“A Dead Perspective”

“Thy kingdom come, th- thy will be done, in earth…”

It won’t do you any good boy, I’ve been praying for months now and look where that got me.

He looked young and scrawny; god knows how long he’d been surviving out here. It must have been with some lucky shots. No cuts or bruises in sight and the flimsy, dirt stained fabric that draped his body couldn’t be keeping much of the cold off of him. He was almost skeletal- ribs and collarbone protruding out of his body that barely contained any fat; if it wasn’t for his foolish, presumptuous actions he would of been dead soon enough anyway.

“Lead us not into temptation.”

He choked on the last word; spit sprayed onto my face and dribbled down his chin, intertwining with the salty tears creeping down his cheek and the glob of yellowing snot pouring out of his nostrils.

Unsurprisingly I managed to not gag; after the thirtieth time I seem to have become immune to seeing them in such a state. This was life now for me- and hell- this wasn’t even the worst part anymore. I used to feel sorry for them, but now I just pity them

“But deliver us!”

I could see the adrenaline pour through him at the sudden realisation that this was the end; he no longer had any hope and like a caged animal backed into a corner, he lashed out. The wine bottle shattered on impact leaving a trail of bloody shards buried in my face. I felt my tongue reach out and slide across the top of my lip catching the little streams of blood. It no longer tasted metallic, like when you’d stick a penny coin in your mouth as a child. Don’t tell me you didn’t do that too. Blood tastes of iron. We’d all tasted it some way or another. But my blood.. it tasted like liquorice gone sour. The texture was worse. It didn’t drip. It poured like honey; thick and pulpous.

He grabbed the neck of the shattered wine glass and waved it before my face whilst repetitively screaming: “DELIVER US FROM EVIL!”

There is no God. You know there is no God to believe in you simple twit, otherwise you’d have accept your fate and be done with it a long time ago.

The bottle sunk into my stomach, twisting and entangling my intestines, pouring out of my belly. I felt every slice made by each jagged shard from the bottle, the pain in my already throbbing body intensified. I wanted to reach down and rip the bottle out of me, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even scream in pain as the glass buried itself deeper and deeper, with each thrust, as I dragged myself slowly across the linoleum floor.

If there really is a God, he is one sick and twisted bastard. We’re all just toys in a little boys’ box; a little boy that seems to have grown bored of his toys and tossed us to the Devil broken and bent, to be annihilated.

Is the Devil truly evil though in comparison?

A loud whimper resembling a young pup pulled me out of my religious contemplations.

Stop crying man, have some dignity in your own death.

The young man had retreated back to his dingy corner of the little kitchen, he’d fallen into a fetal position, shaking and crying; drenched in his own tears, snot and drool. Pride comes with refusing to going down without a fight when the end comes; it doesn’t matter the outcome you end up in, but rather how you react once there.

There’s a saying I’m very fond of, it’s coming to me in this moment; as it has been doing in all of the mirrored moments before this one.

“No. No! NO!”

He resists, but he is too weak; underfed, cold and the doughy texture of his skin in my hands indicates dehydration. All of them are usually in this condition; full of a fever, dizzy and shaking. There’s no clean water for miles that isn’t contaminated and no way to filter it safely.

Poor bastard, he didn’t stand a chance in hell.   

I am now close enough to smell the trail of vomit slathered across his chest and neck; he had been so desperate for a drink that he tried to down a carton of expired milk, but his stomach couldn’t handle it and brought it back up.

This is punishment. What could we have done that is so bad to deserve this to be brought down upon us? Today my reasoning points towards religion, but other days it’s usually scientifically related. Maybe some ambitiously, careless scientist played with the wrong chemicals- or played with the right ones with vindictive outcomes planned. Maybe they were made to create this chaos by higher powers.

My thoughts are too distracted by religious ramblings though to concentrate on forming together theories of conspiracy by the government. The directions of my thoughts have been influenced by this man’s very own religious rambling to an unknown entity.

My face is now buried into his chest, I can taste the sour milk vomit on my tongue; I want to gag. I need to gag! I can’t take this anymore.

I am a prisoner in my own body.

My hands sink into his stomach with such incredible force and strength; it’s almost like ripping apart a thick beach ball filled with wet sand and dead fish. The smell hits my nose instantly, it knocks my senses back but my body dives forward.

Don’t think about it.

My mouth opens wide catching an organ between my teeth. It’s wet and slippery over my tongue, it tastes like a penny. My teeth chomp down; it has the texture of chicken and jelly combined, juicy and wet.

That’s right, chicken and jelly, that’s what you’re eating.

But I can’t close my eyes. I see the veins and arteries dripping from my mouth in a reflection on the glass cabinet behind him- tangled and caught between my teeth, to waterfall down my chin and neck.

He went one step further though, if this is truly a punishment; trapping me inside my own body, a prisoner of death and destruction. To see, smell, hear, touch and taste everything my possessed body desires; with no control.

He died instantly; only for most of him to rest inside my torn stomach and drip out of my ripped intestines onto the linoleum floor.

The first few times I screamed with them; I begged for them to run away or kill me. I couldn’t stand seeing my own hands rip apart and devour them. The things I’ve seen can twist a person from the inside out; even if it was possible to return to my original state I would no longer be the same person. I might still rip apart the sweet flesh of a glowing survivor, ravage and consume their body and soul; but with my own hands, control and choice. The quote comes to mind again- by a man I once loved for his mind and creations; Oscar Wilde- I really do miss the feel of a book in my hands, carrying with it the dusty smell of comfort and security.

“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”

It is a quote that has travelled with me from day one as I question my own sanity and morals inside this rotten dungeon; my first victim was no older than this young man, at least she fought though and fought hard. But it wasn’t enough.

I don’t feel sympathy for them anymore; most of my victims have been equipped to fight, yet they still lose. Trapping them and leaving me to wander the earth hunting for another victim.   

I start to notice his blood turning sour in my mouth and his flesh tastes like burnt rubber. My body has realised before me and is pulling away from the young man. It stops and watches, eyes unblinking and blood tinted. The young man is now pulling himself up, struggling to balance himself in the pool of blood and vomit. It looks me dead in the eyes and behind those black holes of destruction and death I see a small glint.

If I concentrate hard enough I can just about hear the screams of the young man realizing that the worst has yet to come and like myself had been damned to a form of hell worse than death itself.

I’m just a voice in my own head.