The Dominant Demon (Finished)

1. Sacrificial Rituals

Author's Note: This is only the introduction. The chapters will be longer than this one. This is just a little ground work. Thank you for reading!! xo

"I like small things, I like small moments that are almost elliptical, that are not necessarily linear; that are natural things that happen in the world, but if you look at them from a slight angle there's more than meets the eye."

-Keith Carter

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As a child, I looked up to my father, just as many little girls do. My mother was a close second for being my favorite person in the world. They were very eccentric people. I remember night picnics at the park with them, bouncing around to metal blaring from the radio in our old living room together, and my mother painting my nails black for me, just like hers.

My most vivid memories of them, though, are probably the ones from the basement. I was too young to realize at the time what it all meant, but for as long as I can remember, up until I was ten years old, we would all go down to the basement together. My dad would bring a snack for me and sit me right in the middle of the big, red, star with a circle around it. He would light candles around it, and then tell me that mommy and him were going to dance and sing for me. It was something that he said they had done since I was in mommy's belly. I always loved to watch them dance around me and chant silly words that I couldn't understand. It was all so fun to watch.

I was so innocent and naive.

Death entered my life the day that I turned ten. I had never lost anyone that I loved until then. I stood at school, waiting for my dad to pick me up. Rain drenched the parking lot, along with my coat and long, wavy, hair. The principal eventually pulled me inside, worried that I would be sick. He called my mom and dad time after time. They never picked up.

It wasn't until late that evening that their bodies were identified. The car wreck has deemed them almost unrecognizable. From that day on, I floated around from one foster home to the next, waiting for the day that I turned eighteen. How ironic.