HT 100 Flashfic #40 - Lights Out
Goodnight
Lights Out is when They count the heads. Lights Out is when cold metal fingers locks him into its iron embrace, screeching into his ear, "There is no escape." Lights Out is when the Black comes to claim him.
In the darkness, the Devil howls and chants. Just like that night years ago. That night when He spoke to him inside, ripping, gnawing, tearing. He remembers now - the Blade. Why he did it. Why he drove it in. But this time He is real. The cool, velvety voice that whispers to him is real. Little Nino. The dark claws that trails down his arms, leaving their scorching red marks, are real. My sweet thing. They draw circles, creating paths of lacerated flesh for the hot wet kisses to travel through. I promise I won't let anything hurt you. He screams, shouts...begs...Stop. Please. They only cut in deeper. Ingrate, I'll teach you a lesson in humility. They are tearing away at his flailing arms when a little white light flits across the room. Like one of those fairies in the stories Nonna used to tell -
Something clamps down on his wrists, twisting them down to his sides, binding him tight with Its stiff leather belts - so tight that the sheets stick to him wetly. The Blade's silver point pierces into his shoulder before the Black takes over again.
Mamma, take me home. Please take me home, it's scary here.
He feels a soft hand touch his face. He sees his mother's kind eyes looking down upon him, her white wool scarf luminescent in the pitch black. She is thin and frail, having been sick often. His father stands behind her, sighing and shaking his head. You brought this on yourself. Instantly, he is ashamed. He isn't a little boy anymore, going around and messing things up. He should be strong, capable, like his father. Like his father...his father, who he'll never live even half-way up to. His father, who he puts to shame - the way he gives in to Fear, when he should fight against It. But he does not want to fight anymore. It hurts so bad, Mamma. Indulgent as always, she brushes away the falling tears. Her hands are smooth and white like -
bone...
Pale, withered branches crumple to dust. His father's accusing eyes look down upon him, here to remind him again how he had failed, how worthless he has become - unable to step forward and seize power, or at least stand up and face the present. He watches his father's retreating back. He is not worthy of Nino Schibetta's attention, never was, never will be. I'm sorry, Papa. I'll do anything. Please don't leave. Please forgive me. Forgiveness. It is not what he deserves. Not after what happened, what he allowed to happen. It's too late to change anything now. Too late, It hits him. It is time to let go, then, to surrender. Let the Black take him, what is left of him, swallow him whole, bury him deep. Because there is nothing left for him. His mother did not need him here adding on to her worries. His father did not need him here embarrassing him and defiling his good name. Rosalie did not need him here getting in the way of her life, tainting it with his presence. Yes, it's time to let go. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the Abyss until -
The white-hot flourescents force him back, thrusting upon him his reality with their blinding light. Morning. Another day. His arms prickled and throbbed under the stained bandages. White latex fingers pry him open, shoving in the bitter white tablets, impassive to his pleas to loosen, just a little, the thick leather straps. They had left dark bruises. It hurts, Mamma. It is hard to breath now, with the black Fingers crushing down on his chest. Spasming convulsively, his fist clenches down on something warm.
His mother smiles reassuringly from her golden frame. "Don't," says the unfinished message on his palm. He remembers now. She had told him to give it to his father before she...She had been sick for a long time. He remembers his father's strength that stopped his world from falling apart - the gentle pat on his knee and the firm reminder that he too needed to stay strong. He remembers feeling close to the distant, almost absent diety for the first time, only to put him into the ground not long after. It had been buried with him -
He smiles, ready to face the days ahead. I'll make you proud, Papa. You just watch.
He does not see the Devil smile back at him. I'll be waiting for you, Little Nino.