Demons

Okay, so first off, HOLY COW DUDE ARE YOU OKAY LIKE HOW DID YOU WRITE THIS IM ON THE VERGE OF TEARS. Ahem. And second off, I really liked the story overall. It's a mildly traumatizing story about Tristan, who's struggling to fight off his demons and the 'voices' inside his head. He's pretty clearly insane, but you didn't really TELL us he was insane, which is a sure sign of good writing. We knew he had something going on up there, but you showed us, and didn't tell us. Kudos to you for that.

And then the plot twist where Tristan almost kills his brother??? It had me questioning if any of this whole scenario was real or if he was just dreaming or something. I mean, it seems so unreal, and it really put the reader into the shoes of Tristan, who feels like he's crazy.

Again, I just had to emphasize that your descriptive language really really improved the story by a lot. You didn't tell, you showed, and that's what one of the most important things in writing is.

If this was a movie or something, I would totally watch it on repeat.

You're obviously a very very talented person, and I can't wait to read more of your work!!

Xoxo,
Fiona

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm Kate and I'm here to leave a quick review!!

First Impression

Well this was quite the intense little story here. When it said Demons I really wasn't expecting to be running into this particular style of demons, arguably the deadliest of all the kinds of demons.

Anyway let's get right to: Kate's Line by Line Reactions;

Tristan felt the sudden chill and smelled snow as soon as he had awoken. He had probably forgotten to close the window before he stumbled into bed last night, but at least the wind reminded him what season it was. Besides, he would always relish this feeling that he could grasp but once a day, on the cusp of coming fully awakened. The comfort of the mattress and the feeling of being half asleep was comforting. He heard his dog snoring just in front of his nightstand and smelled his mother baking bread upstairs. The smell of alcohol still lingered, though. Despite that fact, days like these were his favorite, when he was under the illusion that he could relax all day long. But of course, all good things must come to an end. Just as he started to prop himself up in bed, a frosty rush of air smacked Tristan in the face enough to wake him up completely. Coming fully to his senses, Tristan had no escape.

“Why even get up? What’s the point? You know you can’t leave this house. The world hates you. Why are you still struggling, Tristan…?”

“Shut up.” The scratchiness of his own voice shocked him. Tristan swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried in vain to take a healthy morning swig of one of the unbroken bottles of whiskey that sat on his bedside table. Empty. He reached for his “medication.” Void. Tristan mumbled a curse under his breath, making a mental note to restock before tomorrow.

“Silence us. Do it. We’ll stay if you don’t. It’s so easy, too, with all those shards of glass just sitting there…”

Oh, how he wanted to defy those voices. Oh, how he wanted to be what was called sane. But ten years does something to a man. Reaching under his pillow for the pocket knife, he hated himself. The blade was incredible at dicing intruders, yet it somehow always found use doing the exact opposite. Tristan decided to slice his thigh today, making the seventeenth scar there. He knew that he should feel ashamed, so he felt so angry for feeling so relived. The pain weakened the voices, at least.

He looked outside, seeing summer. Hadn’t it been winter just a second ago? It didn’t matter anyways. He looked at the clock showing what appeared to be twelve, but then again, Tristan never really could trust himself. He glanced down at his beloved cat, his sane way of escape, snoring just in front of his nightstand. Yet even she, awoken by the scent of blood, backed away. Even so, there was someone… something… he knew wouldn’t.

He knew in his head that The Figure wasn’t real, but his eyes betrayed him. It was standing in Its usual corner of the room, deep, white eyes contrasting with a pitch-black body just standing there. It didn’t judge, nor was It scared. Tristan knew he shouldn’t find comfort in It, but the cozy embrace… the lack of judgement… He found himself trudging slowly toward It.

Tristian slowed his gait, he shouldn’t find himself arriving in that corner, but still, he couldn’t stop. He still had some sanity left in him… right? He hadn’t completely gone mad… had he?

He wasn’t the brightest person, and all this thinking made Tristan tired. Vulnerable. But more importantly, it had wasted his time. The cut had stopped burning.

“We’re back! What did you expect? Us to leave for good? Come on. You’re smarter than that… surely, right?”

Tristan tried to reach for his knife again, but the shadows had started to appear. It was too late. They obscured his mind and vision, and somehow managed to push him around as well.

Now was the time to panic. Ten years had not strengthened his endurance. It was at times like this that Tristan really considered ending his life. Sure, the thought was a common visitor, but it seemed as if the shadows strengthened them. But of course, that was just selfish. It wouldn’t change anything. In fact, that would have only made it worse. At least living made his family happy, though quite frankly, he couldn’t see how.

It should have made it better when his brother came up the stairs with his freshly made brownies, but Tristan was too tired of fighting to feel anything at the moment. A sense of apathy washed over him like a wave — except that this one wouldn’t let him out. It iced over, sealing himself off from everyone else. A frozen lake that he was trapped under, waiting to slowly, painfully, drown…

“Tristan!”

There was a myriad of concepts Tristan could never wrap his mind around, and at the top of that list was Noah, his brother. Probably no one else did either. Noah was unique beyond comparison, in that he would run with broken legs, fly without wings, and crawl when he could do neither. Noah would carry someone up a mountain whilst giving them a surgery. Whether that be done by compassion or foolishness, he couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

“Tristan, what in the heavens are you doing down there!” Noah cried. Tristan hadn’t realized, but he was, in fact, sprawled out on the floor, with a perfect view of fallen cookies and a thin stream of blood coming from his forehead.

“Look at you. Helpless. You need your heroic big brother just to stay conscious. You’re weak. Pathetic. Cowa—”

“FOR CRYING OUT LOUD SHUT UP!” Tristan held his forehead tight. Some days, it felt as if it were going to explode… a single brain was only designed for one person after all.

“TRISTAN!” His brother shook him with strong hands. “Calm down, it’s me. Let’s get you to bed again. You can have some brownies too. Come on.”

Sometimes, Tristan thought that Noah was the mad one. It had been ten years, and Noah still tried to help. Tristan had warned him desperately before — he would never want Noah to become truly insane himself due to dealing with him all the time. It was a foolish thought, but Noah was foolish indeed.

“Kill him. You are the only one who knows how being insane really is. Why would you want your brother to go though it as well?”

The argument was logical. Worse yet, it was vaguely aligned with his own thoughts, and he did have the knife still sitting within reach…

No. No. No. No. Not Noah. He needed Noah.

“That’s just selfish now. Noah doesn’t deserve madness. Are you too inconsiderate to see that? Do you love him?”

No. Please. Don’t do it. Stop. No. No.

In spite of himself, Tristan reached for the switch blade. He needed but one quick movement in the right place. It wouldn’t hurt…

No. Please. Don’t do it. Stop. No. No.

And with one quick flick of his wrist, Tristan took the knife and —

It stopped. He could dive it in no further.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” Noah told him.

Somehow, Noah caught the knife mid journey. But why didn’t Noah look horrified? Terrified? Betrayed?

“We’ll make it through this, so you don’t worry none.”

Oh. Oh Noah. Oh precious Noah. Why was he so good to him? What had Tristan ever done to deserve this treatment? As Tristan, by some miracle from above, slipped back into slumber, he felt hope. Unreasonable hope. Foolish hope. Maybe he could become sane one day. Just… maybe…