The Whispering Silence
The demon always came for him in the silences, those moments in-between thought. Night. Day. It made no difference. It was always there whispering offers of temptation - the world was his, theirs, for the taking. A simple yes would be all it took.
Even his dreams provided no solace, only visions of fire and flame. The world turned to ash at his touch. A multitude of voices howled from the flames, demanding to be allowed in. The only voice of dissent his own as he screamed, “No, no, NO!” until he woke in tears, gasping for breath. Night after night, it was always the same.
The whispers grew louder, more insistent and angry by the day. How much longer could his resolve manage to bar the way?
He stumbled upon the kitten in an alley as he wandered the streets in search of noise, people - anything to keep the whispers at bay. It was a pitiful mewling thing covered in dirt; clinging to life by a thread. It shivered in his hands, nuzzling at a finger that could provide no sustenance.
The demon stirred. Drawn by the life he held in his hands. How little it would take to snuff it out. A mere thought. It would be so easy to let go. To give in.
Unbidden a spark flickered between his fingers. The corners of his mouth curled up into a smile. Such a simple answer.
A spark, a flame. An inferno.
Agony. Ecstasy. Freedom...
If the writing didn't send you screaming for the hills, I'll introduce you to Scraps tomorrow...