The devil.

Things weren't that bad at first.
Every night the devil would come and sing me a lullaby.
Every night I would stare into his eyes and see how his mouth moved when he said "I love you"
I'd always hold my breath whenever I felt him near me.
To the point of almost physically feel rage flowing through my veins at the thought of his existance.
But, once again, things weren't that bad just yet.

Much later the devil started to like screaming.
Screaming and hitting.
Screaming and hitting and making others cry.
Screaming against a pillow until my voice hoarse to let it all out.
That was my way to let anger go.
Always asking him to stop. But he did not.
But, once again, things weren't that bad just yet.

By the time I was six, the devil had a break down.
I remember getting into the car and rushing down to hospital.
I was just looking around, not really sure of what was going on.
It was not a regular hospital, where you see sick people.
Sick people looks alive.
In this hospital, patients didn't have a soul.
Empty eyes. Silent halls. White uniforms. Phone rings.
But, once again, things weren't that bad just yet.

The devil took a vacation.
A few weeks later he came back.
He had a sparkle in his eyes. But some cuts on his wrists.
I asked him how he got them, but he didn't really tell me.
He seemed happy.
I once heard him say that he had found reasons to live again.
I guess that's a good thing, isn't it?
But, once again, things weren't that bad just yet.

The day I turned ten the devil was mad at me for some reason.
He forgot my birthday and, that night he came home and screamed at me and tried to hit me.
But something stopped him.
He fell to the floor and started crying.
I don't want people to cry.
I don't want people to cry on my birthday.
But things weren't that bad just yet.

By the time I was thirteen, the devil and I didn't really talked anymore.
He was too busy with work.
I was too busy doing nothing.
I used to think I loved the devil,
but one day realised you don't love your family because they are your family,
but because they have earned you affection.
He used to shout at me, asking me for respect.
But I don't respect liars. Even less whe you lie to my face.
But once again, things weren't that bad just yet.

By the time I was fifteen, the devil and I, well… We would fight a lot.

He would shout and scream and say things that didn’t really make sense to me.

Until that night, when I was reading Fitzgerald, he came into my room

I’m leaving because I love myself enough not to try to love you.

Well, you know what, devil? I never forgot that night, or that book.

Or your hurtful words,

Or what you did to me and the rest of us,

But one day, I decided to kill the devil.

He was sleeping, I came close, and whispered in his ear

I love you, mom

He died instantly.