L'horreur

Do not ask to which dark god did I prayed to, but I prayed. I prayed hard to give me strength, strength enough to survive. Those days, I remember, the horror, the doubts, the dread of those ghastly experiences; there were times when I wish I could die, rather then continue to face the trauma , the agony, the anguish I felt then. Each living day was was a struggle to continue, each night was a series of horrendous nightmares, each hour was an effort to live, each breath was the dawn of new nightmares.

It was at those times that I prayed, after losing all hope, given up all faith, that I turned to the dark to reach out for even a small escape from the world that I was.

During that reign of terror, hell could not be any worse: we prayed to give us deliverance to hell. It was the time, when my faith was severely tested and all hopes crumbled. It was the time when I underwent through the trial of iron and fire, and came out with a battered spirit and a burnt soul. And then I fell. Into darkness.

I still carry the scars, and each time I try to look back, the pain would spring anew, would break my spirit and dissolved me into a screaming mass of hysterics.

It seems, sometimes, time, the great healer, can even fail in her craft.