Reawken the soul with the Midnight Sun.

Greetings and welcome. This is just a short piece of fiction I wrote. The theme is...well I'm not quite sure. It's all about self discovery and inner demons. The theme challenges will begin again shortly, our short hiatus was unexpected but we are back into the swing of things now. Expect new things from me at least every second week from now own. So please sit back and enjoy The Midnight Sun.

-----------
Midnight Sun
By William Evans
-----------


I sit in the empty, devoid room staring at the pale green walls. They give off an aura of disgust, their presence a sin against nature and god. I hate them. I hold the instrument of pain in my hands, the weight and feel of it giving me pleasure. The balance of it, the feel of the grip and I run my fingers along it, everything about it makes me smile my wicked smile. The sense of untouchableness that flows through me is unmistakeable. I feel like a god, I feel like I am invincible. I could crush the things that bring me such hatred, the pale green walls in this room, I could even end her. The glint of the steel edge catches in the low light, the edge is deadly. I feel so untouchable.

I stand from where I sit, my legs popping from the extended disuse. I hold the instrument in my hand, my grip loose, letting it hang by my side. Then I swing, attacking the shadows, the invisibles, myself. My mind is lost to imagination as I bring physical form to my hatred, my disgust, my loathing. I move about the room attacking what is not there, what I see in my mind. Twisting shapes of featureless design. Then as I turn to the wall I lunge and stab. The pale green walls my true target, the thud of the blade stabbing into the wood echoes through the room. I stab and stab and stab again, my rage consuming me, filling me up inside until I can hold it no more. I back away, knife once again hanging at my side. Nothing has changed. The wall still stands still pale green. Nothing has changed. I turn from the wall as I drop the knife to the carpet below, vile building on my tongue as I move towards the window.

The window, my one escape, my view to the outside. The world of the midnight sun. A place where the world is covered in snow, its flaky white substance protecting and preserving the land, protecting it from itself. I gaze out to see a barren field, a single tree, leaves gone long ago, trunk shriveled and dying. The midnight sun above shining down on me, calling me. I yearn to be with it again.

My hand presses against the cold glass, it feels so nice. The moisture, the heat escaping from my palm. My breath clouds the window; it prevents me from seeing my beautiful midnight sun. I react badly. My hand lashes back and then forward, the fist forming mid swing. Shattering glass flies everywhere, cold freezing wind filling the room. I feel so alive in that moment.

The midnight sun shines on me in happiness, its warmth flowing over me. The cold freezing wind fighting the sun’s warmth, shifting me between a constant cold and warm feeling, making me numb. My hand hangs limply at my side, blood flowing freely, glass littered through the flesh. I feel no pain, just disgust. I turn back to the room, to the walls. The walls, they laugh at me, I can feel it, their silent laughter lulling me into insanity. These walls, these pale green walls, I hate them so.

My head swoons from the blood loss, I stumble towards the wall opposite of me, its silent laughter drawing me towards it. My rage boils over once again, it takes me, overwhelms me. I scream and curse at it, all sense of place or time or direction is gone. I step out of the anger briefly, forgetting what I was doing, stepping back to look around me. The wall is covered in blood, no longer the rancid pale green that I despise so. Then, suddenly, inspiration. I reach down to the carpet and retrieve the knife. A devilish grin sprouting on my face, a grin of someone who had finally solved all of their problems, this madness will end soon. I place the knife to my wrist, the place slides into flesh with ease, the pain is severe. Then, the freedom of release comes. Blood pours from the wound, uninhibited. I threaten to lose myself in the blood loss. I stumbled back towards the wall and begin to paint the wall red, covering the green for all time.

The blood flows and I paint away the horror that once was, I feel at peace for once. I fall slumped to the ground, unable to stand for anymore. The other walls glare at me for what I have done. My laughter fills the room for their sorrow at the loss of their brother, a dark melody that echoes long after it has escaped my lungs. The others must suffer. I slowly stand, my legs weak and my arms all by useless. Taking the knife into my glass covered appendage I grip it tight and lift it high to the ceiling. The knife dangles in my grip as my strength quickly drains from me. Then before I drop the instrument of pain I thrust it down into myself with all of my might. I feel it puncture me; I take the metal blade into me and feel its steeling kiss. I drag it down my body, my skin and muscle ripping apart in its wake. My body cut apart like a filet, organs exposed for all to see. Then with the last of my failing life I push off the wall and stumble to the other walls, smearing my blood, my organs, and my life across them, covering the putrid greed color forever. Then I fall to the floor, my final deed done. The last images I see are of the midnight sun through the window shining down on me, calling me back to it. Then blackness surrounds me and I see nothing, I feel nothing, I am nothing, complete and utter darkness. How I love it.