Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 1880

4

LOST IN BETWEEN HELLS

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA 1880

W hen the spinning cyclone of Hell spits me out I find myself in a curiously strange place. Streets of rough dirt and walkways of brick and solid stone lay before me and the oddly dressed humans don't seem to notice my sudden existence. I stumble and fall to my knees as sharp pebbles dig their way into my skin and peel bits away. As if my blood was its food source it trickles through the dust like tiny rivers and disappears under the surface of the soil. I hear a gasp and look to my right to see a female clutching tightly onto a mini human's hand. As if her cry was an alarm that wakes up my brain, I remember my state and without a second thought I run away. Disappearing down an unlit side street and out of the candle lit posts that line the main walkways.

The darkness here is so overbearing I continue to shrink in on myself. In Hell the darkness is an action. Here, on the mortal plain, it's a feeling, an emptiness so vast that I was fearful it would swallow me up.

This little corner of red brick and man-made stone can only swallow me so far into its shadows, but the wooden side panels of the forgotten wagon do a great job of hiding me from any prowling humans that may lurk down this alleyway. The reek of human waste and rotting food coming from within detracts the sane humans, but the disturbed look down into its shadows, with thoughts of carrying out their evil deeds.

I'm not sure where to go from here. This is a far cry from the safety of the heavens I fell from, but definitely a better match for my inner turmoil. How is it possible to believe the lies of one pretty face over the peace and comfort my god wrapped me in for all those centuries? I am a fool and no better than the sinners who turned their backs on his gift in the Garden of Eden. None of us are blind any longer and our faith has fallen.