She slipped on her fairly new pair of Michael Kors cat-eyed black sunglasses, stepping out of the AC-blasted shopping mall and into the hot, smothering sun, ready to take on the world. But then a cruel reminder from her not so distant past blared through the exterior speakers, and the young woman was instantly reminded of the agony and the terror that had followed her around like a serpent slithers after its prey oh so many years ago. And she found herself helpless once again--her mind a veteran victim, a house of hissing horrors, a chamber of memories that would never die.

Why, at this moment, did the song choose to reveal itself? As if eleven years of suffering wasn't enough. As if every food she had ever tasted back at the institution, every tune she had ever heard, every sense that'd been corrupted, malformed over time, hadn't turned against her once she'd been released from those prison walls.

Now, she must carry them with her every day, with every step she takes. And they will strive to haunt her in every way. And whether or not she shouts that's she free, it's that damned song that will play on repeat. And how she responds, will define its "defeat".

Who will be the first to retreat?

The demon says, "No. Not me."

A young woman slips on her fairly new pair of Michael Kors cat-eyed black sunglasses, placing her palm on the handle of the front door to her apartment. She glances out the window, her grip on the doorknob tightening. A whisper brushes past her shoulder and into her ear. She lets go of the doorknob and backs away.

She swallows hard, sitting down on the ground. Another day trapped. Another day black. Another day spent with the sole company of a year's worth of tainted memories, spinning on loop.

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8.28.17. 5:43 pm.