Sin of the Saints (Between Delusion and Sobriety Duet #2)

Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

The Final Chapter

Bellcolor

“I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose death 1 .”

I don’t know how good I’ll be at this, I’ve confessed in the past that I’m bad at endings, and I still stand behind that. But I’ll try anyway, because if life has taught me a thing or two it’s that they’re unpredictable, and you never know when your last day on earth will be. A person can get up in the morning, head out on a routine day and die for some completely random reason, no matter how many kind or evil acts are attributed to them. And I, who’ve tried to leave my life many times, have failed, and remain. I try to find logic in why that happened to me of all people. Maybe I can find it in this chapter.

Though I began my story with my failed attempt to die, my story actually began the day I realized the demon living under my bed, that people my age were afraid of, actually lived within me, and that the conversations I had with him weren’t just one-sided. When he’d address me, I had no choice but to answer him, or he’d stamp his feet so hard my entire being would shake.

It was all a matter of balance, as always, and I eventually discovered that balance is the one thing I never had. I innocently believed that if I gave him the offerings he demanded, he’d leave me be until the next time he decided to circle me, driven wild by the momentary power he’d achieved over me. I realized it was a necessary sacrifice to grant me a moment’s peace in exchange.

He demanded blood, and I had to shed blood for him until I became his captive. His ceaseless humming only let me be when the blade sliced my flesh, revealing the filth roiling within me, far beyond the fat tissue I had to split in order to reach it. Some might say it’s sick, and they’re right. That’s exactly what I am, a sick and fucked-up abomination.

I don’t remember the exact day I gave the demon his name – Libretto. One day he became my anchor in a world absent of logic. He was my imaginary freedom in my tangible prison.

Children would stare at me because I was different. My father had built up an image in his mind of a girl who couldn’t be further from who I was. Every authority figure in my life tried to fix me so I’d walk the path that had never been mine.

The only one who knew me was Libretto, and when he lived in me I had to live a double life. The one who smiled and tried to please the world, and the one digging deep under the blanket and flirting with the only one who killed and resurrected her at once. I saw him as a curse disguised as a blessing.

In time I learned to conceal Libretto well. Maybe it was his envy that I kept myself just for him, maybe it was the fear of his exposure. I only know that as I did so, I was losing myself; Over time our relationship changed and he dared take more than he gave me, and I almost ran out of strength to give.

The more I was swallowed into the people around me, I quickly realized I wasn’t special. I learned that people are real experts at creating illusions. A demon lives in every person, dictating the course of their life. This private demon inserts doubt, evokes fear, plants traps on their host’s way to happiness, provides the concrete for building the walls every person raises around themselves. It’s what makes us all fucking hypocrites. The clear distinction between angels and demons began to blur as they all became potential enemies to me.

My downfall occurred when I learned my mother had taken her own life because of me. From the ashes a sense of guilt was born that ended up consuming me and empowering Libretto, until he went out of control. I knew I needed to put a stop to him. And because he existed within me and had become part of me, the only solution I could think of was to end myself.

The frustration at failing the task I’d given myself ignited anger in me, stoked further by not knowing where to direct it besides myself. I was angry at myself and everyone. I searched for someone to blame, believing someone had to answer for it.

And then I found God, or more accurately, the idea of divinity. I envied Him and His ability to erase and create whatever He pleased. And when Dr. Abano forced me to write, I realize the gift of creation isn’t just His. I discovered that Creation was within the power of my imagination.

And yet nothing comes for free, and the power of creation also contains within it the power of destruction. I gave Libretto life beyond me. He became an entity of his own, giving birth to demons more damned than I imagined I could bring into the world. He committed the sin of delusions of grandeur, just like me. I created a plot that ultimately took me over. Who dictated the rhythm of events? Was it I who wrote it, or it that motivated me to act? The more drawn in I was, the harder it was to differentiate between delusion and sobriety.

The only one who refused to understand that was God. He existed in my delusions, but never in my moments of sobriety. Were all his believers madmen holding onto something that didn’t exist, or was I just insignificant to Him and unworthy of the most meager moment of grace from Him?

He challenged me and I decided to challenge the balance He’d created.

In the beginning God created Good, but Good could not exist without Evil. Then He created Love, but Love could not exist without Hatred. When He created Good Deeds, Sins were born along with them. When the angels ascended heavenward, demons simultaneously plummeted to Hell. When He gave me life, I chose to steal them, make them mine the only way I knew how.

In writing the story of my life I realize that I’ll forever exist in the words I’ve chosen to leave behind. Writing has granted both me and my demons immortality. I’ll be resurrected at the start of every reading and die at every end. And so too will Libretto. But now the tables are turned and I’ve sentenced him to a similar fate: thousands of deaths in the eternal lake of the accursed, burning with him in the agonies we’ve fairly earned.

And you, will you love the character I created, or condemn me to eternal hate as well?

Can you discern my truth, or did I bury it too deeply in the lie?

Farewell.