Help from inside.

This sea of doubt is drowning me.

The boulders roll down the hill, faster than I thought possible.

The wind blows around me, trapping me in a prison of ash from the bridges I've burnt.

Smoke fills the air, killing my lungs.

I walk across the field of glass, step after bloody step.

Vines made of razor wire wrap around my body.

Screams spill from between my lips but the only ones that hear are the vultures.

The sky clouds over, blocking the light of the sun.

My armor cracks and crumbles.

There's nothing to protect me, not even myself.

Help from outside.

The sea retreats, cowering in fear.

The boulders are pushed back to sit at the top of the hill, watching, staring, waiting.

The wind slows down, ash settling down to sleep another day.

The smoke gets cleared, lungs freed from their torture.

Glass is grinded, turning into sand.

Vines wither and rust, dying in an instant.

Vultures see that I will live, flying to find their next pray.

The sun shines on me, giving me comfort.

But the screams won't stop.

Because the devil is staring me in the face, his decaying face giving smile fit for death and decay.

He stretches out his hand, touching my face to wipe away the tears.

His eyes of fire are blazing with heat and desire.

His voice is like metal scraping together, sharp and hard and cold.

“Now you have to help me.”