Don't fear the face of Death, for he is the face of all man.

•

Some say that hell is other people; that hell is but only in the mind, and that hell is a place...but in this case it's all of the above, though just far between the cracks of life's façade. And it all starts in a town,  called (S)hellville, U. S. A. 

Rowland DeWilliers is a South African born artist who resides in this blue and yet dry American coastal haven with a lust and desire for life despite his inability to chase after it , as he scrubs dishes and tries to pay his bills. 
Upon meeting a dark stranger by the name of Nick, his dreams suddenly seem achievable and on his way to distinguished fame, he,  along with the haphazard guidance from his new aquiantance, starts to see the world anew. 

But with such enlightenment, comes the price of the shadowy darkness that which surrounds him. Until he is faced with the choice of being DeWilliers/Machapela  or becoming DEVILE.

DeVil in the Details.

Transporter, he recalled recently having heard it somewhere. Apart from being the most convenient mode of escaping, all it could really do was help him to escape his current situation as he waited. It posed as if it was Rowland's equivalent of Sugar Honey Iced Tea. As if saying it was as convenient as an instant transmission of some kind... 


Funny guy even when the joke's on him, this all in fact actually reminded him of a joke he had heard somewhere; a man walks into the doctor's office, says he can't stop feeling sad no matter what he does. The doctor then tells him that it's probably just a blue day, and says there's a clown in town named, let's say,...Bucky o'chuclkes, wait no, how about, Boohoo. The man broke down and cried with his head in his hands before he looks up and says, "But doctor, I am Boohoo." 


Everyone huffs something of a laugh, unless of course they've heard this one. Besides, who really laughs these days unless they need to. 


Chapter eighteen: Spilt Milk