I don’t really care about the Emmys but this woman better win something for having to act opposite demon baby.
The reality of the series finale of Friday Night Lights just dawned on me. No more Coach Taylor. No more Sorenson stumbling over his words. No more Demon Baby.
:(
It was a fool’s errand, I know, trying to catalog the malevolence of such a spirit as hers. Perchance we’ll meet again, on some dreary rainy night in which I haplessly stumble into her beguiling world of foot balls and godlessness once again.
Don’t blame yourself for surrendering to her tyranny. Not even Santa was steadfast enough in his resolve, in shear altruistic willpower, to overcome her lust for souls. All succumb to the her, real or myth, and all lay supine and catatonic in the wake of her gleeful terror. For she is legion. She is the negative composite of all your hopes and dreams, weighing heavily on your chest like so much chiseled gargoyles, at once suffocating and erasing any last glimmer of humanity you once bore.
She’s pointing at the very core of your being, assessing your tawdry list of pitiable sins and preparing for the final chapter of your doom. You may think she’s sizing you up but don’t be a fool, your fate was sealed the moment you entered the room; the minute her hellish eyes first cast their gaze on you so many winters ago. The demon baby toys with you, letting you entertain the false notion of reprieve, of an escape from looming and eternal torment.
She has acquired your scent. Soon she will be on the trail; the hunt. No amount of scurrying across shallow brooks can hide you. She will find you and, when she does you will lay supine, chest torn open, conscious of those final few last seconds that float like an eternity while your heart musters the last of its fleeting beats in her porcelain palm— you will wonder why she ever began this mad quest for you soul in the first place. Has your life, you will ask, after all this time, just been some great cosmic joke? Or was this destiny? And as she begins to consume your heart, when the darkness sets in and you begin to pass out from lack of oxygen to your brain, you will finally understand— there is nothing you could have done differently, nothing that could have stopped this; she was always with you, your shadow, the one that watched you when no one else was looking— The Toll Taker.
Render unto her all the offerings you can gather, it is of no consequence. Demon baby’s hunger will not be sated by mere accoutrements. She thirsts for blood, the blood of the innocent.
Shambling into your dining area with no regard for your kitchenette, clenching the doll she made from your hair while mumbling hermetic incantations of doom and despair - the demon baby flanks you.
Contemplating your demise, sealing your fate.
