The Awakening Part 1.
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 Drawing was always my favorite way to express what I heard. I sketched then finalized the images and scenarios on the paper then locked them away in the chest my mother gave me. Then every Thursday when Father Lucas came by he would bless our family then take away the chest for a couple hours go over the papers, then burn them.

 Diablo, or the voice in my head, always told me I shouldn’t let them take away my drawings. That I should keep them, and remember them. So that one day I could give them to him myself, as a gift. At the same time Mother always told me to keeping locking them away. Who should I listen to? My mother, whom I’ve met and has been there for me? Or Diablo, who is apart of my daily life and has control over me… I always ended up picking my mother.

 Then on the very next fateful Friday it happened. I had jolted up out of my bed, hearing what sounded like thousands of people screaming my name, clawing at my skin, digging their nails into me try not to drown in a ocean of fire. Then I realized those were my screams, my nails, and my blood. My nails raked my body as I screamed for them to stop, but my body didn’t listen. Blood gushing out of my nose, causing my night shirt to turn red and damp with blood. Then laughing, Diablo’s laughing. He got off on this. This torture and pain, and he didn’t care. My screams getting louder and the scratching more furious, causing them to bleed. Crash! In came in Father Lucas and my mother. She screamed and put her hands over her face crying. “Oh! Camilia! Stop!” She rushed to my side grabbing my hands and forcing them down to my sides as I squirmed around and as Father Lucas prayed to God to make this stop. In rushed in my mother’s maid with cool wash cloths and a bucket of water dabbing at my wounds and nose cleaning them, as I still thrashed around. Finally it stopped. Father Lucas had finished and the voice had disappeared.

 They had laid me in bed and tied my wrists and ankles to the bed, making sure if this happened again I couldn’t move. Father Lucas had left some burning incenses by my bed to calm me, and to make sure the voice stayed away for a while. My arms and legs were bandaged, my mind doped up on pills. I wanted to cry out for water, or anything, or at least anyone…

To Be Continued...

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