Fear for Salvation
Tori awoke that night, sweating coldly, from a terrible dream that had haunted her often of late. She had been running—a common dream among many—running as fast as she could in a dark tunnel. Her pursuer was her father, she dared call him, who gave a long and arduous chase over what seemed like eternity.
She first beheld her mother, the red outflow of death an unmistakable sign of its coming and going. He murdered her, it was true, and she knew. That was when she ran, fearing that she would be next even in the worst way.
Tori ran as even she could not run within her loosened boundaries of reality. Lights blurred past as though in a subway tunnel, and the very fabric of space stretched as she pushed all her weight against it, burning for extra speed. Nonetheless, he gained. She saw behind her, as if through a mirror, the black-eyed fiend's evil stare—he floated above the ground, completely unmoving and yet advancing ever closer. In his wake he left a trail of appropriately demonic death—her loved ones (not actual, but known in dream-reality as if true, as so many things are in dreams) godlessly mutilated and burning in the molten vats of hell.
And she fell. As her heart began racing at an ever more dangerous rate while the vile hellspawn pursued her soul, Tori fell to the floor with an earth-shaking crash, and he was upon her. Now she recollected what she could of reality in her groggy, alarmed state, and sighed with relief that the crisis was gone. Or was it?
No, she concluded, it was not over. Every day his pursuit was more grievous, and it was sometimes tempting to release her soul—to release it into his false and unholy hands, to let go of all this terrible burden, to relieve her consciousness of responsibility by becoming his comatose puppet. Alas, she knew that all Creation depended upon her and that her own suffering was but small in comparison. Almost unbeknownst to Tori herself, her sense of duty was perhaps even greater than that duty which God himself had bestowed upon her at the dawn of time.
It was also out of fear, Tori conceded, that she adhered so faithfully to her otherworldly responsibilities. Deep within her sporadically taught spirit, she feared for her soul's very salvation. What but eternal damnation lay in store for a mongrel, the cross-breed of two of the darkest of all creations? Tori felt almost certain that if she was saved even now in the kingdom of someone holy, that by the very virtue (or lack of it) of her existence the slightest blunder could steal it away from her.
But above all in Tori's mind, tenderness and fond memories of her mother fueled her unending vitality. Though wary that a dark vengeance held within her could jeopardize her in the eyes of a judging God—even if held against a vile abomination deserving of it—Tori's hatred of the demon prince that brought her into this forsaken world drove her to resist. If they took her, if they controlled her, all hope for God's work would be lost—along with the childhood memories of her martyred mother.
And so Tori could drift back to sleep, knowing she had the power that, someday, would destroy that which had destroyed her.
Author's Notes:Another installment of my (non)famous Tori stories!! Haha, aren't you excited. I'm having a lot of trouble with formatting of documents nowadays, so bear with me...my stories are probably going to be in block format from now on, rather than having regular paragraph indentations and stuff. Don't know if you care, but I rather do. It's worth a mention, anyway.
I think I wrote this partly at school. I was bored. ^_^ Even if you don't know the story behind Tori, you can probably enjoy this story. I hope you did enjoy this story, in fact, because I rather like it. ^_^ Thanks for stopping by to read!! ~Mistress Jakira
Date of Composition: February 8, 2004 (not certain on this...not that you probably care)