How Do I Write The Ebon Dragon?

For the Ebon Dragon, there is no music. Only silence.

I take a moment to reflect on every bad thing that happened to me that I can remember and every grudge I've never quite managed to let go of. I think about how much I want to hurt the people who have ever badly hurt me or my loved ones, how I wish I could find and share the dirty little secrets of these enemies with those important to them so that relationships fail in the face of intolerable ugliness. I think about how I want to laugh at the pain of my enemies as my machinations destroy their lives one bit of happiness at a time until they've lost their friends, their lovers, their job. I fantasize about pushing someone I hate to suicide, of the power that comes from taking away so much hope that death seems preferable.

I remember how good it feels to hit someone, even outside the safe bounds of sparring. I remember the joy of flesh smacking flesh and that delicious crunch as bones collide. I remember the thrill of having that power, of knowing I can hurt them and I'm not going to give them a fair chance to hurt me. I trace the moves in my head: a straight knee to the groin followed by a rising elbow as they double in pain to catch them square in the face. Face blows hurt a lot and they're scary. Plus, it's so easy to get heads to bleed and then it's a lot of blood. It's hard to fight blinded with your own blood. I remember doing that a few too many times, how it stings even after you weep it out. I remember the look of shock I saw on that bully's face when I smashed his head with my oboe case and sliced open his temple with a raking claw strike. No more pushing me around. Ever.

I remember what it's like to be abusive, to suffer abuse. I think about what it felt like to have a little perfect brother who makes straight A's while I'm near failing. I remember wishing our mother would stop looking at me with that disgusted and frustrated look that says "Why can't you be more like him?" I remember what it's like to want to die.

I think about every rejection I have ever received from the boys and girls I've fallen in love with. I think about what it feels like to look at someone and know very suddenly in that moment that I don't love them any more. I think about what it's like to be afraid.

I think of my bitterness at the discovery that I lived 29 years with manic depression before I got a diagnosis and how all that time, I didn't know what normal feelings felt like. I spent my whole life cycling through misery and I wonder where I could be now if I'd been medicated sooner. A third of my life is gone that I never got to experience like normal people do. I think about how I secretly hate normal people sometimes.

I don't use music to write the Ebon Dragon. I use evil.

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