Forgotten Paradise

The cold steel door opened and two dark figures descended the clanking metal staircase. The smell hit both sets of nostrils with a powerful odor making an unaccustomed nose burn and twitch, only one felt this pain. The two ink blots drew closer to their destination with every step, all the while one knew not where he was going. The sniveling of another can be heard in the distance, along with the sound of unspeakable terror. The smell was as that of boiled blood, and nearly as repulsive as the face of the man that held my chains. I sit on a small shelf in the corner; I’m lucky to have the seat I do so I may let my legs stretch out with the fear of them being stomped on by some grotesque ogre. My guards name is Vlad, at least that’s what the others call him. He’s a hulking beast-of-a-man with a face that only the brutality of war could produce. The flesh of his face looks to have been ripped from the bone in a brutal, savage way. This pattern gave his the appearance of a skull with eyes. We are not permitted to talk unless it is in the form of an unintelligible scream, once a man spoke something of his wife and child and the guards held him down, and with a pair of glowing red tongs they pulled out his tong out at the base. I could see the face of our tormentors’ while this was going on; I don’t think they enjoy what takes place in this hell-devoured-hole. I’m beginning to believe that there is no one who takes pleasure form their surroundings, maybe we are all prisoners.


The horrific picture around me grows more and more clear as my once tender eyes become jaded by the flame light room. I could see other groups of men with their shackles and own personal tyrants, who all wore black hoods. Why is it that all of the other guards wore a mask but ours? Was it due to his horrid disfigurement? I attempt not to think of my current situation; I try to remain asleep for most of my days, seeing as sleep is my only escape from this rotten hole. I often have the same dream: it is of my darling wife, Elizabeth, sitting in an immaculate garden surrounded by the sound of a summer silence and the sent of jasmine. No matter how often this dream visits me, I will never tire of its lovely vision. I am only awakened by my dear friend, Vlad, who is kind enough to wake me for my rock-hard bread and boiling hot water. I wonder, does he sleep, eat or even blink, I have never seen him leave or do anything but glare at us. What kind of man can do this? Maybe he’s not a man maybe he’s… maybe it’s best I not dwell on that thought. I would hate to think of the reality, should I be right.


Every thing has become clear as day; I can see stone walls where the stone has been filed down by water making it a smoky, cloudy white material dimly lit by the fire. I can see bits of yellow gold embedded in the ground where the tormentors walk faintly shimmering in the dirt. I can’t help but wonder why there would be gold flakes in this ungodly hell. Do those who walk among us have so much wealth that they can pass a bit of gold by with out kneeling down to at least gaze at it? Where am I, why is it that I get a calming feeling that every thing is going to be all right?
“Where am I?”
One of the guards looks in my direction, my heart pounds in my chest rushing blood and pure fear through my body. Did he hear me? He makes his way toward my shelf. He heard me! What will he do? Other black figures trudge their way to help him. What will they do? They grab a set of glowing red chains. What will I do?


Red and black scars run up and down my body, the flesh from my bones is beginning to melt off and for some reason I don’t feel pain when the meat of my body tears away. When my flesh decays and falls off, I feel more of a release, why is this? I’m not sure where exactly I am, but now I know that this is no place of evil torment, this is not pain no it is more like purification. I’m not sure where I am but I know that I can call it home.