Silvan’s Demon

© Daniel Verastiqui

It was the lamp on the corner of the desk, thought Silvan; the lamp was the one casting weird shadows on the stained oak, making each of the little pills look like exclamation points on longer gashes, black scratches on the hardwood. Five little lines, ripped from one side of the desk to the other, disappearing into fine points where the demon had left off. The gesture had been made and the threat delivered. To continue now would only bring retribution.

Outside, what remained of reality echoed the conflicting signals firing behind Silvan’s eyes. It was near dusk, with the world basked in some strange light that occurred only when the sun has disappeared. A reflection from the clouds, perhaps. A lingering attachment to a life revealed. And yet the wind blew strongly out of the east, pushing down through the campus with a fury that ripped leaf from branch and coat from student. The clouds disappeared, revealing the gradient of su...