Targah

[Hell, The Ninth Circle of Treachery, Targah]

Drip...

Drip...

Drip...

The sound of water droplets resounded in my ears endlessly, as the cold and unrelenting breeze kept me in place.

I felt frozen; or rather, my body wouldn't move at all. 

I'd see a dim light moving around the room sometimes. The light was almost its own being; moving around with purpose and intensity.

Then, the light would stop for an instant. It'd disappear as the idea of the room I'm in slips my mind as well.

I can only recall there being one thing in the room. Wires, Wires everywhere, keeping me in place, a thorn in my side, slowly pushing me closer to insanity.

I could not feel them directly; but I felt the nerve pulling me towards the ground, slowly.

I'd look up to the moist and undulating wires; hoping for a sky to see. But every time I did, I was only greeted by these disgusting green wires; those bitter and rotten things that are keeping my arms in their hold.

It dawned on me many times, that no matter how much I looked; or looked away, nothing above me would change. But something within me still clung to the hope that, eventually, I'll look up to see a familiar face; the rays of sunshine that'll help me be rid of these horrid wires, but no matter how much I'd hoped, these things would return to greet me, almost as if they were beckoning me to stay.

Sometimes, the ground would rumble. I'd see a spike of energy sprouting from the ground, ending right next to me. In response, I'd cringe away from it, as if it were alive.

This rumble causes those who have yet to be accustomed to this place to panic, it was pitiful to hear, to witness, yet another useless "consequence" for my apparent sins.

The wires were... somewhat sentient. When the dim light appears, it sometimes shines on those who are being passed down from the ceiling to the floor; taken helplessly by the wires, limb by limb. I can only wonder how many of them would be wrenched from this place, never to return; or how many of them would meet their ends at the wire's merciless hands.

I'd hear a sound. Loud. Distorted. Almost painful to my ears. The sound of metal ripping from one place, and moving. Getting louder and louder and louder, towards me. The sound of a metal cage being ripped open, and a piece of its metal being fitted into its vicinity. And then it begins to move. Slowly, agonizingly, the rest of the cage starts moving to me.

It's slow, yet strong. With each of the metal bars that's being added to its surroundings, I can feel the metal slowly getting more cold and distant.

The wires holding me in place are moving too. It was slow, yet I could feel it. Their cold and steel interiors pulling me in. They were painful, as my body was always full with aching splinters, some were real, some were draped in illusion. I could feel the sharp pain I had inflicted upon myself, but this is nothing compared to the pain I feel as those wires slowly move me closer to them.

But I knew, I knew that this physical pain I'm facing, isn't in fact physical at all, it's a symptom, a recognition of my insanity.

I tried to escape the metal cage, but it's iron bars wouldn't let me go; I felt them hitting my back, my arms, my stomach, every part of me would be touched by the bars.

Ever so slowly, my body began touching the ground as the Wires and the cage pulled me in. I could feel my organs, my limbs, every part of me touched by the ground. My body was beginning to deteriorate. The insides of my body became a cloudy jelly, but the outer shell turned into a metallic residue. This was all that I saw; for it did not last long.

My consciousness started to fade, like a faucet whose opening has been replaced by a pipe, and the rusted metal pieces found a new home in my body. 

...

I woke up. I was still chained by the neck and wrists by the wires. However; my surroundings slightly differed. I was still on my knees, and I saw wires around my chest. Was I in a new body? Was I still alive? The wires would do their work in an instant, but what about a physical sense? Was I alive? No. My heart was just a strong throbbing beat, faint as the constant rumbling of metal.

The Garden of Treachery; my apparent hell, my second home. A very plain outstretch of land with nothing but pipes and wires emerging from the ground. Forming shapes that would otherwise lead to complete chaos. The strange thing is, in the center of the Garden of Treachery, the only object that one can see is their own silhouette. Why? 

I started walking. The wires would release without any resistance as I continued moving; I felt an inexplicable fear in my heart that I'd end up bound in a similar manner. My eyes were drawn towards the ends of the short pipes around me.

They all came from, and returned into the ground to form what appeared to be a path. There was not one path, but several different paths leading off in different directions. I could see a faint light in the horizon, and the distance made it hard to estimate how far away it was. But I knew, I had a choice to make. Would I like to meet myself at the top of the garden, or meet myself at the bottom of the garden? 

As I stood there, wondering what I'd choose, I saw a light; No, it was a blur of lights; Smaller than the lights, yet, it was bigger than the sparks of a bonfire. It was the silhouettes; the bodies of all those who once lived in the Garden of Treachery, sinners cognate to myself.

One by one, they all slowly became visible until they became a large mass of indescribable gore. Even they who didn't die, as their sins continued to manifest, became disfigured with what they had once shown. Their desecration became extreme, more extreme then my fall. They were so gross, so abhorrent that my body struggled to vomit, to deny the true nature of this situation.

I averted my eyes from the cesspool that sat right in front of me. The view was still abominable though, and I thought about choosing yet another path. 

I looked to the bottom of the garden, where all these chaotic paths lead; as if entropy were a monster, and one just had to get closer to it to see its true nature. 

And there I saw a cliff. A cliff that dropped down into an abyss that ends with a face; my own face.

I went to the end of the cliff to have a better view. And my body cringed away at the sight of my own tainted visage. My eyes were that of flesh torn to shreds, bones exposed to the elements, blood to rot on the ground and the sea. Empty dead eyes stared from the depths of my face, with nothing but a gaze of pure pain.

It was me. It was... 

I... I am.....

Flesh?

Naked?

Hairless?

Scratched to pieces?

The face looked back at me. It was mimicking my own. It was identical. The point of it, and everything on it was the same. It was my reflection, it was who I became, and what I had done.

It became apparent to me then; Would I choose my bodily self, or my conscience? I looked at the cliff, then looked back at the garden. I looked at the unending path, then back at my own face.

It all comes down to this.

I knew what I was after all. I've been reduced to nothing but a sinner. One who has died; one who does not deserve to even exist. I was less than nothing, I deserved to die. And that's why I chose myself.

I took a deep breath as I stared down at myself, and released my body as I fell to myself.

My mouth opened.

My teeth were shattered.

My eyes were bloodied.

And I awoke. 

I was in a different room. Or- rather than a room, I found myself in front of myself. The one who was devoured by that horrific cage. I stared at my pitiful body. About an hour. A day. A week. A month. A year. And a lifetime.

I stared down at myself. I was a petrified statue. I was like a sculpture that had been abandoned; unfinished, weeping and wishing for its creators return. I was rotting.

I looked at the horizon past me, it was engulfed in flames, so many.

At the last shreds of my will, I had trodden towards the horizon, hoping for an end.

After approaching the flames and their origins, I saw a silhouette inside the flames. A silhouette of a being I couldn't begin to describe.

They stared back at me, and I recognized them as the perfect image of what I wanted.

The image of what I deserved.

It was fractured; it's eyes filled with what looked like incomprehensible static. An arm that appeared to be completely disconnected from its body, yet running with life. A face filled with rage. And most importantly, it had no legs. It floated upon this one sharp fractured limb; if you could call it that. 

And soon after, I gave myself over to that fire, and drowned myself in its power. That being; the perfect image of everything, found its way back to me, and gazed in my eyes. The rage filled eyes that I once had.

And it then placed its palm on my face. I closed my eyes. And our souls died.