The Little Pink Box

And So,

I lived inside a Little Pink Box, with gray peeking through the rosy paint. My arms were sore; muscles convulsing from the countless days I spent trying to paint the gray over completely.

But, no matter how much pink I pressed upon the walls, gray bled through.

Inside this box played a melody that filled the room over and over again. The tune was old and muddy-

A quiet shrill that had creeped in from another place; and I was forced to listen to this music when I was asleep... and when I was awake.

Demons.

The day I started believing in demons.

It had changed me forever, because I can never forget the way that it looked at me.

Present day, every time I close my eyes I can see HIS EYES peering down so lovingly at me.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t erase the memory, and now I’ll be chasing after demons for the rest of my life.

A coral quilt laid on my body. It was too thin. I was too cold, and I hated the pattern of the fitted sheet under me. The Little Pink Box had a bed, and a foldable black table. The door was pure white, and the bureau slowly turned to a dirty ivory.

That bureau was empty. It sat there hauntingly; asking to be filled with my precious toys and other background noise, but I refused silently.

Years I was quietly sleeping there; my days repeating in an infinite cycle. I was trapped in a tiny universe, where time stood still for only me. I didn't leave the bed; only to use the bathroom and grab food.

But I always rushed to get back to the bed,

with the thin coral quilt and ugly fitted s

because the blue

Was even more cruel.

Useless. I was a waste of flesh rotting away in a rosy prison cell. I was losing myself, forgetting who I was. I couldn’t think straight;

I wanted to sleep forever but not die, y’know?

I wanted to float in darkness, where the melody played and my soul still stayed

within this universe.

My body was bad, and then it got worse. I was ugly and fat and my dreams were lost to the depression that consumed me. I was nothing if not a figure full of sorrow, and anger, and fear.

He could feel those sentiments.

He liked those sentiments.

The Little Pink Box

The First Arch.

There was a day when Mummy had been gone a long time. She was a behavioral therapist and worked long hours. I was lonely for some reason on this day, and I wanted her to come home early. To my surprise, she did.

I was tangled in my coral quilt, as usual, when I heard the front door swing open and shut.

“Leah, I’m home!”

I don’t usually ask to see her, but I had felt so alone.

“Mummy? Can you come upstairs?”

“I’m kind of busy right now” She said hesitantly.

“Please?”

“Why?” Her tone was stern and aggravated.

I paused for a moment, then a bit shakily I replied

“I missed you while you were at work.”

My mother started to scale the stairs with heavy steps. My heart pounded to the beat of her feet stamping into the hardwood. As she climbed nearer, my palms grew sweatier, and I couldn’t help but notice the eerie tension beginning to fill my room. She reached my room, and her shadow spilt in from under the door. She wrapped her hand delicately around that door. Mummy was quiet.

I was scared, but didn’t know why.

“Mummy? Come in!”

Silence, and then,

“I don’t want to.” She whispered.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Strange. That’s way too strange. I had a feeling that something wasn’t right.

I had a feeling that this person…

Was not my mother.

Her hand slipped away from the door.

“If you are my mother, then come in.”

Another whisper from her, “Alright. If you want me to.”

Fingers. They were pitch black against my door. His fingernails were like sharp bloodied knives, waiting to cut. Misty. Black mist was penetrating in. A smoke cloud of evil. What the fuck?

My door was slowly pushed open with a creak.

Sweat soaked the sheets, bleeding through them quickly. I was dizzy with anticipation, and my lungs felt as though they would collapse on themselves.

I took a slow- shaky breath.

And there he was.

He stood there at my doorway.

A shadow like being with no nose or ears.

Just an uncanny mouth with an uncanny smile, and white eyes that glowed in the dark. His height was just short of my ceiling and his hands were thrice the length of mine.

With white jagged teeth, like his glowing snow eyes, he opened his mouth to reveal a deep chasm. Shadows were dancing around and around in his mouth. Figures; colored black, purple, and blue. They were circling on his tongue and unloading themselves from his throat. Spilling out of him- onto my bed, drawing closer and closer to my head. On the ground, doing a waltz-

The shadows called my name whispering “I am yours.”

Who is he? What is this? I thought.

He was coming closer, and I couldn’t breathe. My room was filled with black mist. I couldn’t move!

What is happening to me?

He suddenly wrapped his long fingers around my neck, choking me, but gently. Mist, everywhere. Soon, all I could see were those snowy eyes and glimmering teeth, peering down hungrily from above.

Wake up! Please wake up! I begged my mind.

Small white particles, as white as feathers, were being pulled from my chest and out through my mouth. He was eating them. Sucking them out of me. The sensation, as memorable as it was, is still, till this day, hard to describe. It was like he was draining my energy. Taking something away from my core, something very important.

He was there to take my soul. To eat my existence. To have it be a part of him. It felt so real.

I closed my eyes.

But when I opened them, he wasn’t there. I looked at my calendar . I can move now. It was Sunday. My mom didn’t have work on Sundays. And as for me, I suppose it was just a dream.

A dream that made me believe in demons.