shit...” I muttered.

“Edward? What is it?” said Shane, oblivious to my predicament. He looked to my hand, and saw the crimson liquid seeping between my fingers. “Oh my God!”

“Shane! Please prevent further outbursts in my class! Now, what is it?” said our teacher, walking to inquire upon Shane. Shane just wordlessly pointed to my bloodied hand.

“My gosh!” the teacher gasped as she noticed the blood. I sat wordlessly, cursing myself for not bandaging the wound properly. “Come with me Edward, I do believe a trip to the infirmary is necessary.” the teacher said, relatively calmly. That is why I always liked our homeroom teacher; she always kept calm in situations like this one. She guided me down the hall to the infirmary. I cringed as I heard the splash of blood dripping onto the floor as I left a trail of little droplets behind me. The teacher's look of pity as she heard the blood hit the ground slightly angered me. Pity is something that I do not befriend. I may exploit it, but I do not agree with it.

As we reached the infirmary, I began to feel lightheaded, and realized just how much blood I must have lost, and I was sure that skipping breakfast did not help that. The school nurse looked up from her cup of coffee, and nearly tossed it all over herself when she saw what kind of a mess I was in. Not many people go to the infirmary in this school, and when they do it is usually not bloody, so the nurse's job is usually pretty easy. Not today. She rose out of her seat in quite a fuss, and rushed over to me.

“My word, what happened?” she asked me as she led the limping boy to the one hospital bed in the school. I lay down upon the bed. “Remove your shirt, if you have the strength.” she commanded me. I felt obliged to, but I hesitated slightly before beginning to unbutton my shirt. When I reached the last button, I slid the shirt off, and was then placed with the task of prying my undershirt off without killing myself. The shirt was near grafted to my skin from the amount of blood that had seeped through it. I began to peel my shirt off, and let out a short cry of pain as I felt my wound brushed by the shirt. The nurse realized my impending crisis, and moved to help me.

“Ok, this will probably hurt... a lot...” she told me, “so prepare yourself.” she placed her cold hands on my shirt, and swiftly pulled it over my head. I screamed in pain as I felt a layer of dried blood removed with my shirt.

“What the hell?” murmured the nurse as she saw my wound, “It looks like a... a bite, and a burn! I'm sorry, but this is a bit too serious for our facilities, I am going to have to get you to the hospital.” she turned and picked up a telephone. She began dialing numbers. I looked to my wound that I had paid no mind earlier in the morning. Damn, it did look awful. After the nurse finished her phone call, she sat next to the bed.

“Ok, try and explain to me, how did you get this wound?” she asked me.

“Well... I-I'm really not sure. It was just there this morning... I'm sorry, I really can't remember how it got there.” I said, my eyes feeling heavy. Before I knew it, consciousness was merely an illusion, and I was dreaming again.

Once again, I faced my demons. I watched as they cowered in fear at my arm and its large tattoo. I knew this would help, I knew that if I had a permanent symbol of God on me, it would help me fight my demons. The demon's eyes ceased to glow, as did their power over me. Instead of fear, this time I felt power over my demons.

I awoke in the hospital. I was a little confused at my situation; there was a long tube leading into my arm, and I was in a gown. I followed the tube up to a strange apparatus that held a clear fluid that was flowing freely into my vein. There was an odd beeping noise that brought my attention to a machine that was keeping a bumpy tune. My heartbeat.

“Oh yeah...” I murmured to myself, laying back down into the hospital bed, the drowsy confusion I had experienced earlier leaving near completely. I lifted the gown just enough to find my wound cleanly bandaged and stitched. I moved my hand to my forehead, the slight throb bothering me a little, but I was quite relieved to be out of school. I looked to my left hand, where my watch should have been, but wasn't. I noticed the plate of food in front of me. I have always heard that hospital food is terrible, but I do not believe I have enjoyed a meal as much as I did that one. As I finished ravenously scooping food into my mouth and gulping down the tall glass of water they had supplied me with, the doctor entered. He skipped the small talk an formalities, and went straight to explaining how they had patched me up, and that I needed to return in several days for them to remove the stitches. I carefully took note of the dates he told me, smiling to myself and telling me that I had finished my demons off- hopefully for good. I had done it, I had finally beaten the monsters that had been controlling me for the past decade.

The doctor asked for my parents, and that was when I tensed up. I was not sure what to tell him; would he believe me if I told him I lived alone? Would he put me in a home? Realizing that I had to make a quick decision, I told him that my parents where on vacation in Europe, and wouldn't be back for a rather long time. He asked for a guardian, and I said I had none. He scribbled something down on his cursed clipboard before bidding his farewell, and exiting the room. I laid back down, and smiled to myself before lulling back into sleep.

My demons stood before me, eyes glowing only a mere phosphorescent bit, and growling at my glorious tattoo. I threateningly bucked up, and they snarled as they jumped backwards, bits of the sludge dripping from their glistening fangs sizzling as it hits the scorched ground. I hadn't been expecting it, but one of them slithered behind me. I didn't notice until it was too late, and the incandescence had re-invited itself into his eyes. He lunged for my arm, and took it right off. I howled in pain, and they began piling atop me, tearing my flesh with their burning lips and digging their claws into me. I thought I was safe. I thought my tattoo would keep the demons away from me, but I was wrong. Dead wrong.

That was pretty wicked! I liked the personification you were using and it's very detailed and descriptive. I'd give it a 10/10 and it's not even my cup of tea! Nice.