I was slipping; I could feel the monster clawing its way out from the corners of my mind. I relived those memories, long suppressed, flashing through my head, a blade glistening, a woman screaming, my father's breathe, toxic, rolling onto my face. I fought against the urge to give in, but knew if I did millions of people could die. I tried to reign in the beast, to calm my racing heart, to clear my mind, but, as always, he was just too strong.

Then, I looked into the eyes of the terrified redhead lying next to me, those terrified, blue eyes; the eyes of someone staring into the Reaper's Scythe. I knew she would die if I didn't try.

So, I filled every last bit of strength that I could muster, every ounce of my being, into my chest, let it fill until I was sure I would burst and I released it, my final attempt at a fight.

But it wasn't enough; it barely caused him pause.

I felt him fly ahead, desperate to taste the air, to see freedom, and I knew he would get his chance, so I slump over, defeated. In the few seconds it took to make the change, I feared what I knew was about to happen, the agony, like my soul was being ripped out of my body, the joyful terror the beast felt as he saw light again, and the weighted blanket that was pressed into me as I finally went to sleep.

I realized, once again, that there was no hope of ever controlling this monster, and yet, I knew I had to continue to fight, becauseā€¦I'm the only one who's ever stood a chance.