The Story You Don't Know

"And then one night, he tried to kill me.

Suddenly, his hands were on my neck, his body pressed too close to me, his breath hot on my skin. For a split second, I thought of how good his hands felt around my neck. It was over very fast, for sharp claws dug into my flesh the way an eagle would dig its talons into its prey. Pain shot through me, making me cry out.

And then, just as fast as it had happened, he disappeared.

I curled into a fetal position, gasping for air. My muddled, sleep-disoriented mind could barely process what had just happened. I could not decide if my heart was racing because I had almost died a few moments ago or because, for a few precious seconds, he had been so painfully close to me."

-

17 March 2016, Thursday

I can't get him out of my head. Bedtime is the one thing I look forward to every day.

Two nights ago, I woke up to his hands around my neck. I couldn't breathe. I can still feel that choking terror as I struggled to no avail, his claws sinking into me. But as quick as it started, he was gone, and the night was dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the roar of blood in my ears and the pounding of my heart.

Why did he try to hurt me? Most importantly, why didn't he kill me? I'm sure I'm only alive because he spared me. But now I have proof he's real, because the bruises on my neck are real. Now I know I'm not crazy, but no one else will, so I'm still keeping this a secret. Our secret.

I still don't know what he is. I still don't know why he's here, although I have an inkling; maybe he's here to hunt me, take my life. But I know he's dangerous. And I'm drawn like a moth to a flame.

-

18 March 2016, Friday

It's been a whole week. That's it. I'm going to summon up everything I have and approach him again. Even if he tries to hurt me again, I have nothing to lose. Life has drained all my happiness. If this is the only thing that's given me meaning, that's given me a curiosity to live another day so I can solve him like a puzzle, then I don't care what happens anymore.

I have touched him twice. The second time, his hands were on my neck but I keep dwelling on the first time when I got out of bed and reached out to him. Approaching him felt like approaching a cat, gingerly, tentatively, with my heart in my mouth and the hope that he wouldn't vanish into smoke, unreachable.

I can't stop thinking of the warmth I felt in that split second. He is a living being, that I'm sure of. Just not human. He comes and goes with the shadows every night. What if he is an embodiment of the Dark itself? He tried to kill me. What if he's the Grim Reaper?

I can't wait for tonight. If everything ends here and someone find this, I'm not mad. I'm on a mission to uncover everything behind this.

-

"She is the one you cannot touch. She is protected by powers beyond this world," the angel of death chuckled. "You may be powerful, but you're not a god. At the end of the day, the fate of our existence still falls upon humans."

And the angel was right.

He gritted his teeth and hissed in frustration as he recalled how he'd fought the burn of the light that came pouring out from inside her soul. Fought the pain he hadn't felt in centuries. He always thought himself to be strong-willed, and yet, he couldn't kill her.

This immense power, he had not had a taste of in centuries.

Who was she?

No, what was she?

And so, out of a rare moment of curiosity, he decided to stay and watch her.