Giving In

They keep coming back, the demons in black. Their faces are disfigured, their hands are claws. They keep coming back. How can I make them stay away, how can I satisfy their hunger? Each time, I give them something, something precious to me, some bit of me that I shall have to learn to live without. Soon, I shall have nothing left to give, and then they shall take away the thing they want, the thing they keep coming back for. It's inevitable.

Each time they come, I struggle with the despair. Each time, I am tempted to end it, to give them what they seek. Each time, the part of me that is still alive, that can still remember the swaying trees of childhood and the scent of the sea wind, wins somehow. I don't know how long it can hold out. And it's pointless - a last battle in a war that has already been lost.

If I end it this time, I can escape the struggle. I can escape the despair, the gloom, the ennui of existence. Let me do it, God. Let my stubbornness seep away and let me give in. Let me give in.