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The last thing I saw before I died was her getting pierced with a bullet right through the heart. She staggers to the sandy ground, blood droplets spattering her face. Her eyes are glassy, riddled with pain and weary. Lights flash through the last bit of life in her eyes, her body sinking into the dust of the desert. A final strained breath leaves her, a final attempt to stay alive. Angry red liquid pours from all sides, her skin tinted brownish red from the pools of sweat and blood surrounding her late body.“Helena,” I whisper, barely audible, as blood and tears stream into my mouth. As my vision fades to black, I know we'll end up. We never did anything worthwhile in our short lives, where else would we end up? My eyes shut with regret yet ease as I fade to the void before me. I can just barely hear my final breath as my body lays to rot.If I was told I never opened my eyes, I would believe them. Purgatory is bleak and sparse; lost souls stare out into the void of darkness, waiting to be saved from their suffering. Selfish creatures.I search for Helena, nowhere to be found. Fear, uncertainty, and guilt drops to my stomach. Where is she? Not Hell, for sure no. There’s no way she’s in Hell. It’s impossible… right? My thoughts spiral, looping around my head like a snake. Fear fills my eyes; spikes stab and prod at my stomach, my limp and destructed body falling to the floor. As if wooden stakes are piercing my heart, just as the bullets pierced through Helena's.I attempt to call out her name to no avail. I clench my stomach swiftly. This isn’t real.“I can assure you it’s real. Admitting it is just the beginning.” I stare up at the slender man before me. How is he able to speak? My eyes grow with fear as I look up at the man.“How are you able to speak?” I almost mumbled from fear. I startled myself, stumbling back from the terror of my own voice.“The Devil. You know the idea of me, not who I truly am.” He responds, his beguiling voice dripping with sin. I understand why Eve fell to temptation now. I pause. The Devil is before me.I stubble backwards, trying to escape this nightmarish fever dream. Sweat drips down my face and neck. My ears grow hot with fear as my senses grow overwhelmed with this knowledge. Religion is a concept. This isn’t real. Religion is a concept. This isn’t real. Religion is a concept. This isn’t real. I repeat it over and over again, praying that if I say it enough, it will become true. My head spins as I continue to sweat. The droplets run down my face; yet as I wipe the sweat off I can feel a burning sensation to pulse through my skin.Horrified and in pain, I stare down at my hands to see thick and fresh blood smeared across them. The dark red bubbling in my hands is the final nail in the coffin. I’m dead, she’s burning, and he’s the devil.I slowly step forward with caution as emotions bubble through my veins.“Why are you here?” I whisper. “You’re supposed to be in hell.” He just stares at me with a smirk plastered across his pale face.“I have a deal.” he states simply. His beguiling voice allures me closer. I see his hand reach out towards me, and I can’t help but feel dragged in by the symphonic melody that plays around him. My hand reaches out before I even hear what he has to say. He continues, “Helena is in Hell. If you go back to the living and bring me the dead corpses of 1000 evil men, I will grant Helena the chance to go up to heaven, safe from eternal damnation."“Deal.” I state with a new found confidence. I reach my hand out further, willing to make any sort of deal with him if it means Helena is safe. Anything to save Helena.His hand grips mine with a smirk ever growing on his face. He nods slowly while his other hand reaches towards his fraying belt loop. As he latches on to the loop, he pulls away from my grip. The other hand now holds a gun and hands it to me.He is nothing and everything I expect from a fallen angel. The gun he passes towards me is rusted and crusted with blood. The sides are chipped and weary, tired from constant use. Looking closer, fresh red smears across the trigger. *This is vile.* I grimace as my hand runs down the gun. I continue to do so until I notice there is nowhere to load the gun.I stare up at him with curiosity, fear, confidence, and passion. My final words: “I’m ready.” This time, I’m the one who doesn't break eye contact.I close my eyes suddenly, and subconsciously grip the gun knuckles white.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
What feels like hours later, I wake up on a speeding bus with a dead weight in my left pocket. I reach down to find discomfort in the rusted gun again. Its bloody trigger keeps my body awake and alert. My eyes darted around, looking for any clue as to where I was. I look out of the large window behind me to see large crowds and tight corners. Everything is busy and dirty. The build up of grime reeks of mildew and booze.
Must be New Orleans.Remembering as to what my goal here is, I try to get a good view of the steering wheel. If I wait until the bus is about to stop, I can kill everyone here and take the bus as a getaway. I understand the risks of it, but I find it worth it. I stare into the lives and souls of each person on this bus before shaking the feeling. I can’t get attached. I can’t fail. Not yet.My knuckles go white as I tighten my grip on the gun in my hand. My thoughts turn blank as the bus begins to slow.
I cock the gun and pull it out of my left pocket. On instinct, I aim and shoot the gun quickly. Continuing this pattern of recklessness, I cock the gun once more and shoot blindly. I don’t even feel recoil past the blind recklessness.The hard click before each shot, the recoil of the gun vibrating through me, the blood splattering against the walls of the bus. As my blood boils and eyes go white for Helena, I feel nothing but passion and anger for the moment. The blood splatters onto my jacket; though my jacket is too dark for it to be noticeable.
The terror in the room dies down as more people drop dead.The sounds of bloody murder bounce off the walls, growing quieter as the bodies pool.As the sound dies, so does recklessness. My vision fades back in, my consciousness comes back. I’ve killed the swarms around me, my hands trembling in fear. In fear of myself. In fear of what I can do. I quickly compose myself before rushing to the steering wheel.I lug the bus driver's bloody body out of the seat before slamming on the gas. I shoot a glance over to the driver’s body. My eyes linger on the body for a moment longer, looking for the wounds I’ve inflicted. His stomach is dripping with blood and acid, pooling out through his shirt. The stain is dark and full, staining the floor of the bus. He’s drooling. Overall, the three different puddles that are coming out of him have seeped together, making a blend of all of his insides. Bile rises to my throat, forcing me to look away and focus on the road.
Before I can regret this even more, I slam the gas harder than before until I can find a rest stop. It seems to never end. I just keep driving and driving and driving.
As soon as I see a tall building flooding with people, I slam the breaks of the bus and hop out. I look for signs of what this is for, Not seeming to find anything yet. Still, I hop out of the bus, needing a rest from the stenching fumes emitting from the long dead corpses.
I walk around to notice men and women with extravagant clothing and gifts. I see wines of all ages, each and every one being the same deep red as the blood I spilled in the bus. I decide to peek in, praying for food and a restroom.
The room is filled head to toe with drunken men and women, each and every one having no care in the world. Their drinks clink against each other, wine spilling out of their glasses and on to the floor. The laugh, finding it rather amusing than a nuisance to clean. However, one pairing in particular. A Bride and Groom. The newly wedded wife bares a giant grin on her face, tugging and pulling at his tuxedo coat, though she seems more interested in getting stuff from him, not his money. The thick fabric doesn’t seem to stand a chance against her, as he seems too busy looking at other men. He isn’t even being discreet about it. I continue watching him creep until he lays his eyes on me.
He stares intently, eyes sharpening down on me like a dart. He glares with curiosity, a hidden intent behind his eyes. I watch as whispers something to his new wife, before walking over to me. My eyes dart between both him and his wife. Her dress is long and extravagant, clearly expensive, not paying any mind to her husband leaving. She seems to drunk and chatty to care. My shoulders rise up with tension as he comes closer. I can feel my face going pale, everything in the room almost wrapping around this man.
“Hey. Who are you again? Sorry, I’m just a little tipsy.” He says through a bellowing laugh. My face goes red all of the sudden, trying and struggling to find an excuse.
“Oh I came as a plus one.” I respond casually, trying to seem calm in the pressure of the situation. I tussle at my greasy and clumped up hair, knowing I’m nothing but calm. I pray he’s too drunk to notice.