Guardians.

They used to claw at me from under the bed, in the dark corners, in the shadows, wrapped up in the dark colors of the fabric of my clothes. They used to spur my creativity, my writing, and they took pleasure in my stubborn, self-indulgent, little dark episodes. I'd lock myself up in my room, entertain the thoughts of old days, as my fingers mindlessly flicked open my grandfather's Swiss Army Knife. They haven't shown up recently. As if Asia puts them into a deep slumber, or some sort of hypnotic silence. Regardless of what happens, whatever dark abyss I'm in, they don't join in on the fun anymore. They don't reach out through mirrors at midnight, and they don't haunt my nightmares.

I miss them. They were, always have been, there. I never felt alone with them there. Sick as it sounds. They were there, watching me. Intentions unknown; like a woman in an abusive relationship. She can't leave--she loves him too much--too many good memories--she doesn't feel like she has the strength or support to leave--and she continues to stay against her better judgement. She knows better, but the heart refuses to move her body, her mouth, and she stays. She sits quietly, and she waits. She waits for things to get better--she wonders when it'll happen--and it doesn't--but she hopes. She's an optimist. Maybe one day soon. One day soon.

During this period of silence, I've always thought back to them, as if they were old friends. There were times when all I could remember were the moments the Woman in White would reach out and pat my head as I stayed curled up in the shower, crying about the possibility of being alone. Crying about how this douchebag tried to tell me that I was wrong--that if I were pregnant, I needed to abort it against my beliefs. That if I were pregnant, I needed to be emotionally healthy for the baby, but goddamn it, I was so scared because that meant everything had to change. She patted my head, quiet, ungrudging, and sat with me as I cried. Or the moments where the Woman in Black would go and behead him both ways and return, smile bloody and sweet, long tongue rolling out of her fanged mouth in silent laughter.

They came back tonight. Awake, as if they never left. The Woman in White's soft hand. The Woman in Black's devilish smirk. They let me cry. They let me be. They let me scream and hit the desk until I bruised my thumb.

Long time coming, White said.

Mm, Black hummed.

Good nap? White asked.

Black didn't need to reply.

They have the most frightful appearances, as if characters from a Lady Gaga video...except cooler. And by cooler I mean they're probably related to the Boogeyman or the Silence or the Angels. So maybe not cooler, but they're mine. They're my Guardians. I don't know what it means, or if it means that I'm some sort of descendant of some horribly dark and evil creature, but they can bring me back to reality, past the hopeless tears, past my fears. They're my Guardians.

I like the sound of that.