The Good Child

Black. Black and black and an endless abyss of nothingness all around him. An emptiness that takes the light and sucks it into the bloody pits of demons. Rips its life to shreds in the jaws of hate and evil and nothingness and swirls around and around and around you until you go insane with the thoughts that you will never get out. You will always be in this hell, this chasm of blind screams that eats away at your soul.

He sat in fear like he always did. Quivering with the fear that he would feel the pain that all of those screams was in at this very moment. Death was thrusting its black claws into the chests of those other souls and ripping out their still beating hearts.

He could see it. He could see the blood dripping down form the heart that was ripped from his chest falling down into the shadows beyond his very slim sight. He could see his ripped flesh smelling of decay and turning black at the edges after cooling. If he really did have any sight. Maybe all he was seeing he was making up so that he didn't go insane.

Maybe he already was insane.

That fear and trembling panic sat eating away at his thoughts, his soul one giant and massive convulsion.

It was coming for him.

Death was spending its time courting the other evil souls around him, pulling them into an eternal hell writhing in fire and torture and an endless pit of no hope. Hopelessness and futile escape.

This was their fate.

His mind was tortured with the screams that he couldn't see. The inhuman cry of the demons all around him, finding other souls and eventually coming for him.

His cheeks were long since covered in stains from tears. He couldn't give any more tears now, though. They were all gone. They left him alone in this endless hell of blackness and unknowing long, long ago.

Wasn't he a good child when he was alive? Didn't he always listen to his elders and do what he was told? What was he doing here?

Maybe the theory of original sin was true. Maybe all humans were doomed to this fate.

He shuddered. A growl, some sort of rumbling and vibration that traveled through his spiritual spine like wild-fire emanated from a bottomless well of stark red blood.

He huddled into himself again. It was here. A strange sound vibrated in the back of his throat.

A whimper. He was whimpering. He didn't want his soul to die yet. He didn't want to feel this eternal pain.

Ruby eyes snapped open in front of him. Distant and slowly, deliberately closing the space between them and its prey.

The growl continued, becoming louder as it became closer. What kind of demon was this?

This creature came into his line of sight, a tiny sphere that seemed to encompass only him.

He was starring at himself, an inverted mirror that reflected his image, now demonic and evil. The crimson eyes that were boring down upon him were cut from the hardest of steel, cold and calculating and cruel.

This strange image of himself, and yet not himself, circled him as if it were a cat, lethal and exact and filled with feline grace. Muscles rippled beneath the black and midnight blue leather. It circled him in this cat- like fashion, eyes level with his own. No, with his neck. The demon was watching the artery pulsing with blood.

Fangs glistened expectantly.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, you're not real! You are an apparation! A manifestation of my mind to entertain me! To keep me from going insane! You're not REAL!!!" He cried this out over and over again, making himself believe.

The creature laughed, a voice so low it melted the marrow of his bones to honey and rum and yet so cold it would freeze moonshine.

"Believe what you want," its scratchy voice hissed, "but you don't have a choice. You are _mine _."

And with that, the demon lunged at him, screeching its cry and lust for blood. His blood. He cried out when the deathly strong hands gripped onto his wrists, thrusting him into the solid black shadows beneath him.

A sharp nail dug into his neck, and an icy tongue ran across the velvet scarlet as it gushed out. Gods, those lips were so cold. The demon's entire body was one giant glacier looming on top of him.

He blinked. Just like that, the creature jumped off of him as if he were on fire. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't just imagining his nerves aflame and lighted with agony.

The demon that was death continued to circle him, a tiger waiting to snatch up his prey. A sick, sadistic grin with the touch of masochism flashed brilliantly, maniac eyes watching, and waiting.

'Maybe he's playing with me,' he thought. 'This is just a little game.'

The demon lunged again, and as last time licked a trickle of blood and left just as quickly.

Yes, it was a game. But now, it looked like this game was about to end. The creature that looked so much like himself, and yet so different, finally stood and walked over to him. It was ready to pass judgement.

The boy watched horrified, shaking worse than he had ever shaken before, as the human-like demon raised his hand over the boy's head. Swirls of black blood and shadows now dripped down from the exposed palm, ready to reach out and rip the life out of his soul. This firestorm of pain and agony and torture and hopelessness and defeat and submission that was all meant for him.

There was no fighting it. There was no running away and there was no savior this time.

There comes a time when something happens, and a little something inside of a spirit snaps. Ideas that were once opaque and vague images blurred by the fog of confusion click together and make utterly beautiful and painful sense.

What was he so afraid of? Exactly, what was it? Why did people fear?

The same reasons every other creature fears. For their own safety. Of course, his safety was long since ripped away from him, wasn't it? So what did he really have to fear, then? He knew what was coming.

That's what made the unknown so fearful. Did it hold pain and a threat to your safety? Isn't that why prejudices started? Fear of the unknown? The strange and the shadow that covers truth?

In a really sick way, it was almost funny. Why had it taken him so long to realize?

He knew that he was doomed for certain death, why fear it now? Not only did he know that it was here, but he knew how it would come. Since he couldn't fight it, why have the instinct of fear for survival?

So, he starred at the harsh face of death with a blank gaze. Yes, it was coming. Let it come. Maybe he wouldn't have to hear these unrelenting cries anymore. Or maybe he would become one of them.

The black of blood and shadows began to encircle him, filling him with the pain that he knew was coming silently and no longer shaking with fear.

Somehow, this confused death. Did this child boy have a grin on his face? "Why aren't you quivering in fear? I've had the bravest of battle-hungry warriors looked me in the eye and begged to me to spare them. Why is a mere child not showing any fear?"

He didn't answer. He didn't want to. Did it really matter, this epiphany that he stumbled across? He was going to die, that was all that mattered right now anyway. Besides, he wanted those far off screams to be quiet for once.

Death removed his hand and the abyss of death that was about to encircle him, lowering himself to his heals and looked at the boy in the eye. Did he find all of this funny? Was it some sort of joke to him?

The demon grabbed both sides of his face and questioned him again. "Tell me!"

Almost instantly, however, he released his grip and backed away.

This time, though, the boy could see the red marks on the demon's hands.

He looked at his own hands in slight fascination. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

That sphere of sight that was always around him, it was _because_ of him! His own hands glowed with a light of milky moonlight, ivory and marble to look at.

His spirit was creating it's own circle of light.

"You can't touch me for very long, can you?" he asked in fascination, still starring at his own appendage.

"How dare you make such an accusation!," death roared in anger, lunging at him yet again. "I am the prince of Darkness, the ruler of the dead! All cringe at my feet!"

He was ready, though, this time. Laughing, he jumped right in the way and swung himself onto the back of the demon, clinging tight to the icy skin of his neck. This was all sickly amusing to the boy.

The demon creature raged on, managing to scream out in agony whilst flinging the boy off his back into the shadows.

"Enough of this!" he cried, throwing the black empty shades of pain and nothingness at him to eat his soul for the last and final time.

The wide violet eyes of the boy sat in the endless shadows, about to die like so many others had died before him, grinning at a sick amusement that the creature was still unaware of.

"Damn it," he heard death cry out, knees buckling and putting the palm of his hand down for the second time. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he destroy this one boy?

"What the hell is wrong with me?" death demanded into the shadows.

The boy walked up to the demon, still strangely fascinated by all of this. Without the fear, he could do just about anything he wanted, because he was still waiting patiently for an end. He kneeled down in front of his strange look-alike, half a smirk on his face and curiosity glowing in his eyes.

He raised one of his glowing hands to the side of the demon's face to illuminate it, wanting to see the other's features. Death seemed to be in some sort of submission right now.

By the gods, he was beautiful. Sick just how deceiving looks could be. High cheek bones, brilliant crimson eyes and a crown of golden bangs, spikes of black tresses tipped with ruby red. So much alike, and yet so much different.

"Amazing," the boy breathed to himself.

"How could one of light that looks so innocent have no fear, and find all of this so grotesquely amusing?" Death's deep voice sent delightful tingles down his spine, since now he wasn't afraid of such a depth to a tone anymore.

The boy grinned. "Innocence is a fickle thing, isn't it? And it's amusing just how deceiving appearances can be."

Death raised his own hand to the boy in front of him, casting shadows on that brightly illuminated face. He frowned, imitating the boy's actions. He was only darkening the boy's brilliance. That's what he was. Darkness.

"I hate the dark," he whispered, almost too low to be heard.

His violet eyes grew wide. "You, _hate _, it? But, aren't you _the_ dark?" This was, well, it was almost weird.

"I am, and I hate it." The demon's eyes were downcast, lost in blood- stained thoughts.

The boy felt sorry for the creature sitting in front of him. To be trapped in this, never able to give himself the end that he administered to so many others.

He must know true fear.

Tentatively, the boy softly touched death's cheek. When he tried to pull away from the strange burning sensation, the boy held his shoulders tightly. Death was now too flabbergasted and saddened to fight anymore at the moment.

"It's so warm," he breathed. "It, it almost hurts."

"Shh," the boy comforted, rubbing his thumb across the smooth surface. He pulled death into a warm, welcoming embrace.

Was he being shown compassion? Wasn't every soul supposed to hate and fear death?

It hurt because he had never felt anything warm before. This strange light was filling the dark, musty recesses of his own being. Dare he say his own soul? Was death considered a soul? This light that he was holding. For yes, his arms snaked around the boy's waist, holding on to the soft, intense brilliance of this boy.

In a frightening realization, death almost gasped. He didn't want this boy to leave. He was illuminating his endless sea of blackness, and silencing the screams that were ever present in his ears.

Did death have a salvation? Did death dare to, hell forbid he say it, hope?

* * * * *

Well, you tell me everyone. Should death dare hope? Or is this just going to be a one shot thing? As you might have guessed, it's Y/YY. Ja!