"You know you want to." The words briefly linger in my head a moment seconds before shattering glass rips through flesh. There's no warning this time. No hint of anger building. Only raw instinct. A flash of anger, followed by the slow burn of realization that I'd given in again. The face in the mirror won, again. A similar face to my own, yet different. It's eyes glow like burning embers floating in oozing pitch. Beside me, It whispers the beautiful and seductive language of darkness. Filling me with rage and all manner of wicked thought. "Ha! That never gets old. I'm over here you cunt, can't aim for shit can you? That mirror was expensive. Now look at it." I glance through half-squinted eyes at the shimmering form beside me. A look that exudes both anger, and annoyance. "Oh, come now. Don't look at me like that. What if your face froze that way? A face only a mother could love... Oh wait, she can't anymore!" I'm not sure what irritates me more, his words or that sinister laugh.

As far back as when humans learned to communicate, we've imagined all manner of ghost, demon, and other paranormal thing. To explain the unknown, teach lessons, or whatever the case may be, we create imaginary monsters. They come in all shapes and sizes. We even sometimes call our problems "demons" but they're not real, metaphysical, manifestations. It's Just a saying to define the many personal issues we deal with in life. Well, for most anyway. My demon is as real as the flesh on my bones. He draws strength from my emotions, actions, and even thoughts. A symbiotic synergy exists between us, the more I give into negativity, the more 'real' he becomes; and the more damage he can do.

He has no real name that I know, or if he does he's never offered it to me. I call him wrath. The embodiment of all my negative emotion. He likes to torment and antagonize me whenever the opportunity presents itself. The demon points to my hand, "You, uh. Gonna bandage that buddy? I can drive you to the hospital if you'd rather do that." I look down to see a pool of blood below my dangling arm. A piece of the mirror sticks out from between my knuckles. Crimson streaks down the fragment, dripping rapidly to the floor. Annoyance rides my breath, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. He knows all the right things to really send me off. I look back at him, "Maybe this time I'll bleed out and take you with me." I say through gritted teeth, trying to keep my center and calm my mind. The last thing I need is to give him more ground. The power balance is already straining a thread. "You've tried that. Twice in fact." He counts fingers off, "Once I bandaged you myself. The other, I carried you to the hospital." He says it matter of fact, but his tone conveys foolishness.

I sulk to the other side of room in search of bandages. The bedside end-table knows what I need, it's seen this too many times before. The adrenaline fades and pain urges me forward, I sit on the bed and pull open the drawer with my uninjured hand. It offers me the first aid kit hiding within. All the various aid items are a welcome sight, liquid bandage, gauze, medical tape, towels, I grab anything I think I'll need and set to work. Time passes at a slow, exhausting pace. Maybe because I'm bandaging myself, or maybe because Wrath won't shut the fuck up. He's not even making sense anymore. Just rambling to annoy me. He's able to manifest himself without my intervention. A skill he exploits often, I suspect, simply to annoy or provoke me. To feed off me.

If there's a bad situation, Wrath's put me in it more times than I can count. I guess I should count myself lucky though. He's only in stage two. I learned to count the balance in stages from my parents. Something they learned through various experiences and religious or spiritual means. Stage one I can hear his voice taunting me, influence by annoyance. Stage two, I see him and his control of my mind is a little more prominent. Stage three, he has limited control of the physical world around me and I'm susceptible to his commands. Stage four, my consciousness is forced into complete submission, allowing him free reign over my body and his power is fully unbound. I'd been to stage three once before and it took thee elephant tranquilizer shots to put me down. That was after the apartment complex we lived in at the time was leveled. The authorities deemed it a "Straight line wind" natural disaster. Those that survived feared me as rumors spread. We left town and started anew here.

I'm close to finishing the bandage but as usual Wrath knows all the buttons to press with me. I turn to him, brows furrowed. Rage radiates from my every pore "You've been whistling that for the last ten minutes. So help me Wrath, if I hear one more 'I've been working on the railroad' tune whistled I'll fucking strangle you. Or, better yet. I'll actually kill you. If I have to make that sacrifice to know you're gone for good, never to bother me or anyone else again, so be it." He stares at me for a moment, lips still puckered, knees propped into a triangle and arms crossed behind his head. Our eyes lock for what seems like forever in our standoff. A very slow, sinister grin carves its way through his face. I dare him with the voice of an angry parent, "Don't fucking test me Wrath." He makes one quick sound, one last whistle of defiance.

My rage boils over. Adrenaline sears my veins and I give into the 'fight' side of fight or flight. I leap on top of him, fingers clawing their way around his neck. I hold nothing back. Every muscle tenses to steel with only one goal. Flames consume the tunnel of my vision as my rage fuels the excitement in Wrath. His sinister laughter rings in my head with orgasmic pleasure. "Ha ha! Oh Yes! Let that emotion bleed power into me!" It doesn't register, I'm too far gone. My body flushes bright red. Veins snake through my body, as if they'll pop any moment. I'm light headed but ignore it, the only thing that matters is this feeling. This rage. Its all consuming, like a forest fire raging in the fall. I squeeze so tight the fresh stitches break. Pain and stain of red only enhance the insanity. "Just. Fucking. DIE!" It's a demand. My voice reverberates with a demonic deepness. Rage personified.

The pain is elating. A dark drug promising the richest of highs. This feeling, the adrenaline, the pain, the unbridled rage. The absolute need to kill. It comes together into the most heavenly bliss I'd ever known. The air in the room shifts, circulating like a tornado picking up around the bed. Wrath and I float off the bed, his laughter antagonizing me further "Here, need some help?" he asks as a knife floats into my peripheral view. There's no thought, no logic. Only the feeling. Knowing. Before I can rationalize, I've grabbed the knife and thrust it strait into his jugular. A loud demonic, otherworldly scream escapes me as I rip the knife to the left. His head falls to the side like a felled tree as blood spurts. The wind picks up more, painting the room red.

Insanity has gripped me fully, I stare for a brief second at Wraths head hanging and still talking shit before looking toward the ceiling. I relish the chaos, the pure embodiment of elation. The room amplifies my mood, but its more than that. A representation of the chaos always present in my mind unleashed upon the world. Without thought, my arms raise toward my visions focus. The wind picks up pace as things begin busting against walls. Chests and even the bed get swept up and lodged into the walls. I revel in the chaos, wanting more. Needing more. The craving for destruction and death is overwhelming, filling me with excitement. Wraths head releases itself from his body with a loud crack. It levitates in front of me. Those flaming eyes searing evil into my soul. Blood continues to pour endlessly from the severed neck on both sides and is sucked into the vacuum that's gripped the room. The lifeless, burning eyes stare deep into mine. As if they'd found something deep within my very soul.

"You know what you have to do" Wrath's voice, a whisper in my mind brings another wave of fury. Irking me further. Darkness answering darkness. "I know what you need. You know it too, you're just too locked into societies hypocrisy to feed yourself. Let go of that pesky morality. It serves you no good to hide from yourself. Be who you are. Let it out. Take me into your keeping and lets ravish this world together" I'm in a daze. There's no thought behind my glazed eyes. Only pure, unadulterated, darkness. I look down as my hands move toward Wraths body, moving on their own as if they're possessed. I plunge the knife deep into his chest and spread the cavity wide, revealing all manner of still writhing organs to the air. My knife hacks around the heart and I pluck it out as the rest of the organs come alive. Slithering around me and flying out of the body, still attached. Like party streamers in a hurricane.