Disobedience

(This is based on a psychological mock test I took in psychology class. The timed story is based on the image above.)


Gazing down the reflective surface, Damien’s cold black eyes glistened with excitement. Down below, his pastor was being prepped for dinner by his followers. Screams of pain and agony echoed from the mirror as he prayed for God to save him. Unfortunately, his prayers went unheard. After all, there was no God to save him. Damien was God and accusing your holiness as being the devil was a sin that could not be forgiven.

A memory of masculinity

      We were a family, while I was living a lie. The day I told them who I truly was, was the day I cut ties with them. My father wanted an heir to our name, yet he never noticed me. I was right in front of him. When I told him about who I really was, he shunned me away in disgust and anger.
       The salty tears, blasts of malicious yelling, and the wounded cries of my mother as she held my father back never left my mind as I laid beaten and bloodied on the cold concrete floor. A sharp ache ran up my shredded, purple patched arms as I tried to get up. Drops of crimson rolled down from the cuts and scratches, landing on the flowing grass. With a pit forming in my stomach, yet a sense of warmth blossoming from within my chest, I raised my head up high and left, never looking back once. I was finally free and able to live my life as the real me from that day on wards.