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Letting go of the demon's hand - day 2- A strange snapshot

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A strange snapshot

 He’s there, a boy squats in the shadows, alone, poised over an empty husk of skin. Ready to smack any hint of movement as that’s what he’d been told to do. He can't remember who told him but he feels it must be someone significant.

He’s remained in his post because like all good boys he does what he’s told and he always has. Even when he didn’t understand it, even before he was aware enough to question what he’d been told let alone the impact it has on him or had on him.

He remains dutifully at his post, unsure of how long he has been there. Not knowing how long he should remain there. The one he was guarding has gone, moved on to a different place leaving just an empty shell behind. A husk that he diligently guards.

The boy hasn’t noticed the change, dutifully prepared to smack, hit or stab any movement that his adversary may make. Any sense of  insurgency must be especially subdued. The shadows make it difficult to see, the loneliness has become familiar and he’s accepted his lot as all good boys do.

Time has no meaning as there is no change and each moment is to be endured just as the one before it was and the one after it should be.

If the boy knew or understood the concept. He would wonder if this was purgatory, but he doesn’t and he endures long after the one he was told to guard and if necessary punish has gone. A tableau in shadows.

The mundaneness has numbed his heightened senses causing a contraditction and forcing him to become a throbbing exposed nerve and then someone asks “what are you doing, why are you hurting yourself?”


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