The Parasite
The Parasite
Hello. I am the voice inside the mind of a girl named Whitney Peters. My name? They call me many things. Some have named me as a demon; others call me the product of a disturbed mind. But Whitney Peters' mind is not disturbed. I am only the part which has been missing from it.
Ever since she was young, Whitney was teased and picked on. They tormented her, and she never fought back. She was too afraid. She was toonice. I don't know why, but Whitney would never scare them away as she should have. She was too weak, and I knew it. Finally, I have emerged inside her to save her from anything further. It started slowly. She didn't even believe I was there at first, when I whispered out my complaints. She quieted me more and more forcefully as I continued to interrupt her sweet thoughts. I think she is afraid of me. Soon, though, she will love me. Her dominant self, the one which is conscious now, will cower in my presence. I will rule her mind, and her other self will fear me and cower back as it did for her friends, her enemies, and her family. She will be her own friend, her own enemy, and her own family. She will see that she only needs me. Soon, she will see.
Whitney is sitting quietly now. She is absorbed in a book, the silly young girl. Seventeen years old and she has nothing better to do than read a book, alone in her room at her father’s house. Pathetic. I tell her so.
“Go away, demon,” she mutters. She is trying hard to ignore me.
“I will not leave. I am a part of you, Whitney. I am you. You cannot banish yourself.”
“You are not me,” she denies.“You’re the devil.”
“I am not the devil, you silly girl. I am you. I am the other half of Whitney Peters.”
She just shakes her head, saying,“You’re not.”
She doesn’t believe me. Or she disallows this to be true. Either way, she will accept me soon. I can feel it. And once I have part of her, I will be able to take it all. I tell her so.
“Parasite,” she mutters in utter hate. This is her name for me. Parasite.
“I am no parasite,” I say. “I am you.”
“Go AWAY!” She yells this so loud and in such desperation that I know I am close.
“Whitney, what’s all that noise about!” Her father’s voice sounds angry.
“Nothing, Dad! Just the TV!”
“Well, turn it down,” he says. When I rule her mind, he will be the first to go. And then we will track down her mother. That witch. She hurt Whitney badly when the girl was young, leaving to live with some other man. Her parents had never married, so there was no divorce to be made. Only a break-up which hurt both father and daughter badly. Now, that man beats Whitney. He hits her hard, and still she will not fight back. Once, I took control, and we tried to get away, but the other mind pushed me away quickly when the beating became worse from my attempt. She has thought of the incident often now, wondering whether her life would be better if she had gotten away, or if she had found the courage to war against her father as I have urged her to. To this day, though, she rejects it. Or at least, the other mind does.
“Yes, sir!” Sir. Weak! So weak! It disgusts me.
“We do not have to listen to him,” I say.
“Yes, I do.” I question why.“Because he’s my dad, and he’ll hurt me if I don’t do what he says.”
“But we could hurt him back. We can repay him for a lifetime of pain that he has caused us.”
“It’s Mom’s fault.”
“Then we can repay her as well. Then come your friends. And last of all, we shall repay your enemies. Think about it, Whitney. You would be away from all the hurt then. It would be over, ” I whisper calmly into the conscious mind. After all, I must not scare her. I shall take her softly first and work my way in until she can never push me out again.
“Why my enemies last?”
“They have hurt you least. You know that they have embarrassed you, and they have hurt you. But the ones who were close to you hurt you most.” She stays silent for a moment, knowing my words are true.
“I ca-”
I will not let her finish this sentence. “You can. We can. With me, we will be powerful. With me, they will never hurt you again. You will soon realize that I am only here to help you, Whitney. I am the part of you that was lost! You have found me now, Whitney. You found me, and I am willing to forgive that you ever lost me.”
She shakes her head. She is crying now, because she knows I have won.“No. No, no, no, no.”
“Don’t hide anymore, Whitney. Don’t hide from your other half.”
“No!”
“Whitney!” I hear the enraged voice of her father shout, “I said turn it down!”
“You don’t have to listen to him.”
“I - I do. I do.” She is almost there. I can feel it.
“No, Whitney. You don’t.”
“Whitney! Answer me!” Her father is yelling again, like he has done for the years and years since her mother left. Soon will come the pain.
“Yes, sir! I’m sorry! I’ll keep it down this time!”
“Darn right, you’ll keep it down!” The door swings open to reveal an over six foot tall man, bulky in a way where fat and muscle is indistinguishable. He sees his daughter sitting on the tarnished carpet with sweat dripping down her forehead due to the lack of air conditioning in the house and the over sized book in her hand, clutching it tightly in fear and hatred. I know that those feelings are not only the product of years of pain with that man. They're because of me as well. “Your TV ain’t even on!” He grabs her, pulling her up by her skinny arm and hitting her hard over the head with his massive hand. “Who’s in here, you little liar! Who!”
“No one, Dad, I swear!” She’s crying now. Already crying, the weakling.
“You’re lying!” He’s in a drunken rage, beating her with all his might. It’s worse this time than usually. He must have been drinking even more than ordinary, ranting endlessly about how cruel she is to him, how much she lies and how selfish she is. He has grabbed her wrist now, dragging her into the kitchen. The stove is on. “You think that hurts?” he says cruelly, dragging us towards it. I am helping her to fight and get away, but he grabs us and tosses us to the floor near the stove.
“No!” we yell, scrambling away from this monster.
“Grab the knife,” I tell her. She obeys me this time, picking up a large knife from the counter. Her father stops for a moment, scared. I see it in his eyes. He can see it in ours. We will kill him if he comes closer.
“Put that down girl, or you’re in for a beating like Hell!”
“Been there,” we say hatefully. Her other half is cooperating now.“Stay away from me.”
With a loud yell, he runs towards us, ready to grab the knife out of our hand. We are too quick, and soon, the blade is wedged into his chest. “Oh my God!” says Whitney, her hands to her face as he falls to his knees.
Her father, in a final attempt to hurt his daughter for the imaginary pain she's caused him these past seventeen years, takes grip of her small left wrist in his overpowering hand. Glaring daggers, he jerks her hand over, pressing it hard against the red hot electric burner of the stove. A shrill scream erupts from her normally silent mouth as hot red circles are burned into our porcelain skin. I see a mock silver ring resting on her ring finger, the slot where a false pink stone was only earlier today left open now to show the tarnished metal underneath. I can only assume that pink stone was knocked loose in the struggle against her father. We feel bumps of heat rising around the ring, even melting it slightly into her finger. The pain is simply unbearable.
I take initiative now, kicking the man hard where the knife is still secured in his chest. His grip evaporates, and his own instincts tell him to bring his hands to the foreign object which is making his blood supply diminish. He splutters helplessly and coughs up blood on the clean white pants of the crying girl in front of him.
Finally, the tyrant falls.
Whitney grips her left wrist tightly, shaking and sobbing from the pain it brings her and from the fear brought on by the corpse of the evil being in front of her “Stop it,” I say in my most commanding voice. "Look. You are free of him now. Doesn’t it feel wonderful? You are free.”
“I am free.”
“Yes. Free. Would you like to keep the feeling new? Would you like to stay free? Let us repay the others now. You want to, don’t you?”
“Yes,”she says. “I want to.” A pause. “To mother?”
“Yes, Whitney. To mother.”
Ever since she was young, Whitney was teased and picked on. They tormented her, and she never fought back. She was too afraid. She was toonice. I don't know why, but Whitney would never scare them away as she should have. She was too weak, and I knew it. Finally, I have emerged inside her to save her from anything further. It started slowly. She didn't even believe I was there at first, when I whispered out my complaints. She quieted me more and more forcefully as I continued to interrupt her sweet thoughts. I think she is afraid of me. Soon, though, she will love me. Her dominant self, the one which is conscious now, will cower in my presence. I will rule her mind, and her other self will fear me and cower back as it did for her friends, her enemies, and her family. She will be her own friend, her own enemy, and her own family. She will see that she only needs me. Soon, she will see.
Whitney is sitting quietly now. She is absorbed in a book, the silly young girl. Seventeen years old and she has nothing better to do than read a book, alone in her room at her father’s house. Pathetic. I tell her so.
“Go away, demon,” she mutters. She is trying hard to ignore me.
“I will not leave. I am a part of you, Whitney. I am you. You cannot banish yourself.”
“You are not me,” she denies.“You’re the devil.”
“I am not the devil, you silly girl. I am you. I am the other half of Whitney Peters.”
She just shakes her head, saying,“You’re not.”
She doesn’t believe me. Or she disallows this to be true. Either way, she will accept me soon. I can feel it. And once I have part of her, I will be able to take it all. I tell her so.
“Parasite,” she mutters in utter hate. This is her name for me. Parasite.
“I am no parasite,” I say. “I am you.”
“Go AWAY!” She yells this so loud and in such desperation that I know I am close.
“Whitney, what’s all that noise about!” Her father’s voice sounds angry.
“Nothing, Dad! Just the TV!”
“Well, turn it down,” he says. When I rule her mind, he will be the first to go. And then we will track down her mother. That witch. She hurt Whitney badly when the girl was young, leaving to live with some other man. Her parents had never married, so there was no divorce to be made. Only a break-up which hurt both father and daughter badly. Now, that man beats Whitney. He hits her hard, and still she will not fight back. Once, I took control, and we tried to get away, but the other mind pushed me away quickly when the beating became worse from my attempt. She has thought of the incident often now, wondering whether her life would be better if she had gotten away, or if she had found the courage to war against her father as I have urged her to. To this day, though, she rejects it. Or at least, the other mind does.
“Yes, sir!” Sir. Weak! So weak! It disgusts me.
“We do not have to listen to him,” I say.
“Yes, I do.” I question why.“Because he’s my dad, and he’ll hurt me if I don’t do what he says.”
“But we could hurt him back. We can repay him for a lifetime of pain that he has caused us.”
“It’s Mom’s fault.”
“Then we can repay her as well. Then come your friends. And last of all, we shall repay your enemies. Think about it, Whitney. You would be away from all the hurt then. It would be over, ” I whisper calmly into the conscious mind. After all, I must not scare her. I shall take her softly first and work my way in until she can never push me out again.
“Why my enemies last?”
“They have hurt you least. You know that they have embarrassed you, and they have hurt you. But the ones who were close to you hurt you most.” She stays silent for a moment, knowing my words are true.
“I ca-”
I will not let her finish this sentence. “You can. We can. With me, we will be powerful. With me, they will never hurt you again. You will soon realize that I am only here to help you, Whitney. I am the part of you that was lost! You have found me now, Whitney. You found me, and I am willing to forgive that you ever lost me.”
She shakes her head. She is crying now, because she knows I have won.“No. No, no, no, no.”
“Don’t hide anymore, Whitney. Don’t hide from your other half.”
“No!”
“Whitney!” I hear the enraged voice of her father shout, “I said turn it down!”
“You don’t have to listen to him.”
“I - I do. I do.” She is almost there. I can feel it.
“No, Whitney. You don’t.”
“Whitney! Answer me!” Her father is yelling again, like he has done for the years and years since her mother left. Soon will come the pain.
“Yes, sir! I’m sorry! I’ll keep it down this time!”
“Darn right, you’ll keep it down!” The door swings open to reveal an over six foot tall man, bulky in a way where fat and muscle is indistinguishable. He sees his daughter sitting on the tarnished carpet with sweat dripping down her forehead due to the lack of air conditioning in the house and the over sized book in her hand, clutching it tightly in fear and hatred. I know that those feelings are not only the product of years of pain with that man. They're because of me as well. “Your TV ain’t even on!” He grabs her, pulling her up by her skinny arm and hitting her hard over the head with his massive hand. “Who’s in here, you little liar! Who!”
“No one, Dad, I swear!” She’s crying now. Already crying, the weakling.
“You’re lying!” He’s in a drunken rage, beating her with all his might. It’s worse this time than usually. He must have been drinking even more than ordinary, ranting endlessly about how cruel she is to him, how much she lies and how selfish she is. He has grabbed her wrist now, dragging her into the kitchen. The stove is on. “You think that hurts?” he says cruelly, dragging us towards it. I am helping her to fight and get away, but he grabs us and tosses us to the floor near the stove.
“No!” we yell, scrambling away from this monster.
“Grab the knife,” I tell her. She obeys me this time, picking up a large knife from the counter. Her father stops for a moment, scared. I see it in his eyes. He can see it in ours. We will kill him if he comes closer.
“Put that down girl, or you’re in for a beating like Hell!”
“Been there,” we say hatefully. Her other half is cooperating now.“Stay away from me.”
With a loud yell, he runs towards us, ready to grab the knife out of our hand. We are too quick, and soon, the blade is wedged into his chest. “Oh my God!” says Whitney, her hands to her face as he falls to his knees.
Her father, in a final attempt to hurt his daughter for the imaginary pain she's caused him these past seventeen years, takes grip of her small left wrist in his overpowering hand. Glaring daggers, he jerks her hand over, pressing it hard against the red hot electric burner of the stove. A shrill scream erupts from her normally silent mouth as hot red circles are burned into our porcelain skin. I see a mock silver ring resting on her ring finger, the slot where a false pink stone was only earlier today left open now to show the tarnished metal underneath. I can only assume that pink stone was knocked loose in the struggle against her father. We feel bumps of heat rising around the ring, even melting it slightly into her finger. The pain is simply unbearable.
I take initiative now, kicking the man hard where the knife is still secured in his chest. His grip evaporates, and his own instincts tell him to bring his hands to the foreign object which is making his blood supply diminish. He splutters helplessly and coughs up blood on the clean white pants of the crying girl in front of him.
Finally, the tyrant falls.
Whitney grips her left wrist tightly, shaking and sobbing from the pain it brings her and from the fear brought on by the corpse of the evil being in front of her “Stop it,” I say in my most commanding voice. "Look. You are free of him now. Doesn’t it feel wonderful? You are free.”
“I am free.”
“Yes. Free. Would you like to keep the feeling new? Would you like to stay free? Let us repay the others now. You want to, don’t you?”
“Yes,”she says. “I want to.” A pause. “To mother?”
“Yes, Whitney. To mother.”