Conquer of Addiction: Jekyll and Hyde

Author's Note: When reading the final chapter of Jekyll and Hyde the idea of addiction was constantly flooding my mind. And it is not limited to Jekyll's addiction to the potion but any addiction that is placed in our lives today. There's something about them that are so attracting yet so destructive which is portrayed through Jekyll/Hyde's life. Then I was thinking that the author of this short story must of had some sort of an addiction to show such strong emotion in their writing, but used the potion to portray it. So I wrote about an "addiction" I have but through the addiction of alcohol to mimic the author's technique.

I also used a parallel sentence structure with the line: "I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil; and the thought in that moment, braced and delighted me like wine."

Conquer of Addiction 

The stranger staring back at me in the glass gazes with drooping eyes. This beverage I so faithfully consume has altered me inside and out. But still I cling to the one thing that takes away the pain, takes me away from reality, takes me away from the judgment and the label that this world has so generously stamped right on my forehead. Alcoholic. That's all I am and all I'll ever be.

I'll never forget the day I was first enslaved to this addiction. Which is almost cruel because after a long night of nearly bathing myself in wine, I forget everything about life; everything but the memory of how this all began. It's as if the enemy is messing with my head, sucking out the few warm memories I've experienced and leaving me to reminisce on the amply memories involving alcohol. I can picture him laughing at me with a demented smirk. Taking pleasure in dangling my biggest weaknesses right under my nose and watching me trip over myself time after time trying to reach it. And the worst part is, even when I do reach it, it won't get better. If anything, things will get worse.

Infact, reaching that desire only makes that night haunt me even more. I was so innocent, so untouched by evil. All up until that sweet gulp of wine found its way down my throat, leaving behind a burning sensation that got me hooked in the matter of seconds. I knew my new self after the first breath of this new life, to be more free, plentifully more free, unchained to my original life of despair; and the idea, in that moment delighted me like the drink I am, to this day, enslaved to. How could something so destructive, so demolishing, something that decays at the human soul at the same time be so lustfully pleasurable? How I wish I could tell you the answer but if I could, I don't think this disease would have the upper hand.

How long will my enemy conquer over me?
When will my slavery to this life of despair come to an end?
To this day, I have no purpose. No chance. No hope.
All I can do is pray; pray that God will spare me from the enemy whose games will haunt my life forever.

The Evil Inside: Jekyll and Hyde

Author's Note: During the most recent reading of Jekyll and Hyde the underlying theme that evil is inside of all of us really stood out to me. So I decided to write a poem to portray this; however, I thought a poem wasn't enough to express this. So I made a short story/poem going back and forth showing different perspectives. Not only was this a very new style of writing for me, but it was also very challenging and helped me go outside of my comfort zone as a writer to help me grow.

The Evil Inside

This pain in my stomach has invited a nervous sweat to cover every inch of my flesh. I have to get to the doctor. The sight of an empty driveway drops my stomach to the floor. Nine months pregnant, twenty five degrees, snow, an urgent need for a doctor, and no car. Stepping through my front door with a long journey ahead of me, I am filled with hope and regret.

*   *   *    

One
Just one
Sharp pain
Brings panic
Curiosity
Pure fear

Possibilities flood
Dround my mind
Take control
Hope is lost
Strength surrendered

*   *   *

The cold air takes away the feeling in my limbs and stand the hair on the back of my neck on its' tips. Then, while dragging my feet one after the other, the next one hit. The pain is similar to a knife being thrusted into my gut, and then zig-zagged throughout my stomach. This sharp jab devours my strength and brings me to the hard ground. The next sensation I am aware of is an excruciating ripping in my stomach. Gaining strength to lift my head, I look up...and wish I would have kept my head down.

*   *   *

Blood stains the snow

Brilliant colors

Blur into one

Red

Gray

Black

Nothing

*   *   *

Whatever I just witnessed is out of my vision now. Infact, I am not quite positive that I have any vision at all. But with what I saw I swear it was...it was...no. Impossible. I have to focus on survival. On keeping my heart beating. And then all I can do is wait; wait for whatever I just witnessed to leave me alive and stop ripping away my insides.

*   *   *

Slowly
It comes back
Blurs
Movements
And then,
The look in it's eyes,
Unbearable
Malicious
Demonic
The pain
Slowly
Yet surely
Sucking away life
If only
One brave soul
Save me
Rid me
Lift me
From despair

*   *   *

The nasty creature broke through the last bit of my skin and the cold air met with its derranged, bloody, disturbing face. Its innocent body, yet evil face. But nothing compared to the one feature whose affect proved worse than the pain this creature brought me. Its eyes. The dark red border around the black center of its eyes stared into mine. Could it be..is it possible? I'm staring into the eyes of...of my...of my baby. That's impossible. I've shared a heartbeat with my child, this couldn't be it. The thoughts...the possibilities...are racing. But all interrupted when a blinding light from above glimmers over my body.

*   *   *

Warmth

Hope

Light

Pain lifted

Sufferings

Complete

My rescue

Fulfilled

My baby,

My baby...

*   *   *



As the warmth of the light envelops my body the sensation relieves every ounce of pain being forced upon me. I am graciously given time to breathe, recover, and discover what just emerged from my womb. But before I even allow my mind to jump to conclusions the light begins to bring the demon inside of me to disintegration.

*   *   *

Crumbling

Breaking

And drifting away

The wind carries

Remains

The demonic chaff

*   *   *

No longer is my baby safely secured in my womb, preparing for delivery, and slowly developing. But rather the demon that was once inside of me, now becomes ash; part of the very ground I stand on to always remind me of the evil that was once inside.

The Passover: Jekyll and Hyde

Author's Note: To fully understand this story you must know that while reading Jekyll and Hyde the following quote reminded me of The Passover from the Bible."At the further end, a flight of stairs mounted to a door covered with red baize, and through this, Mr. Utterson was at last received into the doctor's cabinet." During the Passover Jesus told the Isrealites to search for a lamb to sacrifice and spread its blood across their front door so that during the night, their first born son would not be killed. When Mr. Utterson found Jekyll in his cabinet behind the door with the red baize on it, I pictured him consumed by fear of something dark trying to catch him while behind that door. So I wrote a story in the perspective of a first  born son in an Isrealite family during the time of the Passover to express the fear, sacrifice, and darkness of it all.

Slicing through the innocent skin, the knife invites a flow of blood. Each trickle stains the flawless wool with their individual paths, encountering rigids and leaving their traces behind for another to follow. Drip by drip the blood continues and finds an end to its path when it drops into the wooden bowl just beneath the lamb's raw neck.

 Mother collects our gatherings and brings the bowl into our house. I find myself hesitant to leave the lamb whose life was just selfishly taken for the sake of another. If it weren't for me, the only and first born son, this lamb's life would not have been spared. But my mind wanders to the darkness of what could take another life tonight. My life.

I turn around, walk to the house, and never look back.

Every second that draws me nearer to the time of night eats away at my nerves. The thought of something so powerful, something that could take my life in seconds, lurking throughout the streets outside my house... sends a chill down my spine.

I have to remind myself that a promise is a promise. The lamb's life was spared and tonight we will proceed to the spreading of the blood across our door. Nothing can touch us. Yet the possibility of a broken promise, a mistake, a slip, still consumes my mind.

* * *

As the darkness falls over the world, we prepare for the final step; the final step before all there's left to do is wait. Mother brings the bowl outside of the house and dips her fingertips in the warm blood. Slowly she raises her arm and brushes her fingers against our door frame. The blood fills the dents and holes of the rough wood and dissolves into its sponge-like structure.

While the blood dries and makes itself one with the wood beneath it, we hurry inside and prepare for the long night ahead of us. We lay out gatherings of hay on the cold ground of our living area and cover them with cloth. On a night such as this, any distance from my mother and father would take away my sanity.

A cold sweat drenches my clothes, giving me the noise of each salty drip leaving my shirt to focus on. I try to keep my mind on the rythm of the drops.

Drip....drip..drip....drip....drip..drip.

I wouldn't have ever imagined its presence to appear so obvious, but the immediate heaviness in the air alarmed me that it was near. Passing through the very streets that the children carelessly play; the streets that are now abandoned in the paralyzing fright of its own powerful charisma.

The presence grows greater and greater until my ears pop from the humid pressure growing in our small cement room. And suddenly, like a gush of wind, its gone.

Screams from afar fill my ear canals like chirps from crickets after sunset. Scattered and unorganized, yet distinct and with purpose. While the shouts of horror arise, all I can do is thank the little lamb whose life was sacrificed for the sake of my own and pray that he would one day forgive me.

 

Slaves: Jekyll and Hyde Poem

Author's Note: Through this poem I wanted to portray the message that we are all slaves of evil. Whether we like it or not we will always be surrounded by it. Evil, in any form it comes in, is always lurking around the corner to envelope us and there's no way we can escape it. In Jeckyll and Hyde I got the sense that evil was unavoidable and we are all slaves to it, so my goal was to share that sense with readers through this poem.

Slave

Head down and walk forward
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot
The rhythmic pattern becomes in sync with my racing pulse
There's no turning back now, this is the only way home.

Walking in a dark hour as so;
an hour no foot should be wandering,
is a dangerous task, only made out of desperation.
These streets are no place for a vulnerable girl like me,
but still I continue...
Head down and walk forward
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.

The slight breeze that meets my skin on the back of my neck assures me that the world isn't dead.
sending a chill down my spine, the wind's cool taste on my lips awakens my awareness.
However, something is not right.
The dark sensation of this wind sends a swarm of fear into my stomach
But still I pace on...
Head down and walk forward
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot

At first I pass by the suspiscion of this wind,
but not until the next gush meets my flesh do my senses come alive.
The thick air consumes my body,
making it a struggle to breathe.
And still I walk on...
Head down and walk forward
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot

The next gust hits my back and my body is overtaken.
The humid air dehydrates every thought from inside of me
disrupting my rhythm, the raging fog is dragging me backward
And still I pull through...
Right foot...left foot... .... .... right foot...

The force is overwhelming,
the sensation, demonic.
The cloud of darkness on my back fully consumes my body,
the pressure in my head is increasing by the second.
Piercing, high screeches are filling my ears,
and there is no escape.

Pushing against the force I enable myself to turn around,
to face it.
Slowly, with all of my strength I push against the dark wind.
It pushes me back,
but still I go on...
Head down and push through
Right foot! Left foot! Right foot! Left foot!

And...WOOSH!

My body is weak.
Powerless.
Empty.

Laying cold against the concrete sidewalk I push myself up from off the ground.
While lifting my head, my eyes don't meet with a dark, mysterious wind
Or a dark, demonic creature
But only my reflection.

A dark and wooden mirror stands before me.
I stare into my reflection to see myself standing wearing tattered, black clothing
My eyes are dark
The smirk on my face is unbearable
And wrapped around my leg is a chain.

I lift up my hand and touch my face
Surely enough, my dark reflection follows
I look down to assure I am still in my own clothes
A sigh of relief escapes my body

The girl in the mirror is surrounded by darkness and blazing fire
I stare into the unknown distance behind her and almost feel bad for her
If only I could let her escape for just a moment so she could experience freedom
But then I remember...
This girl is me.

As I remain still the girl in the mirror screams and pounds on the glass,
No longer following my motions
I take a step closer and try to understand what is happening
Looking back with terror she is fearing a presence that is drawing near

Then it appeared.

The very dark wind that brought me here is about to torture my own reflection
When our eyes meet, I see her paralyzing fright
But there is nothing I can do.

As the dark wind slowly covers her entire body I squeeze my eyes shut
Watching my own self being enveloped with a demonic darkness was not in my favor
With my eyes closed I wait, wait for my reflection's pain to be over

And then everything goes quiet.
Suddenly the slight breeze I had just felt on my skin is now scorching heat.
I hesitantly open my eyes and see my new surroundings.
I am now trapped in a burnt field of fire and panic overtakes my body

Running around the field I receive a glimpse of hope when a shimmer of light comes in sight straight ahead.
Pushing through the ashes and blistering flames I burst through...
Head down and sprint,
Right foot! Jump! Left foot! Right foot! Jump! Left foot!

I finally reach the light that gave me the sensation of relief,
but that is all crushed when I see what the glimmer truly is.
It is only the light reflection of a mirror.

A mirror with a dark, wooden frame now stands before me and all I can see is my reflection.
In the mirror stands a girl in a dark street wearing a school uniform.
She meets my eyes and flashes a malicious smirk.

My new reflection turns around and skips away.
Leaving me with the fire, evil, and the dark wind.
A new awareness of something cold touching my skin arises and I look down to my feet,
There lies a chain around my ankle, imprisoning me to this place.

The dark wind approaches me with its usual dark sensation,
Reminding me of our first encounter
It circles me and then takes off into the burning field,
This was my cue to follow

The burnt earth blisters the bottoms of my feet,
But still I walk on...
Head down and walk forward
Drag right foot...drag left foot...drag right foot...drag left foot.

I am nothing but a slave.

Short Story: A Battlefield for a Home

Authors Note: This by far has been my favorite writing piece we have done this year; however, the final product is not the only memorable part, but the experience of writing it as well. For a lack of a better term, this short story changed my life. Yeah, that may sound cliche but it's true. Without getting into details this short story helped me realize that I was taking a very important relationship for granted.

A Battlefield For a Home

It doesn’t look right. The crooked book on my dresser has been staring me down ever since I locked myself away between these walls. Let alone the fact that the image of the scattered bobby pins on my stand is slowly taking away my sanity. I turn the book a few degrees, lining it up exactly with my collection of devotional novels and my Bible and place the pins in my jewelry box; the satisfaction of order sends a tingle down my spine, just the look of completion or even taking it a step further: perfection. A slight grin slowly grows on my face, the final step of this sensation I was so desperately seeking for. The spotless carpet, touched to gold by the afternoon sun, the precisely dusted cherry wood furniture, the strategized placement of each and every belonging, the beauty, the perfection – all has me mesmerized. Order is the only escape I can run to. Although it may seem like a curse or a mindset of desperation, it is the place I inevitably fall to when no other road will lead to satisfaction. The place I fall to when just ten minutes ago, I was free from all stress, worry, and pain. But it was all taken from me when I switched worlds in just a matter of seconds.

One step through my front door, that’s all it takes; all it takes to be completely enveloped in blood-curdling screams, furious shouts, and words being thrown around like knives. When I step through the door it’s as if I have walked across the border of heaven to hell, sucking away any energy filled with joy, laughter, or even the tiniest, positive thought right out of me. While pushing through the thick and humid air, I’ll be lucky if I can keep just one piece of hope or a little glimpse of light to savor and carry with me to my self-imprisonment destined for me just moments from now. Every home has arguments, battles that eventually end in surrender or even better, a peace treaty, but that isn’t the case. How I wish this battlefield I live in could be something other than a constant war with no end. I would give anything for a treaty, whether it is in hope of peace or deceit; I just want it to end. With a past of depression, starvation, and exhaustion of defeat from sin, my sister is struggling to find peace with my family and her own self again. In order to do so, she believes starting a fight in every situation possible is going to get her closer to that. With these fights comes concern and more importantly, attention. While I slave away in school work, assist in any way around the house, keep my grades up, share God’s word and stay in it myself, my sister continuously digs herself a deeper hole. Yes, she needs attention to be rescued from this life of despair, but not every last bit of attention to the point where I feel as if I am nothing to them. Before I slowly drift away into my bedroom, a piece of hope arises in me to try to settle this war.

I whisper, “Guys, can we..maybe..just stop..the fighting..please?”

Not even a second after my comment all six furious and raging eyes turn to me and the comments begin to hit me like silver bullets.

“Stay out of this!”

“Just be quiet this isn’t your fight! Why do you always try to butt in?!”

“Oh here comes the perfect and holy daughter! Sorry I’m not good enough!”

Bottling up all the fury building inside of me, I control my anger before I explode. I was not conscious of an effort, but a punch of anxiety to the gut apprised me that my point of focus has switched from my fury to my fascination of perfection. Instantly the thought of “there must be something out of place in my bedroom” floods my mind.  When it comes to my obsession with perfection, on the inside I enter a mode of insanity, but on the outside I show no emotion; just a blank face, desperate to escape in any way.

                That is how I ended up where I am now, searching for the solution to my craving. But sometimes I think to myself, this isn’t just a craving. It’s the only thing I can fix. I can’t fix my sister. There’s nothing in my power I can do to give her peace and happiness, nothing but just pray and hold onto my hope. This system, yet completely delusional, allows me to escape and return to reality with a clear mind, ready to take anything from anyone.

My session is done. I’ve come back down to earth, left my fantasy behind me and am now sitting in a blank and perfect room. With years of experience with this cycle, this time feels different. I can literally feel the anger that I just numbed away with order, burning off the shield I had just built in my imprisonment. It’s creeping up inside of me and I know that all of the anger I have bottled up inside of me is about to come out. Intense, poignant rage shoots from my neck and makes its way through every vein of my body and limbs. In the blink of an eye, absolute fury and hate has corrupted every ounce of blood my body contains. Holding it in, I begin to feel this rage eating away at everything inside of me. The pain of containing so much anger at once is making me doubt how long I can hold it in. Whether or not I should let it escape becomes a battle between two starved dogs ferociously fighting to the death for food inside of me. But which one wins?

“For years I have held this in…”

“But I can’t I can’t it’s just not me...”

“Everything she has done to me…”

“But I love her…”

I soon discover, that the dog that wins…is the one you feed.

Storming off into her room I throw open her door and the look on her face is already reading what is about to happen, as if she has already encountered the demon that is about to escape from me.

“I do everything perfect! Everything! And all you do here is sit on your lazy butt and get everything you want! You’re a screw up! How could you get all that attention?! Do you know how much pain you have put us through?!”

Stop yourself. This isn’t going to get you anywhere.

“No you probably have no idea! Because all you care about is yourself! That’s it! Have you EVER thought about someone else’s pain instead of just getting pity for your own?!”

I was out of words to say, this isn’t even me talking anymore.

“Sometimes I wish it was just me! Just me here alone and I would get the attention I deserve! I just wish you would leave!”

With exhaustion, terror, and confusion beyond normality, my eyes flood with tears. Not sure what just left my body, I stomp back to my bedroom, throw myself onto my bed, and release the last bit of my demonic rage with a scream so powerful, I swear, it got rid of any painful memory, feeling, or thought that was left inside of me. I’m sitting here panting, thankful for the fact that whatever just happened is over with. Then my mind took off: I love her. I love my sister so much. We used to be best friends. She would dress me up when I was too little to defend myself, and I would get so angry…but I loved her. And I still love her now. What have I done?! How could I be so stupid..so..so idiotic! She wasn’t the stupid one..it was..it was me! The next thing I knew I was running to her room, no longer craving to bottle up my rage or to straighten up anything that doesn’t reach the standard of perfection; but to sign this peace treaty myself. Because it has been up to me all along. The next thing I know I’m running to her room, throw open the door and…and…the sight is torturous. The last thing I see before my entire body gives out is my sisters lifeless hand behind the corner of her bed, a prescription bottle just within its reach, and pills scattered around the floor; the very pills that just selfishly took my sister’s life right out of her hands.