Shadows of Id
This is my entry for Week 1 of August. Topic: Shadows of Self
The moonlight caresses her skin as she sleeps soundly, her brown curly hair strewn across her cheek, softening the hardened expression that years on the street wrought upon her lovely face. She was the first prostitute I have ever picked up in my entire life, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it. My arms cross against my chest as the memories of the last several hours replay in my head like some cheap porno. It was a general understanding that most prostitutes did not end up spending the night in the hotel when business was conducted, but I had convinced her to stay. It was simple really. She agreed to stay for more money.
I turn from her and walk into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.
Light stubble had started to peek, despite the fact that I’d shaved earlier in the day. My dark hair was always smoothed over with a pristine look, and the light gray spackling that sugared my side burns had given me a distinguished look from an early age. Growing up, my peers had always teased me for being the embodiment of the geek. Shirt tucked in, slacks that were pleated, and oversized glasses to hide my steely gray eyes. Not much has changed since then. My glasses had been thrown across the room during our heated passion, my animalistic side arising. I haven’t bothered to find them yet. They had always been more of a security blanket than anything. Leaning into the mirror, I run my hand over my disheveled hair, feeling as if I am looking at a stranger.
Please don’t do this. Not again. An amused smirk crosses my face as the shaky voice speaks up. The grey eyes seem to flash with a devious intuit of fascination.
You brought her to me. What did you think would happen? The same voice counters the silent plea, only fear is replaced by malicious taunting.
You told me we were done. You said no more. I watch my reflection carefully in the mirror, my expression a collage of fear, frustration, and determination. This had become an age old battle, but the strong always won out.
I said I was done cleaning up the mess. Now leave me to it, demon of annoyance.I move away from the mirror, tired of the argument. Opening a small black bag, I pull out my eleven inch Natchez Bowie knife, and the steel catches the light and flashes like a bolt of lightning. As I lift it to make sure there were no smudges, my eyes stare back at me from the blade, a pleading expression begging me to stop. Setting the blade down on the counter, I pull on dark blue gloves, feeling more prepared than ever. These arguments usually last longer. It surprises me, really, that it had all ended so quickly.
I stalk towards my prey as silently as a leopard on the prowl. She is still sleeping peacefully, dreaming of a better life no doubt. I watch her a few moments more before sitting on the edge of the bed. The smell of our endeavor plays on my nostrils, and I lift the knife to her porcelain skin and feather her neck with the blade.
Do it. The voice rings out heavily in my head, and I draw the knife back as my eyebrows furrow. Where did this sudden encouragement come from? I sit there a moment, my dark eyes staring at the woman before me.
You want me to get caught. You brought her to me on purpose. I spit out angrily as I stand up from the bed, the sound of her moaning catching my ear. The realization came stumbling through my mind that I had left traces of myself all over her. Turning my back on her, I walk back into the bathroom, feeling irate and disappointed as I put my tool back in its sacred place. I take off the gloves and throw them in the trash can, one of them landing on the rim. In a matter of minutes, I have all my belongings packed together. I toss a couple of bills on the edge of the bed and slip out into the night. It seems darker than usual, the moon hiding behind dark clouds. Shivering slightly, I get inside my car and drive towards home in silence.
Sliding through the door quietly, I make my way up to the bedroom I share with my wife. She is sleeping soundly as I thought she would be. I take off my shoes and socks before walking into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water beats against my tight muscles, causing me to wince in pain. Growling, I drop to my knees against the marble floor of the shower, my chest heaving as if I had just run a marathon. Before I can stop it, my body begins to shudder and silent sobs fall to the floor with the water, washing down the drain as quickly as they came. I can’t tell you how long I stayed there crying, or how many nights I had done just this.
I did eventually pick myself up and get out of the shower. Wrapping the towel around my midsection, I wipe down the mirror. Picking up my red comb, I part my hair and comb it to the side as I always do before slipping my dark rimmed glasses back up my nose. I exhale slowly as calmness settles over me.
I’m not finished. Pull another stunt like that, and I’ll take it from where it hurts.The same menacing voice from before now sounds like it’s miles away. I look past my reflection as my wife rolls over in her sleep, and feel a pang in my stomach. Laughter rolls in from all sides, like water spilling over the edges of a ship, pulling it down to depths it will never return from. He’s pulling me down, and I know that it would only be a matter of time before I slip into that abyss.
I turn out the light, the darkness filling in and hiding my face. Sliding into bed, shadows jump around the room and make eerie caricatures on the wall. It always amazes me how the darkness can contort the simplest of things into objects of fear and danger. It has grown harder to fight him, this id that lives inside of me. He is a shadow to me, but everyday he grows stronger, and soon…well, soon I’ll be a shadow to him.
The moonlight caresses her skin as she sleeps soundly, her brown curly hair strewn across her cheek, softening the hardened expression that years on the street wrought upon her lovely face. She was the first prostitute I have ever picked up in my entire life, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it. My arms cross against my chest as the memories of the last several hours replay in my head like some cheap porno. It was a general understanding that most prostitutes did not end up spending the night in the hotel when business was conducted, but I had convinced her to stay. It was simple really. She agreed to stay for more money.
I turn from her and walk into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.
Light stubble had started to peek, despite the fact that I’d shaved earlier in the day. My dark hair was always smoothed over with a pristine look, and the light gray spackling that sugared my side burns had given me a distinguished look from an early age. Growing up, my peers had always teased me for being the embodiment of the geek. Shirt tucked in, slacks that were pleated, and oversized glasses to hide my steely gray eyes. Not much has changed since then. My glasses had been thrown across the room during our heated passion, my animalistic side arising. I haven’t bothered to find them yet. They had always been more of a security blanket than anything. Leaning into the mirror, I run my hand over my disheveled hair, feeling as if I am looking at a stranger.
Please don’t do this. Not again. An amused smirk crosses my face as the shaky voice speaks up. The grey eyes seem to flash with a devious intuit of fascination.
You brought her to me. What did you think would happen? The same voice counters the silent plea, only fear is replaced by malicious taunting.
You told me we were done. You said no more. I watch my reflection carefully in the mirror, my expression a collage of fear, frustration, and determination. This had become an age old battle, but the strong always won out.
I said I was done cleaning up the mess. Now leave me to it, demon of annoyance.I move away from the mirror, tired of the argument. Opening a small black bag, I pull out my eleven inch Natchez Bowie knife, and the steel catches the light and flashes like a bolt of lightning. As I lift it to make sure there were no smudges, my eyes stare back at me from the blade, a pleading expression begging me to stop. Setting the blade down on the counter, I pull on dark blue gloves, feeling more prepared than ever. These arguments usually last longer. It surprises me, really, that it had all ended so quickly.
I stalk towards my prey as silently as a leopard on the prowl. She is still sleeping peacefully, dreaming of a better life no doubt. I watch her a few moments more before sitting on the edge of the bed. The smell of our endeavor plays on my nostrils, and I lift the knife to her porcelain skin and feather her neck with the blade.
Do it. The voice rings out heavily in my head, and I draw the knife back as my eyebrows furrow. Where did this sudden encouragement come from? I sit there a moment, my dark eyes staring at the woman before me.
You want me to get caught. You brought her to me on purpose. I spit out angrily as I stand up from the bed, the sound of her moaning catching my ear. The realization came stumbling through my mind that I had left traces of myself all over her. Turning my back on her, I walk back into the bathroom, feeling irate and disappointed as I put my tool back in its sacred place. I take off the gloves and throw them in the trash can, one of them landing on the rim. In a matter of minutes, I have all my belongings packed together. I toss a couple of bills on the edge of the bed and slip out into the night. It seems darker than usual, the moon hiding behind dark clouds. Shivering slightly, I get inside my car and drive towards home in silence.
Sliding through the door quietly, I make my way up to the bedroom I share with my wife. She is sleeping soundly as I thought she would be. I take off my shoes and socks before walking into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water beats against my tight muscles, causing me to wince in pain. Growling, I drop to my knees against the marble floor of the shower, my chest heaving as if I had just run a marathon. Before I can stop it, my body begins to shudder and silent sobs fall to the floor with the water, washing down the drain as quickly as they came. I can’t tell you how long I stayed there crying, or how many nights I had done just this.
I did eventually pick myself up and get out of the shower. Wrapping the towel around my midsection, I wipe down the mirror. Picking up my red comb, I part my hair and comb it to the side as I always do before slipping my dark rimmed glasses back up my nose. I exhale slowly as calmness settles over me.
I’m not finished. Pull another stunt like that, and I’ll take it from where it hurts.The same menacing voice from before now sounds like it’s miles away. I look past my reflection as my wife rolls over in her sleep, and feel a pang in my stomach. Laughter rolls in from all sides, like water spilling over the edges of a ship, pulling it down to depths it will never return from. He’s pulling me down, and I know that it would only be a matter of time before I slip into that abyss.
I turn out the light, the darkness filling in and hiding my face. Sliding into bed, shadows jump around the room and make eerie caricatures on the wall. It always amazes me how the darkness can contort the simplest of things into objects of fear and danger. It has grown harder to fight him, this id that lives inside of me. He is a shadow to me, but everyday he grows stronger, and soon…well, soon I’ll be a shadow to him.