(no subject)
I can’t believe I’m still here. I keep thinking that I’ll wake up and realize it was all some sick, twisted, and elaborate dream. I’ll wake up next to Eve, in our bed. The tattoos still on my body and everything the way it should be; my heart beating, my body warm, warm blood flowing through my veins, and the whole being alive and not being in hell. Granted if that were true, it would be one severely disturbing dream, in which case I’d never sleep again. So maybe it’s a good thing that I’m stuck here in hell, I mean where else would I be? Dead? I am dead though, that’s the thing. I thought you were supposed to move on and be at peace, isn’t that why people wrote Rest in Peace on tombstones? Not things like Rot in Hell Bastard!
So here we again, day what? I used to keep track, trying to make tick marks on the wall, floor, or anything I could, but it seemed pointless, I didn’t even know when the day started or ended. I just made tick marks after I was tortured and went to sleep. Although there’s a couple saying that depict exactly how it felt:
A watched pot never boils.
Time was moving so slowly it felt like watching grass grow.
I couldn’t think of the rest, it seems like there were more, but I never really understood the point of the idiotic things like that. They should add a new one though; it could read:
Counting the days in hell is like counting how many times you blink in a lifetime. By the time you learn to count, you’ve already missed out on about 4 years and you lose count after a while.
Ok, so it’s too long and it’s not really a great saying, but that’s why I stopped counting. How can you measure infinity? You can’t, that’s the point of infinity.
I’d never thought I’d envy Angel, or any other vampire for that sake. I mean besides being the worst excuse for space ever. They’re dead, but they aren’t in hell, sure Angel deals with his curse, but he’s not in hell, he’s still around walking around Earth and doing things that normal people do, well minus the walk in the sun and breathing, but for the most part, it’s the same. Instead…here I am, in hell….rotting…forgotten. A washed up has been…that’s what I am now. This is what I’ve become.
It’s at that moment that a guard comes in, he looks like a security guard, maybe a secret service guy. He pulls me to my feet and then throws a few punches, he seems human though. I take it and fall to the ground, only to be picked up again by him before being tossed against the wall. I slide down the wall, blood dripping from my nose, lip, or head, I’m not even sure at this point, but everything hurts. I’m used to it for the most part, this is nothing, this must be the beginning of some new elaborate torture plan that they have.
The man pulls out his revolver and then drops it, and kicks it over to me. “Here’s your chance” He says as he turns around and leaves. I hear the door close and the lock slide into place, it’s not a big lock, just a lock on the handle, I’m sure that if I tried hard enough I’d be able to get out, but where would I go? I don’t even know why they bother locking the door. I have nowhere to run, nowhere to go.
I fall asleep and wake up, the dim light from the torches in the hall illuminating my room, the fire flickers and makes the shadows on my walls dance. I see the gun laying there, mocking me. I crawl over towards it, and grasp it, the cool metal feels so strange in my hands. I hold the gun next to my face, welcoming the cool feeling on my flushed cheeks.
I slept again, holding the gun and almost using it as a pillow, when I woke up, the room was brighter that it had been last night, but still dark, it’s hell. What else is to be expected?
I finally sit up and take the gun, deciding on whether or not it’s even worth killing myself. Can I die again? I’m not even sure it’s possible. Could I take my own life? I had been thinking about it since the gun was presented to me, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ve made my decision.
I put the muzzle next to my temple. This is where I’m supposed to say a prayer, something to help put me at ease.
“Rest in peace,” I say aloud. It’s the first thing I can think of.
It takes a few minutes, but I finally pull the trigger…
I hear the hammer cock back, but nothing happens. The guns empty, I squeeze the trigger a few more times, and realize there is no ammunition. I finally flip the gun and check for live rounds and realize there is one bullet in the magazine. I slide it back in and then pull the trigger again.
BANG!
The sound is deafening, but since I can still hear the ringing in my ears, I’m assuming I’m still alive. Damn it!
In walks the guard again, “Well, I guess you were brave enough to do it. Means that we need to step the torture up some more, you know, it’s amazing what a dummy round will do. It sounds exactly the same, but nothing comes out, it’s purely for effects. Isn’t it lovely? Stand up, come with me!” He demands.
I throw the gun to the side and do as I’m told, following his footsteps down the long corridor to my own personal hell full of torture.
I wish I was dead.