HELL

Prologue
 

        An eerie world of discomfort surrounded everything. The first photons that struck her ever so violently were laden down with all the colors of the rainbow, it seemed. But as her eyes, crusted over with the results of what seemed an eternal sleep, slowly opened, the light resolved itself. What seemed so radiant and so beautiful was turned into reds, and oranges, and yellows, and even some white.
        She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and stared out. Like so many hands reaching up in supplication did the flames leap from the ground in front of her. She lay there, enchanted by the strange sight, unaware of anything besides the flame.
        She couldn't recall anything, but she looked around without moving her head from its rocky pillow. She saw nothing but flame in the distance, its hands reaching up to the sky all the way from a pebbly shore nearby to the horizon. She thought that she saw shapes, silhouettes, floating amongst the fires, but she could not be certain. It all was captured, ever so fittingly, by a sky of pitchest black. There were no stars, no moon, no sun. It was just a lot of wide open black, with a field of fire underneath.
        She lay there, mesmerized by the dancing lights.

Chapter I

        There was a street dug out of the rock, and in the sides of that rock there were carved holes. People crowded it, dressed in rags, sometimes naked. Above it all four-winged creatures walked on air, wearing perpetual sneers.
        "Just keep looking down," whispered a black-haired oriental-looking child to an older man, who seemed to be in his thirties. He wore a green pilot's outfit, and a Canadian flag sewn on his shoulder identified his nationality to those passersby familiar with the red maple leaf.
        "Why?"
        The boy that he was talking to could be no older than thirteen, but his eyes betrayed a hauntedness that no teenager could ever possess. He risked a quick nod in the direction of the floating winged ones.
        "See the oni?"
        "Oni?" asked the pilot, looking up at the creatures. "Is that what they're called?"
        He got kneed in the groin by the kid.
        "Don't you listen to a word I say? I said not to look."
        "What the hell was that for? What's it gonna hurt?"
        "Oni... your word would be 'angel', I think," the boy continued, pulling the big Canadian to his feet. "They run this place-no, I take that back. They are the gods of this place."
        The man chuckled. "Freaky looking gods, if you ask me. What's with the-"
        He shut up as one of them descended.
        "I hear these strange noises," commented one of the creatures ever so elegantly, his nose upturned. "They are noises of dissent, of blasphemy, of infidelity to the one true God."
        The Canadian chuckled. "What are you talking about? I'm all for God. I was baptized, I went to church and all that. I'm still not clear-is this Heaven, Hell, the judgment, or what? I see flames in the distance but you're obviously no demon."
        It was the angel's turn to chuckle. He backhanded the pilot, sending him into a group of ragged people that scattered as the angel approached. The pilot made a move to get up, his brain racing furiously to try and comprehend what it was that had just happened to him. He looked at the beautiful creature, the angel, as it stepped towards him with pure malice in its eyes.
        "You were baptized? You went to church?" asked the angel as it stamped its foot on the man's neck. The pilot's eyes bugged out as he gasped for air, and he started hyperventilating as the creature's soles drove their way through the skin of his neck, destroying his vocal cords and snapping the neckbones and spine the wrong way. Blood poured profusely under the angel's foot like a spring, and the man stopped hyperventilating as he literally could not find breath. But his bugged eyes tried with all their might to look down and witness the angel's face.
        "You must understand that God knows all, my friend."
        The angel mashed his foot around, and the Canadian let out a scream devoid of air and sound as the cartilage that held his neckbones together lost its hold on the bones and his head flopped about, held only by the muscles and skin.
        The angel smiled a cruel little smile, and the pilot's head flopped towards the boy, who shook his head in disdain and walked away. The man's expression told it all-he felt betrayed by this young little guy, his only friend in this unfamiliar land. He reached a hand towards him, but the boy had disappeared into the crowds that were watching from the doorways.
        "You see, God so loved you that he died for your sins, that you may have everlasting life. You were a Christian. So... here you are."
        The angel then lifted his foot off the man's head, leaving the muscle and the skin on the back of his neck untrammeled and unsevered.
        "Welcome to Heaven."
        As the angel flew away, the Canadian pilot tried to stand up, but his head fell from his shoulders and hung by his musculature staring behind his back. This startled him and he fell. He grabbed his own head to try to stand up once more, but by then the angel had flown far enough away that the crowd dove on him.
        The boy looked on heartlessly as he watched the frenzied mob literally tear apart the man. They beat his chest open with rocks, and pushed and shoved each other to drink the man's blood. They tore his left arm off and the boy watched three people-a fat white man with sideburns, a potbellied African girl, and an elderly Berber peasant-fight each other to unconsciousness over the right to eat the arm. Of course, when they went down the crowd started hacking away at them as they did the big Canadian pilot, and this time he could hear their screams because their vocal cords had remained intact.
        It wasn't the first time that he had witnessed people being eaten alive, feeling every bite and watching their own blood be licked up by others for drink. The boy had even drunk his share of blood and eaten his share of human flesh, and he remembered the horrors that were his first days here.
        The angel's words echoed in his mind as he walked away from the commotion.
        "Welcome to Heaven."

***

        The road continued, and he saw inside the bars and the houses dug out of the rock. He knew that similar things were going on-the city was notorious for cannibalism and other such things. He hated coming here, but he had had need of a few items.
        They lay under the folds of his leather cloak, those things. A rock etched with arcane markings, purchased dearly with several things of his that he had spent years crafting. Goods like that were precious to folk like him, but in the city they existed to be consumed and destroyed, like every other single thing and person that came in the gates.
        He knew not where he headed, for he really had no home-he doubted that anyone here, even the oni, could say that they had a home either. So... he wandered.
        He thought back on the Canadian pilot, on how promising that relationship had looked-one gifted with the blessing of bulk and military training, yet controllable by one as he. In return for guidance, he could have had physical protection for the next several years. That would have been enough for him to begin looking. But, if he had learned anything in his years in this place, it was that one had to endure setbacks. It was imperative to continue to place one foot in front of the next, because stopping meant a world of nothing.
        He found that those feet that continued to be placed in front of each other were guiding him towards the gulf of flames on the horizon. He was familiar with this area, and remembered living on the shores of those flames for a long time.
        He had lived many places, and the fire would be a welcome sight... about as welcome as anything in this damned realm.

************

        The fire enraptured her... it was pretty.
        A foot shattered the view.
        "What... the fire is gone," she whispered as she felt herself be picked up.
        "The fire is still there," replied a young teenaged Japanese boy with long hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in green fatigues with red stars on the sleeves. "But who might you be?"
        The girl blinked, and noticed the boy for the first time. For his part, the boy sized up the girl. She looked about six or seven, with cheeks caked in dried blood and blonde hair that originally must have been arranged in pigtails. However, one of the pigtails had been singed by fire to the scalp, and the other was incredibly filthy. She stank of fresh death, of cinders and of gunfire.
        "I-I am me."
        "You don't know who you are?"
        "No," the girl realized. "Can I watch the fire?"
        "Not at the moment," the boy said. "Do you know where you are?"
        "Not at all," the girl said. "Near the fires at night, I guess."
        "You are in Hell."
        The girl stared at him.
        "So that's the name of this place. I like Hell... just let me watch the flames."
        The boy was familiar with what was happening. Those who had died in burning houses, or by being burned alive, or by anything involving fire, always seemed to have an appreciation for this corner of Hell.
        "Did... did you burn to death?" asked the boy.
        "I don't know."
        The boy couldn't tell whether she was lying or not, but he suspected that his theory was right. And, as he pondered the matter further, he realized that it was possible that she may not remember her death, but somehow the fire was sparking subconscious memories of it. He figured that if she lay here, she wouldn't do anyone harm, she wouldn't put herself in harm's way, and she did seem happy to be by the flames.
        But... he couldn't leave her alone. She was new here, apparently, and there was no mercy for those who couldn't defend themselves. A prowler looking for a full belly could rip her to shreds and leave her to beg an angel for healing. A pervert could come along and possess her, her childhood notwithstanding. A slaver could capture her and sell her in the human markets of Dis. And, they would all reason, she had done something to deserve it. Nobody was here that hadn't.
        So he took off his cloak, bundled it up under her head, and stood a sort of guard as she watched the flames. And, for the first time in days, watching the sulphurous blasts bellow out of the crags in the distance, he allowed himself to sleep.

***

        They woke up later. There was little way to determine how much later, though.
        "Good morning," greeted the boy as he got up and stretched. "Not that that means a terrible amount of anything amidst the toasty flames of Perdition... down here there's no such thing as 'good' and there's no such thing as 'morning'. So... yeah."
        The girl was still sleeping, so he shook her awake.
        "Huh?"
        "Wake up."
        "Why?"
        "Because we're going."
        "Who are you, mister?"
        The boy paused, then, realizing that they had not traded names.
        "Hmm... my name?" inquired the boy. "Well, I've gotten several of those over time. You can call me Nagai, for what that's worth. Now, your name?"
        "I... I don't know my name."
        He nodded. "I once met this soldier from Greece that kept forgetting his name. Heh... I think I ended up forgetting it, too, so I called him Xerxes. He never got the joke."
        She just stared at him, not getting it either.
        "Oh, nevermind. I suppose you want a name?"
        "Eh," she shrugged. "I'll think of one."
        "Ah, well then. Where are you from, and when?"
        She just shook her head.
        "...don't suppose you'd know that, either. Well, you're a little white girl, and you speak Lucine with an American accent."
        "A...merica..." she pondered aloud. "America? What's that like?"
        "I was just in Little Russia, and I heard that they had just been hit by nukes."
        "Nukes?"
        "Nevermind. I keep forgetting that you're only six or so. You probably wouldn't know any of th-"
        "Are they the things that make the big clouds that look like spinning tops?"
        "Um, yeah. Why?"
        "I remember seeing one out my bedroom window."
        "Then at least we know what killed you."
        "Yeah, we know that."
        Nagai nodded, and then sat down by her, his hand stroking his bare chin.
        "So... you're new here. Hell isn't a nice place, you should know."
        "The flames are pretty."
        "There are a lot of people in Hell, and most of them wouldn't give a second thought to... hurting you."
        "Why would they hurt me? I wouldn't hurt them."
        He laughed out loud then for a second, remembering the concept of naivete. It was an idea that had been quickly robbed of him when he had come to this place.
        "That's why they would hurt you. Because you couldn't fight back."
        "Hmm... but you're not a grown-up either."
        "Not physically, no," granted Nagai. "But... I've been here for a long time and I know things that will help you get by. I can teach."
        "I always hated school, you know."
        He bitterly laughed.
        "A hatred of knowledge, yes... you're definitely an American if what I hear about them is right."
        She pursed her lips in thought. "Well... will you give me any tests?" they don’t have tests in kindergarten…make it be like I dunno I can’t think right now
        He rolled his eyes in amusement. "No, no tests. Will you come with me?"
        "Where are we going?"
        "On a journey to a place that's far, far better than this place."
        "Are you lying to me?"
        He looked at her in shock. "Why would you think that?"
        "My parents lied to me. They said that I'd go to Heaven when I died and that I'd be with Jesus. They told me this over and over the night that I saw the funny cloud. But here I am... in Hell. They never even told me about this place."
        "No, no, I don't think it's Heaven. The texts I've seen call it Paradise."
        She gave a thoughtful little hum and nodded.
        "Then let's go, Nagai!"
        She wore this broad smile as she said that, of a kind that he had not seen in centuries.
        He couldn't help but give her a smile as well.

***************

        They trekked along the rim of the Lake of Fire, and every so often Nagai would point out something.
        "See how the road branches off here?" he asked her. "If we took the left branch away from the lake, we'd be on the road to Dis."
        "What's Dis?"
        "Dis is the throne of Hell. It's held in absentia by the fallen archangel Lucifer, and he has his lieutenant Ba'alzebub ruling in his stead."
        "Where is Lucifer?"
        "I once had the privilege of meeting a guy who went by the name of Urban. He said that Lucifer is on Earth at the moment. I also met a guy named Jerry a few days ago that said that he was really here but hiding. So... I dunno. A friend of mine's come up with the theory that Lucifer doesn't even really exist. It's just a metaphor for God or something. Makes sense to me."
        "Why would Bellzybook or whatever his name is make up a name for God?"
        "Because then he's got our perception of God completely under his control. And... to some people, God's the only hope they have down here."
        "Huh?"
        "It's complicated. Don't talk about things like this to other people, and especially not to any angels you might see."
        "Angels? I was taught that angels were in Heaven."
        "They are. But there's bad angels, and they're all over."
        "Why shouldn't I talk about hope and God to bad angels?"
        "Because they hate it, and they hate us all anyway. Don't give them a reason to torture you."
        "T-torture?" She looked afraid.
        "Now you're just starting to understand what Hell is like."
        "Hey Nagai."
        "What?"
        "I'm thirsty."
        "This is Hell. There's almost no water."
        "But I'M THIRSTY!"
        Nagai glared at her.
        "I've been thirsty for two centuries since I left Hiddenport. Don't complain."
        She pouted at that, but remained silent.
        They walked on, taking the right fork. They stopped to rest several times, the little girl's small legs tiring easily. Several nights they rested.
        "Where are we going?"
        "There's a port on this side of the Lake of Fire, kinda small. It's well-hidden, and I know some friends that work out of there. I'll introduce you to some of them, okay?"
        She looked up at him and smiled a happy little smile. "Okay." Then, taking a look at Nagai, she skipped along the path.
        Nagai watched her run ahead, marvelling at an existence that truly didn't fit its surroundings. He had met children before, true enough, but he couldn't remember a person that seemed so... so innocent. Like she didn't belong here.
        He was an evil man. He knew that, remembered what he had done, remembered things that he couldn't atone for.
        Or could he?
        Maybe he could make up for his past by guarding someone else's future. He knew that he pursued Paradise, and he had heard that only those who had earned it could enter. Even if he managed to find the place, he might still need to be good. What better way to atone than to make sure that a pure soul found contentment?
        This little girl could be his ticket to Paradise.

Document not finished

Return to Links from Hell             Fora Augusta