The Friend

In the pale streetlight I see the demon standing in front of me. I see the hunger. I feel the lust. And when I confront it, it shrivels. It sinks into itself as if by making itself small it can change its nature, but it only reacts this way to save itself. It’s not ashamed. It’s shocked to be called by its true name. There’s no remorse. There’s only bargaining with me to unsee with clarity and go back to ignorant ease. Be a thing it thinks. Be a pretty thing. Let me dissuade you from your better judgement. Plays upon my pity. Plays upon my femineity. Plays upon me. The demon has nothing to give. It only takes. It only wants. It salivates for opportunity. It looks forever for a door and when it finds one, tears it down. Foolish of me to have one. My fault. Shouldn’t have opened it for the breeze with the storm so close behind. The demon has disappointed me. The demon devoured my friend. The demon was truth. The friend deceit.