The Demon's Mutter by Justin Thomas Squires

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SUMMARY: This is a deminted story I thought of one day.

The Demon's Mutter
By: Justin Thomas Squires
Rocking back and fourth in his rocker, blindly mumbling to himself. "Damn them all." he would say in frustration. "Come now old man, don't be so frail." said the shadowed corner. "Stop talking to me demon! Why can't you all just leave me alone?" the old man cried as his voice cracked.
The old man was late in his fifties. His hair grayed from consumption of stress. His weight exceeding 270, but was ever so lessening through out the days . He was clearly frustrated and agitated. Something was not quite right in this scenario of dementia.
The old man was tormented like clock work, by demons. Cutting down his every breath, and also his confidence. These demons would tell him everything he did not want to hear. They would taunt him with views of vast meals, riches, and goods. Giving him everything that was not real, and taking it away before he could find out it was fake in the first place.
These demons were little black things, that only came up to the chest length of any normal grown man. They seemed to glide through the air, as if their tiny bodies were weightless in our world. They walked when they felt the need, and they could slither like a snake through the air at will.
The old man nervously rocked in his chair in front of his fire which seemed ever so warm and welcoming. In the dark shadow was a disturbance, a skittering of what sounded like a million mice. But it was no kind of mice making this noise. The darkness then gave birth to the demons. They automatically would skitter across the wooden floors and join the old man behind his rocker. They each whispered in his ear a word of negativity that would make a baby cry to his mother, and a boy urinate in his britches. "Worthless. Pathetic. Old. Ugly." They hissed in his ear. The man would then bring his fingers into the holes of his very ears and say "I'm not listening anymore damn you!"
As the old man would wander his house, the demons would glide behind him, stalking him in the shadows. They would torment him every step of the way. "Your a fat and hopeless bastard." a demon told the man. "He's right, you are." agreed another demon. The man would twitch and sweat to these cruel words. Trying so impatiently to ignore their wretched remarks, he would whistle softly and uneasily. Then he would shake his head, praying he could shake away the madness. "Were they really there?" he would tend to ask himself. The demons would answer for him, "Of course we are." they would laugh in snarls.
Sometimes the old man would enjoy being in his back yard, to garden and such. He highly enjoyed the out doors. The surrounding view and smells of plants and flowers. Sometimes out in his yard he would completely forget of his insanity. He would simply smile to him self as he plated a bush. He smiled very happily, for he was enjoying himself for once. That was until the demons began taunting him once again. "It will just die old man. Everything does. Even you, fat ass." they spoke these words like razor blades, cutting his pride to a million pieces.
What was his life? What was his purpose.

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