Gasp

[kryptonitemonkey]

He can sense them - he has been able to for a while now. He doesn't know how long it's been, months maybe, years even. Like shadows playing at the edge of existence, mocking his efforts at peace. A shiver creeps up his body in the dark night as he feels them once more. It's as if they sense his loneliness and despair, feeding and strengthening it and themselves. They flow through him like water and death, taking hope and his precious dreams of happiness. They rage when those few sparks, those few moments, of peace are upon him, and the hate it worse than death, for every one they turn will share the same fate as them. They mold his mind with their cruel intentions and worse thoughts. They tug and they prod; they pull and they push, until he can take no more and cries out in despair and waits for something, anything, to happen. Where, in these moments of tears and overwhelming abominations, is his spark? Where is the peace that eats at their greedy claws and burns them as if death? He begs to the heavens for one light to cleave through the things that creep from the edges of sight and belief, and waits for an answer to his cry.