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The Enemy

Today I dreamed that I was being raped by the Devil. It had the form of a muscular male with shiny red skin, and the scariest thing about him wasn’t the fact he was physically strong, or that he had pointy fangs like a vampire, or even the big sharp horns on his head. I was utterly terrified because he wanted to hurt me. His goal was to subdue me, lobotomize me through mental and sexual violence, nullify my own strength of will, control and dominate me. His most powerful weapon was his evil mind, and his knowledge of his victim.  He wanted to bring me to the point of collapse, a point where my body and soul would be so far gone that it would be completely at his disposal, and he knew how to do it most effectively. He made fun of me, pointed his finger at me , touched my writhing, disgusted body with his sharp claws, bringing about all my deepest traumas and making them look even worse than they already are, a proof of my brokenness, my weakness, my otherness.

He laughed and taunted me, clicking his beastly, forked tongue at my attempts of freeing myself, his ugly, scaly face distorted with lines arisen from an inhuman, humiliating laughter, and I knew there was no escape from this monster. He held me on his lap, like you would with a helpless child. His arms were cold and inflexible as an iron claw, but his grip didn’t bruise my skin – he held me in a sort of mockingly gentle complacence, but it didn’t make the situation any more bearable. On the contrary – it was a clear strategy that sought to overtake my agency, patronizing and demeaning every ounce of self-worth and all the little bits of strength I managed to build, at high costs and with much difficulty, over the years. He pushed forward, I scream and cried, and I screamed harder than ever as I felt his slimy, disgusting body forcing himself on me. I continued to scream and fight, but the pain became as cold as death, and fortunately or not, I woke up all with a scream, soaked in sweat.

Why not just “fortunately”? Is there a good reason why waking up from such a nightmare shouldn´t be the best outcome? The answer is that I wanted a chance to beat him. It is not enough to get away from evil – I need to overcome it, win over it at its own level, torture it the same way it tortured me. I wanted to scare him, make him feel less than the most worthless worm to ever squirm this ugly earth, make him scream and cry for mercy, make him suffer the same way he’d done to me. But I couldn’t do it, I tried but my unrest was so strong it woke me up – my own mind couldn’t process the anguish anymore, so the subconscious decided it was time to bring back awareness. Enough. Next time, I’ll prevail. Next time, he will be the one to quit, to back off and run, a scared little fuck creeping on the ground, shitting himself, his entrails made liquid, his tail between his legs.

Published by The Famous Warrior

one who dreams

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