Personal Narrative: My First Monster

Killer

I fight monsters. It hasn’t always been like this though. I saw my first monster four years ago, when I was eleven. My dad was in the hospital back then. He had been diagnosed with lung cancer a year before. That day, as I was sitting by the bed when the machines went silent around him, something about how I saw things changed. Maybe the blinding mask of sunshine and happiness you see when you are a child fell, or maybe the first piece of who I was, or who I thought I was, broke inside.
My mom had let out a strangled sob and grabbed his limp fingers. I sat back in silence and let my head fall backwards.
My head suddenly snapped back when I heard a noise. My mom’s eyes were closed, but on the other side of the bed stood a horrendous

creature. All I saw were two black eyes, before it turned around and started running. As in a trance, I got up and walked over to the doorway.
“Anna, if you need a moment. . . ,” my mom called out after me.
“I’m fine,” I replied dismissively.

Hadn’t she seen it? Right at that moment I decided I would have to be the one to fight these monsters. There were probably more and I would have to be the one to protect the world from them. I liked to think of myself as a superhero back then, because superheroes don’t always wear capes.
I chased the monster through the bright hallways until it led me through a back door. I stumbled outside, out of breath. That was the moment I first saw what monsters looked like. It had gnarly hands with long twisted and yellowed nails. Below its deformed face stood a human body and its glossy black eyes looked like marbles that could stare into your soul. The slit that looked like a mouth was twisted into a sly grin. Its body was covered in patches of different hair colours and scaly, rotten flesh.
Suddenly, it threw all of its weight against me and slammed me against the wall. Its nails were digging into my stomach and I could feel its irregular and reeking breaths on my neck.
After a few agonizing seconds, I realized that if it could hurt me, I could kill it. I took three deep breaths and grabbed its neck using my two shaky hands. Surprised, it let me go. Seizing the short moment where the monster was disoriented and caught off-guard, I pushed it away. Before my eyes, it dissolved into a fine powder and was swept away by the

wind.

I’ve seen so many different kinds of monsters to this day. They all dissolve into a powder when I stand up to them—except one: Darkness. It is a blinding and choking black cloud, but you can’t punch it, you can’t touch it. I found that the only way to keep it from hurting you is to keep a light with you. I usually just turn on the light and I sit down, shivering until it leaves. Sometimes it stays for days, not quite opaque, but I can see it around me, darkening everything. Sometimes, it stays for a short while, but it blinds you, keeps you from breathing and clouds your mind.

Darkness fills the room. I tried to find a light but I couldn’t find anything. I let myself slide down against the wall and brought my knees to my chin. I tried punching and kicking, but it only made it worse, clenching on my throat. My hands and legs went limp when I realized I didn’t want to do this anymore. I was tired of fighting, tired of having to be the one to fight the monsters. I was tired of being alone. I wasn’t a superhero anymore.
I let Darkness seep into my mouth and let out one final sob. It was over. I would never have to fight another monster again. The pain would be gone. I wouldn’t be alone anymore.
I heard a distant crash as my mom entered the room. She shook my shoulders and my eyes snapped open. I tried warning her about the monster, I didn’t want her to get hurt too.
Tears were rolling down her face and she gently shook her head. The words she spoke rang loud and clear inside my head: “Anna, the monsters aren’t under your bed, they live inside your head.”