Say Less

Because I said so. 

Man those words grated on me. I could feel the indignation churning in my chest, bubbling up into a scream. I held it in for the sake of those around me not privy to my internal turmoil. I ground my teeth together as I made my way across the grounds to where my car was parked, its dull yellow paint tempting me with a chance of brief solace. 

Because. I. Said. So. 

I bit the words off in my head as I slammed the drivers door behind me and dumped my bag onto the passenger seat. I heard those four words all too often and yet never had the chance to say them; hell even if I did I knew it wouldn’t end the conversation like it did for everyone else. 

This time it was my History professor; he finds it argumentative to ask a question he doesn't know the answer to. Actually I am fairly sure he finds questions in general argumentative, which I personally feel is counterintuitive to the ‘Professor of History’ part of his title. 

I hit the steering wheel, held on tight and squeezed until my knuckles turned white, then sighed in resignation and rested my head against my hands. I breathed a couple deep breaths and tried to calm myself, swaying between imagining the highly improbable scenario where I embarrass my Professor intellectually and telling myself that he wasn’t worth my time. Eventually time ran out and I was forced to exit the confines of my unfairly abused car and head to my practical arts class. I re-emerged frustrated but resigned to my lot in life and stalked across the grounds to the grey-crete and brick building intent on working my emotions into a work of art somehow. 

Mrs. Aberway barely brushed half-way up the door frame as she came into the studio, her short icy-blond hair stiffly spiked so that no breeze stood a chance in dishevelling it. She had glasses propped on the end of her nose and a delicate chain that would catch them should they dare fall from such a precarious perch. I had often suspected that they were entirely a fashion choice and not for improved vision. Her skirts swished dramatically as she turned to the class and gestured wide. “Charcoal, it is a tedious tool designed to challenge an artist's mastery of the balance between freedom and restraint. If you are too delicate, it will be underwhelming, put too much down and it will simply become a mess.” She continued her instructions on the day's project as she handed out charcoal and smudge-sticks. I stared at the blank paper for some time, thinking about my own inability to find balance in several elements of my life. It was a battle I had been losing in almost every category for a long while. 

My own personal demon.

Once the idea had breached my mind there was no destroying it. The charcoal cut across the paper gouging deep lines and harsh angles. I felt the frustrations of the day spilling out into pointed horns, needle-sharp teeth and deep-set eyes. Black dust coated the paper and I smudged curls of smoke into it before brushing away the excess. My hands were blackened, my edges imperfect but the image looked back at me with understanding. I smiled. 

After a short time of me staring at my paper a small ‘tsk’ sounded behind me. Startled by the sudden snap from my focus I whirled around to see that sharp, ice-blonde hair and far to daringly perched glasses. Looking past them I noticed the look of displeasure plastered on her face as she peered over my shoulder. “No eraser could handle that heinous amount of pigment.” Her words were twisted with the attempt to make her words sound humorous and fell short due to her blatant dislike my work. I looked at her, the disbelief evident on my face with my mouth ajar and eyes wide. Frowning, I snapped my mouth shut and exhaled through my nose. 

“Sometimes, expression demands a heavy hand.” I finally retorted, trying not to sound smug that I had formed a coherent sentence after being shut down so starkly. 

“Yes, well, you have gone beyond a heavy hand and fallen into…” She paused trying to find the right word, “disaster.” She finished flatly gesturing at my desk. 

“Well I think that your opinion is clouded by your own artistic tastes, that doesn’t mean that my drawing is wrong.” I could feel the anger stir in me again. 

She laughed; it was flat and tasted nothing like amusement. “Yes, I guess my PHD in Fine Arts has clouded my ability to assess works of… art.” She muttered wandering off to find someone else to terrorise. Her pause before the word ‘art’ was not lost on me and I felt that stir of anger morph into a quake. She hadn’t said the words but her dismissive attitude had the same flavour as any other kind. 

Grabbing the small nub of charcoal that remained I ground the words ‘May my anger give life to my demons’ in harsh lettering across the face I had sketched. I stared at the words as a torrent of feelings all related to this dark-eyed entity churned within me. I felt something shift inside me, I swore I heard a crack and a deep, wind-whipped growl of frustration. I stood up, violently shoving my chair back as I snatched up my bag and paper. Stalking to the front of the room I tore the parchment into pieces and dumped them in the trash. Mrs. Aberway’s cry of indignation died on her lips as I turned to her, hatred etched in my expression. I could feel the cruelty in my smile as it curled my lips up at the corners before I turned on my heel and left the room.

My long strides tore across the pavement; that dull-yellow paint filling my vision as I once again fought back the sounds trying to escape my chest. The slam of the door cut the rest of the sounds off, shielding me from the bubbling laughter and chorus of chatter that filled the area. I rubbed my hand aggressively over my face before sliding my fingers into my hair and balling them into fists, pulling on the strands until the tension against my scalp bordered on painful. I swore in a low guttural sound; unsatisfied I swore again but louder and with more conviction.  

“Wow, bad day?”  A crackling voice called from the passenger seat. I nearly ripped my hair out as I snapped my head around to face the sound. 

“Wha-” I choked on the shocked gasp that tore its way into me. I sat in the stunned silence that drifted between us. “How did you get in here?” I managed. The laugh that responded was thunderous in texture but muffled as if the clouds held back the booming.

“That is indeed an interesting question is it not, yet maybe not the most pressing.” Their voice was still crackling, as if charged with lightning that only caressed the stones it wished to strike. Their face was sharp, a layer of definition sitting atop a layer of lazy chaos. This shifting below the thin veil of skin, moving like smoke, and a colour of deep grey that was a whisper away from black. The horns somehow appeared more solid, starting from high on their brow and curving back over their hair as if wind-swept even in their stony form. Their teeth were visible behind the curious grin they wore, sharp points that seemed to fill the space. But their eyes, those are what held me in place, those are what had my heart beating with a heavy drumming and my hands tightly clenched. Their eyes were huge, devoid of white and seemingly fathomless in depth. They were truly black, so convincingly that I was certain I could see the light being pulled into them even as they blinked patiently at me. 

“Who-” I tried to form another question but they all just seemed so pointless. I was sitting in my faded yellow trash-box of a car, in the middle of school grounds staring open-mouthed at a literal demon in the passenger seat. Then the fear dawned on me, it appeared in my stomach with sickening clarity before racing its way up my throat. Their eyes widened slightly and they moved with unreasonable speed, catching the back of my head before it slammed into the window and covering my mouth with the other. They managed to catch the scream as it escaped, muting it to a panicked groan. Their hands were carefully placed and gentle, despite feeling like cold stone that could crush me with ease. They held me like that for a moment, staring at me to be sure the sound was over before slowly and pointedly easing first their fingers from my face and then they retracted their palms. 

“Shhhh.” They hissed, raising their eyebrows in an expression I couldn’t quite read. “People will think it’s weird if you start randomly screaming in your car.” The disposition of the words they spoke didn’t match the sound of them, gravel and sarcasm were not a common combination. A laugh leaked out between my lips then. It was short and bursting and hid none of the hysterics I felt. I saw them cringe, as if the laugh was no better than the scream they had quelled and I laughed again. This time the hysterics were hidden behind the disbelief and confusion. Tucked behind the amusement of the utterly ridiculous situation I found myself in where there was a demon sitting hunched in the passenger seat of my car looking entirely concerned that I was about to make a scene.  

“What the fuck is going on?” I managed to wheeze out after the broken spouts of laughter. They opened their mouth, as if about to answer, then clicked it shut as if they were not entirely sure how to. 

“You are literally a demon. In my car. At School. What the fuck?” Facts that didn’t really seem like things that should be said out loud with any genuinity were all I could vocalise. There was a beat of heavy silence as they clasped their hands together and rested their lips on their knuckles. The movement made me aware of the elongated nails that tipped each finger but before I could dwell on that they unclasped their hands and held them out towards me in an almost apologetic gesture. 

“Look, it is a bit hard to explain.” They eventually stated, looking genuinely lost for words. “But I am here to help you.” Their tone spoke volumes of their recognition of the disbelief their words would conjure. “You just have to trust me.” They said and I furrowed my brows at the comment.

“And why would I do that?” I retorted. Unsure if amusement or frustration would win the war inside the cloud of confusion that plagued me. 

“Because,” They paused, a glint of humour in their endless eyes, “I said so.” My eyes widened as the last syllable fell away and my breath caught in my chest.

“Wha-” My words dried to my lips in tangible disbelief. Their only response was a wink in slow deliberate form, the humour now written in the wide grin they wore. That grin was one I had sketched only an hour ago. A grin I now mimicked.

May my anger give life to my demons…

They leant forward, stopping when we were cheek to cheek and their lips were by my ear. “That is the last time someone will ever say those words to you.” They whispered and I knew that it was a promise. Because I said so.