by Bud Uzoras (February 3, 1996 - Age 21)
I sat there, glaring across the table at myself. I had put this off far too long. I watched myself glance up at me. A tight smile played across the face before me. The eyes I saw returning my glare roused me in the same way as a cold clear February night. A familiar yet alien chill crept through my body. This person haunting me was no one other than myself. But he was not entirely me, but a shadow of that which I may very well become.
This shadow was cold. He was no longer cold like a clear night in February, for the wind may still blow with signs of energy and life. The cold which emanated from the shadow was the converse of love, life and goodness. This manner damages with the frostbite of apathy.
He was the assassin. His relaxed demeanor intimated that he was comfortable, even eager to end my life, knowing that I would get blamed for the murder.
Murder? I then realized the magnitude of the situation. One question permeated my thinking: is my life worth the trouble of living it? Should I submit to my dismal parallel? Do I dare bow to the wishes of this demon - my doppleganger - myself? The dusky room which hosted this confrontation disappeared around me. A cloudy midnight sky remained. The darkness embraced me like a well-worn cloak. The shadow was gone. The demon had returned to the comfortable shelter of my soul.
The complete blackness of night was soon splintered. Bright, beautiful light poured through the gates which now stood before me. The light beckoned me to draw near. I stepped hesitantly. The illumination fascinated me. My every thought was captured, and all I desired was to be in the light. I saw no trouble in living if it meant living in that light.
Again I saw myself, but what I saw at that moment was no shadow. I saw myself in the light. A countenance of absolute pleasure bombarded my vision. The angel of light approached me, draped in garments of radiance. I then realized that this was still my confrontation. This angel was still the demon who meant to destroy me. The light was nothing more than the glow from the lake of fire which coursed just beyond the gates of hell.
Here, in front of hell's gates, I would make my stand. I shook my fist at the demon and declared my life as my own. "This is my life! This is my pain! You will take neither away from me!"
As I turned to leave, my demon spoke. "We shall meet again." I glanced back over my shoulder. A tight smile played across my face. "Come," I said, "and sharpen the edge of my sword." I departed, following a trail toward the unknown.
— Dead-Logic
A Confrontation
A Confrontation
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