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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1596354
Rated: 13+ · Draft · Fantasy · #1596354
About a young lady and her experience
His inner demon.

That’s what I called it. That thing that lurked in his soul. What a wonderful example of yin and yan he was. A perfect balance of good  and evil. How it didn’t drive him mad I will never know how he did it. He took that secret with him to the grave.  What a brave soul to endure and struggle with such an unnatural balance.

His name was George. Born in Greece emigrated to Canada back in the 80’s when a terrible accident took his family. Or at least that was the roomer I never had the courage to ask to be frank.

I still see him standing there off in the corner. His dark brown eyes set deep, with that square jaw, the bigger then average head of his. My melon head I used to call him. He loved it, and in turn he used to call me his little fruit tart, and I loved the affection he bestowed upon me. He was the father I never had, and I the daughter he wished he had.

When he sat me on his broad muscular shoulders I felt as if he was my royal carriage.. Sitting on that frame of his I felt we could fly away, chasing clouds and harass the local aviators while we flew in their air space, filling their orderly flight paths with chaotic dives, and aggressive mid flight u turns as we try to touch the stars.

Oh how I’ll miss you  Mr. melon head. But I will not be sad. I remember how happy you were, how happy you made everyone and I’ll cherish that the most. Your strength In making all those who deserved to be happy, making them happy. Those who embraced that side of you where touched in a way, in a way that the only other entity that could do a better job would be god himself.

But alas My melon head you had the evil as well as the good. The evil that people so feared. The dark side of you that not many saw, and those that did, were never the same for it. What was it in you that had to be unleashed. What was it in you that rested so contently yet was so evil that would burn any normal persons soul. Who where you, really?

Why did this thing exist in you?

What did you do to keep it from killing others? Or worse have it kill you, my Mr. Melon head?

How did u come to utilize it?

So many questions I wish I had asked you. My only regret, not knowing as much about you as I could. But in a way all I knew about you was enough to make me happy.

Why could I never bring myself to ask you about that day, that one fateful day. The day I met you and your other self.

I was 10 at the time. We had just fled from my mothers boyfriend, he became extremely drunk and extremely violent. My mother picked me up and fled his apartment as quickly as she could carry me. She had ran and ran. To many years and from to many people did she run from.

She wasn’t sure exactly where she was running to that night. Any where away from him was good. My mother just stepped into a Greek restaurant. She had really no idea where she was going she was just running for our lives. It was mere chance we stepped into this place of all places the one place where we would be the safest of all. The only place where the heavens had placed one of their hidden gems of humanity, and evil lay dormant waiting to be called forth to battle.

The place was nothing to extravagant, they had the old style chairs metal with plastic cushions brown and paper placemats with Greek propaganda spewing forth how much a great nation it once was.

Cruddy paintings covered the walls of villages that possibly where quite possibly know empty shells that housed more animals then people littered the walls.

Before I could take in the rest of the scenery, there he stood in front of me like a gapping tree. He was massive then again all men at my age where massive. But that night he looked as if a great spruce had sprung forth from the ground his branches sheltering us from the onslaught of  terror that had been in pursuit for some time. 



There he stood and with out even a word a great big hulking smile crept from cheek to cheek as he turned his mighty head and stared into my eyes.  I felt safe.



Your head looks like a melon. I said frankly with out fear. He bellowed in laughter as my mother frankly tried to apologize for my frankness. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone laugh so hard. Now that I think of it I don’t think anyone in that store had heard a laugh emit form his uncompromising face.

It’s alright mam. He said with a surprisingly light Greek accent. Almost none existent which I found later in life to be most odd. 

He peered over to me again with a huge smile and said, You can call me Mr Melon Head!

I giggled in an almost exuberant fashion. 

And what may I call you?

You can call me…. I struggled for a response when it just flew out of my mouth. Fruit Tart. He bellowed again his laugh filling the almost empty restaurant with a new life that made even the most hardest of person sitting in there smile.

Fruit cup and Melon head to the rescue he picked me up with his mighty shoulders and threw me around as if I was just a feather placed into the hands of The mighty Samson.

My mother sat in awe for quite awhile forgetting all of her worries, she as I did felt safe. It felt as if time itself had stopped and for that brief moment we had entered heaven. And the mighty angel Mr Melon head had peered his head inside and granted as a moment of euphoria that would last me and my mother a lifetime. He beckoned us over to an empty seat. There we sat while he held my hand and spoke to my mother.

I failed to realize what was said between the two grown ups all I did remember was how peaceful I, and I’m sure my mother felt in his presence. I didn’t even realize his massive hands releasing my tiny paw. He then enveloped my tiny frame with his right arm placing it over my right shoulder and still having enough length to grasp his right hand with mine. Never have I ever felt safer then in his grasp. With him around I felt capable of taking on armies, moving a mountains, nothing, no matter how great the feat seamed, none where  a daunting task when he was around. 

But as all good things they say must come to an end and ours did come but not till my mother and Mr. Melon head exchanged some words I didn’t hear exactly what they said, I know a worried look crossed my mothers face but his assurance made her at ease.

It wasn’t long after that he found us, crashing threw the front doors of what was now an empty shell of a restaurant there was only the three of us and the flashing bolt of hatred crashing threw doors destroying the what once peaceful and happy time we shared.

I hated him with all my might. I despised him for that. I wished him dead.

The strangest thing then happened. George spoke to me as if I spoke aloud. Don’t wish death onto anyone for whatever reason. He said. I glared in shock Did I accidentally speak aloud. To this day I can’t be for sure.



What amazed me more was our total acceptance of the impending violence that was soon to occur. We had no fear just hatred for him spoiling our one day where the world seemed right, for the one day where everything was where it was supposed to be.

He lumbered his way in threw the front door huffing and puffing as obscenities spewed out of his mouth. Words that fell by my ears as they where directed towards my mother, words so powerful that even though my Mr. melon head sat just a foot away managed to cut her in ways I don’t think I can ever fathomed. Words that tore straight to her heart cutting her.

But to my surprise her anaesthesia, George softened the pain, to the point where she still sat comfortably on her table waiting. Fear, a bitter emotion now written and almost forgotten in the history of our lives.

George stood up his massive frame now seemed almost godly to me. Like an umbrella to the oncoming storm he stood in-between it and us shielding us from the horrific storm that burst into that restaurant that night.

But that poor fool. That idiot with all the rage in the world couldn’t see what was right in front of his face. A beast of epic proportions stood in front of his windy fury that diminished too a tropical breeze, his gale force winds cut down to a cool bitter breeze.

There he stood before George, before any battle could begin he stood defeated.

But his stubbornness and stupidity failed to identify the lost cause. So he began to speak. George said nothing, there standing now a mountain of a man a god of men. This infuriated the jester. He raised his voice began to holler like a mad man that just lost his remaining marbles struggling to keep what little control he had kept in his life. His mastery over my mother was the last straw. He had to keep it. He had to keep her. Without her he was nothing but a beaten man. A nobody.

George took a swift action he raised his mighty hands and pressed his finger to his lips and let out a soft but forceful shhhh.

The poor fool had no choice but to accept George’s demand and fell silent. George spoke finally. His words profound, calm and forceful. But they fell on deaf ears.

The next words I remember quite well, the fool had dared to be defiant after all the respect and dignity George had allowed the gnome to keep.

Fuck You he bellowed with all the force and  might he could muster, followed with him doing the most stupid thing he could ever possibly do. He spit in his face.

That’s when the other George emerged. Rising from the pits of hell itself.

With what looked like the speed of lightning George had grabbed his tiny wrists in his hulking vice grip and brought it close to his chest.

When it began to emerge. It tore threw our reality emerging slowly from him.

George stood still as the tiny thing struggled to gain his freedom, even what I thought to be whimpering at the time. But with all his strength he couldn’t even move the arm of Beast that now gripped him ever so firmly.

His frame now blanked out as if anything of him I new was swallowed by a decadent blackness.  Now where my once happy Melon head stood a frame of a man his features hidden by nothingness. Just an outline filled with black. That was when I first noticed them. Wings had began to protrude from the nothingness growing with haste. Not your regular wings you would see on a bird. No they where scaly, large, ripped, not meant for flying but rather for intimidating its opponent.

I took the time to watch those emerge from him that I failed to realize what a radiantly beautiful monster had emerged from the nothing.

Never once was I frightened by it nor did I care. I realized later that I was never in any danger. For this was still Melon head. Horns, claws, grey skin, bulging muscles, and a dusty old rag rapped around his covering his eyes letting them not see the world. Or the world not to see them.

I’m almost positive he saw what I saws that day, After I had a full view of what he had become I looked at the pathetic golem as he struggled for freedom.

He began crying pathetically as he fell to his knees. I could hear him whimper for forgiveness, pleading for freedom. His life had no meaning now. He was defeated. A broken man that now yearned just to be left alive.

That’s when it whispered to him. In a tone that no man could ever produce naturally. So deep and massive is the only way I think I can describe it. I remember what I heard that day so clearly so powerful yet so simple. “Change your ways”.

A command that left a ray of hope, a breath of life that filled the lungs of what now seemed as a rotting corpse that was being carried around but a grave keeper looking for a place to burry it.

He pleaded with all his heart now as I now new he saw exactly what I saw. Did George let me see this or was it me who was able to see it. It didn’t matter I wasn’t afraid.

“Leave this place, leave them alone, and live like a child of god, or you will see me again.”

The voice thundered threw my brain.

I don’t remember much after that, from what my mother told me I fell asleep during the whole ordeal.

Maybe I was just exhausted from the constant running. I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I never saw that trolls face again. But like me he had a tremendous affect on that poor soul. He know runs an orphanage for battered children. He rose that day like a phoenix and became a champion for those who couldn‘t fend for themselves, when before all he new was evil, greed, and selfishness.

Like him I too became a champion. I became a lawyer and fought for abused woman’s rights. I took on all sorts of challengers, greedy politicians, men with superiority complexes, you name it I’ve fought them. All of them with Mr melon head standing in my corner giving me advice egging me on, providing me with strength to carry on the fight.

Even though in body he left us, in spirit he’s left a challenge, a wall to lean on, or just a ray of light to guide us. Whatever he left for you he truly does deserve the thanks he receives this day.

This story, a story that we have told over and over to everyone. Even though it was somewhat toned down.

This is my thanks to him. For his memory to live on. To give hope and maybe change a couple peoples lives. I can feel him right now smiling down upon us giving us the go ahead and try to make this world better.

I know one thing for sure. When times are tough for me, I will think of my Mr. Melon head.
© Copyright 2009 segamysa (segamysa at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1596354