A Walk Through Hell With Kerosene- Ch. 2

Chapter 2- The Others

Her crystal blue hair flowed like rivers of beauty down her sorrow strewn face. She did not weep yet tears became rivers across the beauty of her face. This angel sheds tears not for the dead but for the damnation of the living.
The torn tattered body that lie dormant and empty affront her, lifeless soulless desperate desolate. The heart beat drummed loud and clear as if it were her own, the darkness enveloped them, her purgatory had finally claimed her, but at what cost? What had she done wrong? Who was this lifeless shell?

Her whispers were unheard, her visions void and dark, her touch unknown and fear-filled as it reached out again and again for the loving warmth she once felt only moments ago. Silent tears streamed down her warm kind caring face as she could feel the darkness around her, it wasn’t its normal shade of emptiness, her love had faded and mixed into the darkness she now felt around her.
The light filled room cast evil shadows that seemed to dance around her. Mocking her every frantic reach for the air her heart once breathed, that had been striped away from her.
What had she done wrong? Deafened and mute, now heartbroken. . . How did she deserve this? She struggled to realize what it was that was going on around her, a violent vortex of rage and depression trapped and bound her to the floor like a child crying in the never ending darkness of solitude.

Caged up like a wild animal, poked and prodded until the day withers away. Tattered and torn body, misshapen and grotesque; a nightly visitor promises beauty and death yet his sorrow strewn body grows stronger with each nightly attempt.
"Why, God why?" he whimpers out as yet again his grimacing hooded murderer stumbles upon his cage.
"Are you to die tonight, my beautiful child?" a cold whisper chilled both his spine and cage alike.
"Yes, yes grant me my wish o merciful friend." a sudden silver lining appearing in his clouded voice. The hooded fiend vanished, the mans sobs returned, praying upon God to strike him where he lie, yet only silence answered him.
Hours passed as the pleas of death died out, suddenly an ice cold tickle befriended the middle of his back and the warmth of crimson aided the party. The cold seemed to trail down slowly along his spine until suddenly there was a tear as the chill entered him. His screams of thanks to his God shattered the silence, as his insides tore open. It was as if his cage swelled with that of which leaked from him, silencing him as it stuffed his lungs.
The limp body of a man floated mysteriously as the sun light crept in.
"Gather experi--" the scientists gaze fell upon the seemingly boxed in crimson, and the man that swam with his own interior.
Curious, as most scientists are, he touched the cage. The crimson became a waterfall, flowing to the ground and vanishing only to read out, 'DEATH IS A MOST BEAUTEUOS GESTURE'. . .