Den of Vipers

by K.A. Knight

When you’re a kid, they tell you stories of monsters hiding under your bed or in the dark. They don’t tell you of the very real human ones. Those who prey on people weaker than them, or even the monsters that hide within ourselves.

Rich or poor, it doesn’t matter, humans are still monsters. They hide behind pretty faces, loved ones, blood. Yet they are all the same. They all want you for something, the difference is…how far they’re willing to go to get it.

Because the truth is, I know at the base of all people, at their very core…all they care about is themselves. What something can bring them, do for them, and when push comes to shove, they will always choose themselves.

Those who love us have the opportunity to hurt us the worst, and in my experience, they always do.

Blood doesn’t always mean family. Sometimes you find your family in friends, in father- and mother-like figures…or in lovers.

When you find love, you hold on hard. It’s a fragile little thing, and once it’s gone, it leaves a hole and memories, we all know that. Ones you wish you could relive, but from every love, you learn something. Something important.

Death comes for all of us, and until it does, we have to do our fucking best to live. To live our lives to the fullest, to never regret. To love so deeply it could fill an ocean, to not let fear stop you from being who you want to be.