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Author of 56 Stories |
--
Like Sin in the Dark
(the note on the wall read "hell is other people" but it lied)
--
“yours for a lifetime,”
she says and pushes herself
up on her forearms
she kisses his chest
just above his collarbone
and he holds her tight
“yours for a moment,”
something sneers; yellow eyes glow
like sin in the dark
her skin turns to flame
her hair to ashes that choke
him as they both scream
awakening, he
finds her staring at him, worry
making her shudder
“it’s nothing,” he says
(not sure who needs convincing)
“just another dream.”
--
“ever been to hell,
john?” it asks, a smirk playing
across stolen lips
“don’t think you’ll like it”
then blackness swallows him whole
until no light’s left
a thousand bones are
wrapped around him like a cage
his mouth is sewn shut
claws prick under lids
forcing his eyes wide open
the better to see
mary burn and dean
bleed out and sammy ripping
men apart, black-eyed
“welcome,” some dark thing
hisses, tearing his weak flesh,
“to eternity.”
--
the barks of hounds fade
he sits in a motel room
not alone enough
“hey, sport,” it grins from
the opposite bed, “so how
is death treating you?”
he recoils in horror:
“you should be gone—i shot you”
which gets him a laugh
it leers, “it’s your hell;
and obviously something’s
better than nothing
so when sammy comes
to rescue you, who knows what
else might just get free?”
his hell is the waiting,
dreading escape, while it smiles
and winks, “thanks, dean-o.”