The first installment of a story I wrote from a dream. Tell me what you think!
There was a man in the cell. He sat hunched over, cheek resting
against the damp iron wall. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep, as was
evidenced by his shaking hands and the muscle of his jaw, which twitched every
other second. He pretended to sleep because it was only then that the demons
let him alone. Usually, they harassed him mercilessly, worming into his
thoughts and dreams until he felt like tearing his skin apart to escape them.
He snuck one eye open, and the guard outside his cell hissed.
The
guard was a small, slimy demon of the lowest echelon. It hovered low to the
ground on humming wings, its bald white frame dangling like a rotten fruit. It
watched the man with beady eyes and hissed again, menacingly. A single
caterwaul would bring half of Hell to the cell door.
The
man-Dante, for that was his name-let his eyelid flutter close to a slit. The
world was bleary now, obscured further by the lack of light. His shaking hand
went to his belt, and caressed the small doll that was the only memento he had
of his old world. He recalled Sophe, and her beaming face as she held the
ragged doll up to him. He remembered her high voice, chirping: "For you,
Daddy!" He remembered, and with the memories came a swelling of affection,
of longing. From outside, the sentry squeaked, a pathetic attempt at a howl, and
fell to the ground, stunned by loving emotion.
Dante
stood up, wearily, and fished the keys from the guard's slimy wrinkles through
the bars. He unlocked the door and let himself out. The hall was empty. The
management felt secure in Dante's faked insanity. He broke into a run, through
the jagged black tunnels, past oozings of acidic orange lava. He stuck to the
walls, hiding in pools of shadow when the chatter of demonic voices neared him.
After about ten minutes, from behind him there rose a desolate howl-the guard's
caterwaul. There was no point in hiding now.
He
started sprinting, running as if the hounds of hell were after him—which
indeed, they were. The gate neared him, a spiked monstrosity of iron and
marble. Beyond it, there lurked a faint light, where the demons could not
trespass. Freedom was two hundred yards away-one hundred-fifty yards...
Behind
him, a slavering mob of demons rounded the corner. His guard led the mob,
shrieking, "After him!" "Faster!" In the language of his
echelon. Swarms of flying demons filled the air above the mob, closing in
rapidly. Dante flung himself onto a vast pillar and climbed it clumsily. His
strength was waning now, his muscles weakened from the long incarceration.
Demon hounds were scaling the pillar, jaws gaping, claws scratching the marble.
Dante doubled over on a ledge, gasping. There was no way up, and the hounds
were drooling below. He gazed desperately at the fiery vista of Hell, sure to
be his last sight. Was there no way out? No way of all? Would he never see
Sophe and his wife, Marlen again? He couldn’t perish so near the exit. He had
come too far, suffered too much. He
stood up, scanned with dignity the mass of demons waiting for him at the base
of the pillar, and spoke. "I propose a bargain..." And that was how
he escaped.
