Written in response to a writing prompt “Understand the monster. Write from the antagonist's point of view that seems sympathetic”. Reading reference : http://weirdfictionreview.com/2018/07/no-252-rue-m-le-prince//

Image from https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Dementor

 

Diary of a Dementor

The cold wind is my friend. She comes with me wherever I go. She smiles and ice falls out of the sky. She rages and windows rattle and bones feel numb. I like her style- she lends me an air of grandeur , with my dark robes blowing behind me, my face stark against the backdrop of my hood. I stretch out my arms in front of me. They are long and spindly and scaly like snakes born of dragons. My fingers are thin and have tiny spikes along their length and if you touched them the sharp edges might pierce your softness. 

 

 


 

 

Don’t despise me so, sweet human. 

 

They say I am a monster. That I am despicable. But they don’t understand that hurting them hurts me. 

 

I don’t like the job that I must do. I sympathize with my prey. They are delicate beings.

They don’t know what hit them till it’s too late. My mouth-dark, slimy, an infinite hole- sucks up every bit of joy and beauty when I touch my lips to theirs. The kiss of despair. I love them, I do. I want to make my home within their hearts, but I don’t want to break them. But it’s inevitable. Such is the curse of my existence. For me to live, they must suffer. Their misery is my sustenance, their anguish my life’s elixir. 

 

I pierce their dreams. The white turns grey, the rainbows crumble into ash, the sky bursts into flames. 

 

I have heard them tell each other that I suck their souls. That I am soulless and evil. But that’s not true. It’s the nature of my being that my life depends on their despair. All living creatures feed off other living creatures. A goat eats grass-surely to the grass the goat is an evil monster. Yet no one in this wide world thinks of goats as such. Why, then, do they resent me so? Don’t they understand that my existence, however putrid it may seem to them, is still mine? I deserve to flourish as much as any other living thing in this world.

 

Lights go out. Screams still and reverberate within their fragile chests. Shallow breaths whisper and rattle within their emptiness. Inner fires die. They don’t get out of their beds, their vacant eyes staring into nothingness, hardly blinking. Their limbs lay numbly by their side.

 

I wish they would love me as I love them. It’s lonely. My fingers touch their warm skin,and draws away every last bit of heat from their blood. The wind dances, sighing with satisfaction, the cold of their bodies suits her just fine. I draw their bodies close to mine, like a lover, limb-to-limb, mouth-to-mouth, our bodies in an embrace. My heart bursts with joy, my form softens, and I engulf them with my newly metamorphosed gelatinous skin. I melt and become one with them, I am absorbed into their pores, and I can feel the silent screams and the paralyzed stillness rush through me like life-affirming water, much like a drink from a cool stream  would quench your thirst on a hot summer’s day. 

 

Don’t hate me. Don’t fight my embrace. For life to have meaning death must exist. For joy to exist you must know the grip of despair. For light to illuminate, you must have known the dark. Be one with me, sweet human. For when you fight and resist, you break my heart. 

Don't break my heart. 

DementorConceptArt.jpg
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