text: [Themes: horror, serious, horror]
  
  You chose disobedience.
  
  The Mörker is stronger. He pulses inside of my head, his thoughts louder than mine. I think he does have a secret. I heard him thinking about it. I still don't know what it is, but I push myself closer to it every day. Whatever he's thinking about, it's very important that I don't know it. The Mörker doesn't trust me enough.
  
  But as he is getting stronger, I am getting weaker. He is taking control. Soon I will just be an empty shell inhabited fully by darkness. I don't really mind if that happens. I'm always in the dark anyway. I just want to know what the secret is.
  
  I know that if I let him take control, I will be reduced to nothing. My soul will be pushed to the far corner of myself, and it will be locked away. All of my thoughts, memories, feelings, affections, grudges, gone. All traces of what I was before will be destroyed, lost forever. I'm forgetting most of that stuff anyway. Most of my remaining consciousness goes towards that secret. Towards what the Mörker is hiding from me.
  
  > break into his mind
  I decide to do what naturally comes to me, what the Mörker has always taught me to do. To fight. But I am not stupid enough to attack right away. I bide my time, waiting for the best possible moment. Everything is dark, that is to be expected. The Mörker has not said anything to me for a while now. He seems to be sleeping, or possibly in deep thought. Either way, I know that my best hope is to attack while he is distracted.
  
  The Mörker is shocked when he feels me throw my mind at him with all my strength. He retreats momentarily, confused. I have never shown any signs of resistance, so why now? I prepare myself for another attack and pierce his mind again and again, tearing holes in the slippery threads of his thoughts. My revolt seems to be working, I think his screams are fading.
  
  > push harder
  I know that the Mörker is devious. There is no way he would admit defeat this easily, so after catching my breath, I double my efforts against him. My heart pounds in my ears, my hands are shaking, my vision is going white. I continue to batter the Mörker with endless assaults, slamming into him over and over again until his presence fades. As my head clears for the first time in decades, the darkness around me fades slightly. I can see, but barely. I glance down at my chest. Thick, oily black liquid oozes down my shirt, leaving behind a trail of tiny droplets caught on the fabric. I watch it, intrigued, and run my hand under the flow playfully. The liquid runs down my fingers, dripping softly onto the floor. Out and out it pours, soaking my feet and legs with slimy darkness. It spreads across the floor lazily, a never ending flow of pure nightmares. I tilt my head back and moan softly, as more of the liquid leaves my body, the less pain I feel.
  
  > The liquid reaches the door
  The oily fluid starts flowing faster, and more and more of my clothes become sticky and dark. Ominous puddles of black are reaching far across the floor now, seeping into crevices where it will never be found. It does seem to have a mind of it's own, as it recoils from the light and cowers under the harsh metal bed frame. My head abruptly becomes dizzy, and I sit down gingerly, careful to keep the liquid from pooling in my lap. My eyes begin to droop, and my vision falters. I fall face-first off the bed onto the stone-hard floor, and black out.
  
  > In the morning
  "Holy shit, what happened in here?"
  
  Guards cluster around the door, unable to repress the sick fascination of gore that humans posses. One of the guards, apparently a leader, steps forward into the room, only to back out hurriedly, choking.
  
  "Somebody call the fucking cops!" he shouted at the unruly mob.
  
  As the guards slowly dispersed, the interior of the room slowly became visible. Slumped over her metal cot was a young girl, perhaps around the age of 16 or 17. Her hair was dark, falling down her back in a cascade of tangles and knots. Her hand hung down from the bed, lightly skimming the floor. Her face wasn't visible, obscured by her thick hair. This would have been a relitively normal scene, bar the fact that the girl was dead. In the very center of her chest, she had torn into her flesh so deeply that the bones of her ribcage could be seen clearly. Her fingers were soaked in blood, and her fingernails were covered in the flesh she ripped apart. She had bled so profusely that the floor was now barely visible, and images of blood gushing from this poor girl's chest flashed through the unfortunate guard's mind. Here and there, chunks of skin and flesh poked up through the pool of blood, somehow scattered all the way to the other side of the room.
  
  As police investigators arrived at the scene, it was immediately agreed upon that this had been a suicide.
  
  "Such a shame." offered the deputy officer. "We tried our hardest, but this one never seemed to even notice us. Wrapped up in her own little world, she was."
  
  "Well I frankly don't give a shit why she died. I just need you to fill out the paperwork." a nearby policeman grunted.
  
  "Oh, come on. You really think anyone will notice she was gone? Let's just get the team to clean up, dispose of the body, and be done with it. I gotta be home early tonight, I got no time for this shit."
  
  A general murmur of agreement was heard from the surrounding officers.
  
  "Very well then." huffed the policeman. "Nice to see you, Officer. You really need to swing round for coffee sometime, we haven't had a good chat in ages."
  
  As the clean up team slowly began scrubbing at the floor, the deputy officer walked away slowly, his shadow growing darker with every step. Boy, his head hurt. Time for a holiday. He was getting too old for this shit.