It’s that time of year again. What do you call it? Spooky season? Heh. How simple. For me, the spookiness can’t be confined to one corner of the year, much less Halloween night. For some of us, the nightmare never ends. I wake up screaming because of how I had scary dreams before I woke up. Why? Because my soul is dark and broken, shattered into a trillion pieces by the horrors of the world. And those trillion pieces? Yeah. They’re sharp. Razor sharp.
“What’s gonna be your costume, Roar-Ee?” You buffoon. You don’t know what it’s like to wear a costume every day—to hide your true self behind a mask. Because if someone saw the nightmare that was really behind my eyes, they’d run away. Heh. Just like they all do.
Don’t try to understand me, ok? You’ll only embarrass yourself. Only broken spirits like mine can grasp what lies beneath my friendly facade. And us kindred souls can recognize each other from a mile away. Normies will never know what I’m really going through. Because my demons don’t carry pitchforks or wear little red horns, like your ridiculous outfits. Real demons? They’re invisible.
So next time you see me on the sidelines, just know that there’s so much more to me than you could ever even begin to imagine. And count yourself lucky for that. Heh. Happy Halloween.
