If sin still existed, if I believed that there was a God out there who looked down on us and gave us fair judgement, then I was sure to be joining these damned creatures in the fiery depths below, amidst the hatred and rage. Where the devil’s children run free, unshackled like we feared but never suspected. We believed hell was a place of torture not redemption. How foolish of us to believe such stupidity, such lies. Gullible little humans, we were spoon feed the fiction from birth until we reached the pearly gates to find they were, in fact, not even there. Only black nothingness, eternal sleep for the weak. A promise of life after decease all but broken across our innocent backs. We are the pathetic humans, we always have been.

These creations, they are the superior beings, yet those words shall never leave my lips. It shall be my own little confession to myself, no one else; they do not have a right to know. But I have no rights, not in this place, not in this world. This becomes apparent as I sit in this chamber, far too immense for its own good; the light swallows it whole as I sit here. The suns feeble attempts at radiance creeping, curling across the dark wood floor, the dust dances in its wake. The pillows prop me up, my arms folded, my chest bare, breath shallow so as to not wake the sleeping beast beside me. Jet black hair matted across the plush pillows beneath his peaceful face, drained of all the malice it held so viciously the night before, his stubble the only flaw on his lurid flesh.

I could run, escape this nightmare. I convince myself that maybe I’d have a chance at elusion but the voice of reason within knows that this is just not the truth. May of the hellborns will already be stalking the halls of the grandeur that is this courthouse. I have no plan, no knowledge of how to slip through these corridors undetected, I have nothing, I have no escape. Thus I am trapped within these tall walls. Forever a prisoner in the company of hell’s angels.

Filthy, that’s how I feel but not in the sense of my skin, I know that is grimy. I feel traitorous , I let my mind down, I gave my body to the monster and let him burn his way through me, torturing me with sweet ecstasy until the whispers that demanded I stay true was incarcerated by everything that was him. If I was not a disgrace to mankind before, there was no doubt in Satan’s mind I was now.

Seduced, deflowered, demoralised all without the use of a name. The animal beside me still remained a mystery, I had seen him in all his disastrous glory and again I could still not put a name to a face. A beautiful, satanic face.

The sheets are smooth against my skin as I feel him waking, stirring from a peaceful slumber, how anything can gain any minuscule reminisce of peace within such corrupt existence is beyond my capability. I must play dead, fraying sleep and soft, slow whimpers of breathe. My back to him, my vision encompassed by the shallow light peeking through rich curtains, I can feel his weight shift as he hoist himself lethargically to a sitting position and all the while I focus on my breathing. In, out, in, out.

“I know you’re awake.”

Do I let him know the truth? Is there any point in hiding anymore? I have no salvation, not ticket to freedom, what is there left for me apart from the shackles of slavery, nothing. A gush of wind surpasses my lips as I roll onto my back, eyes unmoving from the intricate masterpiece of a ceiling, my heart a hammer in my rib cage, my mind wondering what happens next.

“What’s your name?” Even, smooth words. We were both nameless strangers.

“What’s the point?” Rebellion never was my strong point.

“The point is that if I don’t know your name, I’m going to have to kill you.” Slave forms, useless formalities.

“Alex.”

“Seems fitting.”

“How so?”

“Alexander, Greek originated name that means ‘man’s defender and warrior’ too bad there’s no war for you to fight in, you seem like quite the defiant type.” If it had been any other demon, a level playing field, I may have been able to be strong, lead the apostasy I had planned, yet luck had never been on my side, I always drew the short straw and so I was stuck with an inner battle of emotions and pride, neither of them ever seeming to win.

“What’s yours?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your name?” It was hardly a difficult question for a creature with the manipulative power such as him.

“Jack.” Irony is the world’s most humorous experience, a Hebrew name meaning God is gracious had never being given to a more unworthy being. God was hardly being gracious when he banished such an atrocity to the pits below. Though at least I could direct my derogatory longing thoughts to a named source now, though it made no difference other than the slightly sanity it brought to know that it had a name and, maybe, wasn’t a clone.

I made no movement to acknowledge anything, not what he said or what he did. I could hear him shuffling about the room, moving through a door I could only assume attached a bathroom to the gargantuan bed chamber. There was a rush of clothing, fresh clothing, something I had not sampled in so long, something that made my blood boil in my veins. The rush of water is a sound that slowly became unfamiliar to me ever since the world became a wash with disaster after disaster, the apocalypse having its way with mankind.

Fresh towels wrapped around his hands as he, soon, emerged from with the other room ,discarded on the floor as if it was not a luxury to most anymore. I reverted my eyes back to my aimless appreciation of the ceiling.

“Don’t go running off anywhere.” If I smugness could be measured I am sure his remark would of broken the scale. He knew I could not leave, he knew I was stuck with him and he knew I wasn’t a fan of being kept like an animal. I’m sure he’d entertained himself with the idea of getting me a cage.

Notes

I feel so bad, it's been so long since I update. I do have my reasons but I shall not bore you with them.

As always thanks to all the readers, subscribers, recommenders and comments you are all so lovely thanks you.

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