“The voice told me to do it,” an explanation which would consequently get me locked up in an asylum. I remember the first time I heard the voice, it was when I turned thirteen years old. The voice was a light whisper that made the light fuzz on young pubescent body stand up at full attention. The voice was muddled throughout the daytime, only to be amplified the moment the lights turned off near the witching hour.
The voice I thought was God sharing with me the cruel realities of my existence. The omniscient presence judged my every impulse like the fire and brimstone God in the Old Testament. As I pulled the covers over my head, the perceived deity told me my family was judged by him and he sentenced them to death by my hand. He told me to get out of bed and get the steak knife from the kitchen.
I laid in bed curled up, trembling with fear. “Please, please, please don’t make me do this father. Thou shall not kill. Those were your words.” I said.
“I laid to waste Sodom and Gomorrah! Men, women, and children scorched by my mighty flames in a blink of an eye. Don’t lecture me with my own scripture! I command you, my child, or you will burn for eternity!” God said. My ears started to ring as if I was inside St. Francis’ Church bell after it’s been struck. I felt an insatiable fever envelop my body. My blanket ripped off me, as I glided into the kitchen.
As I gazed into the abyss of night, I saw the serrated knife glean under the light. I took the point in my ghastly grasp. I closed my eyes. A horror hurricane struck my head with a reflection of myself covered with gore. A gargantuan gargoyle with sprawling wings glided out from the shadows and put his hands on my shoulders. I gasped and my eyes flew open like window shutters. My legs turned into sand and I collapsed onto the cold marble tile. That’s him. I’ve been talking to a demon…