Boiling Cauldron

     Deep in the heart of the innocent child, a cauldron stood, casting ominous shadows throughout the rays of sweet, vulnerable solace. For years, the iron pit had contained dormant, steaming chaos and misery. A dark spark here, short spurts of thick evil spilling over there. And at last, the time had come near.

     And now, the boiling, concentrated contents of the cauldron threaten to boil over, bubbling to the surface and suffocation the light and content that radiated throughout the child. It could only be so long before the airy, calm room became a dark and stormy cavern, poisoning the entire working system. What happens when that time comes? Will the entire body be compromised? Does the child transform into an ugly, bitter, wizened ball of hate and despair? Will the rage destroy her, the very pit of her being turn on itself in a blaze of catatonic destruction?

     The child is aware. Every fiber is alert and trembling, waiting, holding on by a shred of faith. She's made it this far without the volcanic explosion. Can it be contained? Could the good, the yin, keep up with the powerful yang and affect it's roots, transforming the evil into power? She had exhausted her years keeping the pit of vileness quiet, and she is tired. Tired of staving off a foreign creature stalking her from the inside out. Ready to be free of it's constant, threatening whispers full of hate.

     At times, in the past, the child has felt the rage contained in the cauldron. It has managed to seep through the joy and hope that filled her, creeping into her subconscious and leaving her in tatters. There seems to be no end to the depth of anger. At last, there is nothing holding back the terror within but her own strength, and that in itself is limited. The small battles have been fought, and the war is at hand. Strategies are being formed, the lines are drawn, and she is ready to fight the strongest attack yet. How will it manifest? Will it go quietly? Only the pen knows. 

     These are the remnants of a childhood long gone. The pain of a threat already removed. The mechanisms built for defense have served the child well, but now is the time for the tears to flow. For the jaw, clenched in readiness, to lower it's defenses and allow the powerful darkness to ascend. To flow freely from the pit and take form. To manifest itself on these pages, a blank canvas ready to be filled with the dangers of the creature. One can hope for the best. The child hopes. Dreams that the day will come when all will quietly dissipate into a mist, an evil wisp that she can simply send away with a breath. And that day is coming. Deep in the heart, the rumbling, pulsing substance is rising, and she is ready. Let it come forth, in all it's power, that she may discover her inner strength and own power, and the child as she truly is will be revealed. That day has come. I am ready. Bring on the break out, and I will break free.