Facing Demons.

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Perfection. One of those unachievable attributes he continuously sought after. Never, however, did he think he could find the peace of perfection here. The blindingly, bleak walls taunted his mistakes, yet the silent jeering was exactly what he wanted, needed. The strong stench of regret filled his nostrils, reminding him, that, he was still participating in whatever world he had existed in before this catastrophe struck. How had he allowed himself to reach this point again? Hadn't he been the one to swear he would never see this re-enactment? He succumbed to yet another wave of depression. Its force racked his body, his eyes filling with salty sadness, spilling over and streaking down his seemingly strong face. The weight of each tear drop weathering the bone, it's presence emasculating itself with every glide of moisture.

He lived a fairly normal lifestyle, his hardships were average and he knew he was lucky for many of the opportunities he had been given. His days passed as normal, yet whenever he was given even a few moments alone, his mind would torture him with daily nightmares. One he had seen many times before and tried so hard not to see again. Flashbacks of that day.

Her eyes filled with fear, her voice sounded so high pitched and terrified. He gripped her thin arm with his gruff hands, tossing her from his path. He could hear his own hysterical voice, raise. It's force tearing through her tired body, destroying her slowly. She deserved it. He had lost all control over his actions and he didn't care. How could she have caused him so much pain? He could feel his blood boil, its volatile strength ripping him apart. Every blow that fell upon her body was a plea for her to stop him, to calm him down. He needed for her to surround him, pull him close and cool him down, instead of causing him to be this enraged animal. He needed help and he knew it, she didn't deserve this.

He shook himself from the thoughts yet again. His stomach knotted as he reassured himself that he wouldn't be that person again. He was better than that. The person he was, is dead, it's corpse buried and soul living only in memories.

The day he had dreaded for so long was upon him. His avoidance was futile and he had been defeated by his own Jekyll and Hyde personality. He could hold nothing, say nothing and think nothing. His anger had struck him down once again, winding him. The strength of his own emotions pushing him to his knees against his will, his muscles tensed and a familiar, red, hot, hatred shot through his veins and washed over him. His limbs thrashed around violently, his victim being left bruised and mentally tortured. Raw, scarlet rage. He held himself rigidly, his chest pushing outwards. The pain in his back was so intense that he was stopped in his tracks momentarily. It was a self inflicted injury, one that would heal, but scar him still. Every grip he thought he possessed on his own actions was slipping firmly from his fingertips with every passing second, every swear word and every gnawing of his teeth. As he pushed against this virtual stranger, their personality strangled him further. He launched his closed fists so forcefully, it would be fair to assume he was enjoying it, instead of it being every aspect of life, which he feared, combined.

As he sat once again in his perpetual cell, nothing but his thoughts and regrets to pass the time, he felt compelled to scrutinise his every action. He felt physically sick at the thoughts of his behaviour. He had fought so hard to suppress that side of him, so much so, that it was exhausting just to think of it. He was defeated. Every tear that escaped him was so personal and so heartfelt that it pained him. Physical shocks of pain shot through his chest at the thought of the disappointment in his mother's eyes. He feared her disappointment more than anything else. He deserved all punishments, he knew this, but that, was unbearable. For every second he looked into her eyes, it was another second he lived in the realisation that he had broken his promise. He had thrown the effort back at her and allowed himself to be overpowered by that unwelcome darkness.

Every faith he held within himself was gone. He had lost all control and had reached the inevitable low point. He had hurt yet another person in anger, and had lost himself. The same self he had worked so hard for. The person he despised right now was himself. The same self he had sworn was gone. Gripping the back of his neck, he pulled his head to his bloodied chest and sobbed. He mourned the loss of who he wanted to be. He mourned for the days when there was so much hope and pride held in him. Those days when smiles weren't unfamiliar, and happiness wasn't a foreign quest.

Someone, Somewhere was reaching their supposed perfection. They were opening their eyes to something they had strived for and were satisfied in their situation. Their smile beamed sincerely and they were able to hold their heads high. He, on the other hand, had hit his low point. Again. He drowned in shame, and choked on the disappointment. His emotion was apparent with the curve of his spine and hanging of his head.

Never again. He promised himself, never again.