[ WP ] An exorcism of a young girl , in the perspective of the demon .

“ NO! ” I make my puppet scream, “ It ’ s MINE! THIS ONE IS MINE! ” 
 
 The priest looks tired and old. It has been nine hours now and he ’ s starting to win. I pull another string and my puppet lurches forward, laughing and pulling at the restraints. Her soul no longer fights me. It hides in the deepest recesses of her mind, frightened to venture anywhere else. Last time it did, I sent it stories of hell, stories of my birth from the depths of the chaos and misery where all demons are spawned. 
 
 She had tried to make my toy speak, so I stuck a finger in its whimpering hole and bit it off. Then I spat it at her mother ’ s face. 
 
 I have not been kind to my toy since then. Each time the priest draws me into the room with his words and deeds he wavers, hesitates. He knows I ’ m there, even though he can not see my form. It ’ s in that moment that I dive back into my toy. 
 
 Each time her body splinters, like the play thing it is. The only teeth left are wide and flat like a serpents and I flash them at the priest. 
 
 I don ’ t want to go back. I can ’ t. Not yet. I want to feel the absence of flames, I want to breathe air that isn ’ t filled with smoke and glass. This torment, this agony of my puppet ’ s existence is so mild, so soothing that it can not be give up, not yet. 
 
 Not until her body is nothing more than bones and blood. Not until I have sucked every breath of sweet, earthly air and her lungs can no longer expand. 
 
 I will stay. This one is mine. I have earned it! Nine hundred years it ’ s been. Last time it had been a peasant, a young boy who had been tied to a stake till they had burned me from his bones. 
 
 The priest ’ s words grew stronger and I felt myself being pulled out once again. 
 
 “ NO! ” My puppet screamed for the last time, “ I can ’ t go back! I won ’ t go back! This one is MINE! ” 

