I only remember falling into the dark abyss of nothingness that took me whole. I had no choice. But then I felt it.
There is light now. And it is everywhere. The unbridled light burns fiercly, forcing me to shut my eyes and render me obsolete, albeit time befriends me. Soon enough minutes become seconds, and seconds become shorter, dimming the light with it.
I open my eyes to what only proves my fear. I am in Hell.
Now I am able to see that the burning light is of the red and yellow flames encircling me. All around the fire crackles, dancing to the fierce rhythm of shrieks and bellows of a vile breed. The drum of this place pours terror into my throat.
Peering down to my hands I realize that they are inert -- bound, chained to the ground by auburn-rusted manacles -- and white cold despite the present feral heat. I cannot move them to defend myself from what lurks amid the flames. I look up to see that the demons of this place have gathered. They stare upon with insidious grins baring their teeth, all black and red and hungry.
"Wait! I'm not the one!" I cry, but none appear to listen. I crawl as far back as the chain allows, my soul beckoning to escape.
"Please, I am not supposed to be here!" Though they only slither closer and closer, readying for the taste of flesh.
"I beg of you! Please!" I scream now. What was once light is now a familiar darkness, darkness that spill over itself to get closer. I am consumed by nightmares and ghoulish things.
"Please, wai--" but it is too late. And they are adamant. And time is no longer my friend.
None show me mercy.
YOU ARE READING
Of The Little Things
General FictionNothing is, in fact, as it once seemed. When the light is put out, then only the shadows will remain -- it is inevitable.
