Sunrise - Part 4 - Hell

Hell

There were moments that my last breath left my body and was returned. My heart, brain, soul all fought for every next moment. All three believed my quest; my destiny had not been reached. There were no invitations sent. No chair was reserved, there was no request for a dance. No realm beyond was seeking my presence in their home. I would like to say I was forgotten, but the state of my body told another story. One realm was still clutching to my soul. Its grip was tight; its love was deep, its desire was hard. My soul was bending to its will, and my heart was going for blood to keep me here. My heart did not want to walk the streets of hell, to sit at the table, to sit for a meal. My heart wanted to bring hell to the realm of three. To the three men who placed me in this fight; the three who choose this path for us all. 

Hell walks in us all. Hell is where we are, in every breath, touch, scream, hurt, life, dream, bite, fuck, and most importantly every kill. Hell is present every day. Every day we fight for each scrap, fight the pain, fight to walk. Hell is the knowledge that most of our lives are not ours. Others decide our lives. We have to work, we have to pay to live, and we have to join the herd. The word freedom is thrown around, but the herd knows the truth. The truth is hell knows that your life is in the hands of others; with no will of your own. My body is the proof of this literally.  

Violence was all I knew now. It filled me like my blood. It warmed me, caressed me, and loved me. I craved it, desired it; I wanted to fuck it, marry it. First I had to live, I had to get the fuck out of this bed. My hospital bed was my lair, my home, my cocoon. When I emerged after two months from a coma, I was a different person. There was no part the same; all unrecognizable to my mother. I did not resemble the son she bore. The scars that filled my body were not present when she held me the first time. My mother did not recognize the man in the bed. The man present was a stranger, and this stranger needed her, as the baby she bore, all those years ago. My body was broken, destroyed, wearing a diaper, unable to move or speak. The fight for my soul would end, but the fight for hell just began. The hell in my fantasies, the hell I craved for them, required one crucial element; a working body. 

Upon my arrival at the hospital from my transformation, the evaluation presented the doctors with two brain bleeds, a stroke, multiple fractures, internal bleeding, which should have caused my heart to lose his fight. My spinal cord was swollen with two discs pressing upon it. My angels descended upon me and helped my heart win the first battle for my soul, with an 18-hour surgery to fix as much as could be fixed. My angels believed if my heart won his fight, my recovery would be extensive. There would be a year or longer of physical therapy. My body would have to be taught to walk again, to put pressure on my spine. There would be someone who would teach me to speak. All the words I see, hear, read in my dreams are foreign to my throat. There is no exit, which is coherent. The babble of a baby is more precise. First, there would be sleep and long drug-induced sleep. My lair was prepared, and I was laid upon it for two months.  

The dreams that visited me would scare the weak. The weak could not be present now. These were my dream, fantasies. I was not dreaming as a typical male. Women were not present in my dreams. My dreams were drenched in blood. Pain and torture filled them with hope. The three were the center of my dreams, their hell was my porn. The pain, humiliation, the slow torture, I would serve upon them, before their death, made my soul and heart fight hell’s grip. The layers of skin slowly and meticulously removed; the individual bones broken, in the exact spots to cause the most pain and destruction. Parts of their bodies removed and cauterization performed to stop bleeding. The rats that feast on their bodies as they watch, doped on adrenaline to prevent sleep and keep their heart pumping. All three murders are meticulously planned, to last as long as possible, to feel every ounce of pain. The will feel it to their core, it will change their soul before they reach hell. Unlike them, I will give them the pleasure of death. There will be no life sentence of pain, misery, and knowledge that Michael, my mother’s son, the man I liked to be, died, and the man in his place will run hell; but deliver retribution first.   

Thank you for Reading :) Please let me know if you like my  story by commenting below :) If you would like to read the first two  parts, please see the links below :)

Sunrise - Part 1, 2, & 3

Part 1 - https://steemit.com/fiction/@imaginedragon/sunrise-part-1

Part 2 - https://steemit.com/fiction/@imaginedragon/sunrise-part-2-rain

Part 3 - https://steemit.com/fiction/@imaginedragon/sunrise-part-3-blood

All Photo's - CCO