Dream

Based on a dream I had. Names have been changed.

     Leaning back to avoid a punch, the man swung with his length of chain, catching his opponent in the head and dropping him to the ground. He felt hands grasping at him, and could see the shadowy figures dancing around him while his unknown partner dealt with his own foe. He swung his chain at the next to step forward, and was dismayed when he did not feel the solid impact; the heavy metal merely caught on a piece of clothing. He was surprised but pleased when the figure dropped. And suddenly, there were no more enemies around him. Head bowed, breathing hard with his hair in his eyes, he turned to his benefactor, who had fought with him, to discover that he had no face. He did not look the gift horse in the mouth, however, and shook the man's hand in the middle of the darkness.

 

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     She'd been taken. She wasn't dead; somehow he knew that with absolute certainty. She was here but alive. But wasn't that sort of a prerequisite for going to Hell? Apparently that does not always apply. He didn't know why she was there, how she'd gotten there, or how he was going to accomplish his goal. S**t, he didn't even know how he'd wound up there himself. It was vitally important, and foremost in his mind, that she not remain there for a second longer. He was focused, and determined, but he was also clueless.

     For hours, or minutes, or days or weeks he wandered. He had no real perception of time in the Pit. He didn't feel anything; no heat, no sweat. He was neither hungry nor thirsty. There were no visions such as those experienced by Dante. He held her in his mind's eye: her hair, her face, her laughing eyes. He must see her again. Everything around him looked the same, and she was in none of it; reddish browns, blacks, and shadows, all moving and flowing around him. There were other things moving, living things, some of them watching him, some busy on some other errand. Even the ones he caught full sight of were seen as in peripheral vision; glimpsed, and not clearly. He kept his eyes facing forward, never turning his head or his feet off the nonexistent path he was walking. After a time, he became angry, and frustrated, and he stopped. The terrain continued moving around him; maybe he'd never moved at all, but the world around him just made the illusion that he had been. He had decided it was time to cut the crap and go to the head.

     "Satan!" he yelled into the Abyss. He felt no fear at the prospect of meeting the Father of Lies face-to-face; he was like a bullet, mindless and intent on his purpose. Immediately, the landscape froze. The shadows and colors stopped shifting, and the beings stalking about vanished. Later, he would not remember the conversation he had with the Fallen One, only the outcome: she was freed. It was not until later that he realized, he had traded his presence for hers; he was stuck in Hell. He began wandering again after this revelation. This time, he was able to get around. He came to a doorway, and pushed inside.

     He was greeted to the sight of Beelzebub himself lounging in a chair, sourrounded and covered by beautiful women. He was gracious enough to offer one or more to his guest, but was declined. She was all he'd wanted, and he had not even seen her before her release and his internment. The man would not remember this conversation either. The outcome, however, was not as pleasant as the last. His final thought before his eyes rolled into his head was that maybe, somehow, someone in Heaven would forgive him for his wrongdoings because he had been selfless, and given himself up for her. But would having that hope for himself put him beyond redemption...?

Author's Note

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