The devil got me

I woke up feeling nauseous. As soon as the bile began to climb, I laid back down, breathing in through the nose, breathing out through the mouth. When it didn’t settle, I turned on the side and threw up the yellow, awful tasting liquid.

I sat up, head throbbing. Raising my hands in an attempt to hold it together, I noticed the blood. Recoiling with horror, pain lanced through my entire being.

You did it then, echoed a voice that at once sounded and didn’t sound like me.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed my hands against my head. When I was sure it wouldn’t spontaneously combust, I looked up. A man who looked like he hadn’t washed himself in days was standing there, digging into his nose.

My eyes travelled left and right. It seemed like I was surrounded by unwashed men. I panicked when I realized I was in a holding cell. I looked at my hands. They were clean, scrupulously so. What am I doing here?

A loud rap on the gates alerted me to a presence. I gasped out, “What am I doing here?”

The officer snorted. He gave me a look but something of my panic communicated itself to him and he said, incredulously, like he couldn’t believe I was stupid enough to ask something that was so obvious to him, “You murdered your mother, you dumb fuck.” He paused to see if I would say anything. When I didn’t, he dragged the man who was still looking for some gooey treasure in his nose.

My hands went back to my head. I had killed her then? I knew I had meant to but I… When I had put my head in her lap, it was me saying goodbye. But…did I actually commit the act? Or was it the devil, whispering in my ear to just pick up the knife and it’ll all be over to be blamed?

“I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. You have to believe me.” When I had got up and raced to the bars I couldn’t remember. But there I was, clinging to the bars of my prison, screaming. No one heard me.

A swift blankness came over me, soothing in its heaviness and I collapsed where I had been standing, no longer aware where I began and the blankness ended. Was I in the holding cell, or was I inside, imprisoned by the devil? I could no longer tell.

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Written for the prompt given by Tanmay Jain. Read more here about Finish the story collaboration.