Time simply didn't exist anymore.
Days, weeks, years, all of them blended together into an annoying buzzing noise that lingered in the back of his mind. There was no reason to remember dates like that, not anymore. Just like the reason he forgot how he got here, how he got involved. All of it was a far off memory, like a dream you force yourself to remember yet only succeed in the remembrance of a few pieces. Yet all of them still did not feel like memories, they were only blurbs of someone else's life to him.
Frequently, he would have the views of a room, with a luxurious carpet and a plush bed that made his muscles scream in the agony for rest. He couldn't comply of course, for it was nothing more than a piece of a life that, as far as the present goes, did not exist. It was a shard of a simple imagination, for the room was always the same exquisite and royal design that children would dream of hearing fairytales. Still, his body felt drawn to it, and every time that flash of vision overcame his mind, he would rest his head on the slick, stony walls and let the feeling of comfort fill his body. A strange déjà vu feeling that toyed with the edge of his mind, fleeting just out of reach when his mind would grab a few straws. And soon drop them again.
Now, for the first time in his life, he believed his mind was gone. For how could he remember things that he never seen, had never been? The smooth, pearl satin sheets of the bed were just wisps of a picture he had seen earlier in his life, as well as the rich red carpet that he could still remember the soft feeling under his feet. No. They were just thoughts, not memories. Long ago, he convinced himself that he had no memories, there was nothing before his life until up to the point that he arrived. As soon as he came to consciousness in the inky blackness he prepared himself to die. If he remembered everything in his life before now, it would just make the whole rite more painful than the reality he had faced. Carefully, he shifted his position against the stone wall to sit up more properly, knowing that if he made more, or any, noise that wasn't necessary that would find him.
Them.
Clenching his fists against the soiled ground, he tried to fight the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm his body. The first time he had ever seen them was when he was making his way through this maze like place, surrounded in darkness that seemed no sound existed. Panicked, he had quickly made his way through the blackness, scared that it would crush him whole. He had been bleeding, having running blind into the sides of tunnels and tripping over rough surfaces. Yet even the pain had not been enough to slow his speed, for the only thought was to break free and run out into the surface world that seemed to not exist any longer. He had tripped over a rocky piece of ground, crashing and skidding to a halt with rocks in his new open and reopened cut. Not having the strength, he laid there, praying for the first time since he was a tiny boy for the pain to go away, for him to wake up from this terrible nightmare with the darkness that threatened to engulf him whole.
No answer to his prayers had come, only the quiet skitter of rats as they came up to the warmth of his body, hoping for a fresh meal. The reds of their eyes glinting at him through the darkness, twinkling as if they were mocking his situation. Each time one had bit him, or nosed a bit too hard, he would shove them away with his foot or arm. Anything else he hadn't the strength for. After a lengthy period of silence, his thoughts began to linger whether he was going deaf, for the patter of rats had disappeared instantly, like they all simultaneously decided they found something more interesting to study. Instead of taking thought to it, he had welcoming the moments of peace, his body relishing as its abuse was ceased. Until the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and an uneasy feeling balled in his stomach. Cautiously, he peered into the thick blackness trying to identify what had set his body off, and his ears strained to see if it was a noise instead. Holding his breath, he tried to listen harder knowing his sense of hearing would be stronger than sight, and heard a faint noise.
His heart had jumped into his throat, and he forced it down. Though it was barely there, he had heard it. The faint sound of feet scuffling on the ground, a sound one would hear anywhere on the surface. Either from the people passing on the street or from themselves, the noise was heard everywhere. Soon, the pounding of the steps was echoing off the walls of the tunnels as the source got closer to his spot sprawled out on the floor. Hope couldn't even flicker in his heart, nor the fleeting thought that it was someone to rescue him. Throughout his years on the battlefield, he knew the purpose behind that quick motion.
Whoever it was, was running from something.
Careful not to make his presence known, he slowly backed up to the wall to the right of him, huddling down near the base of it, pressing his whole body as much as possible to the ground. The sick taste of bile rose in throat as the sound got closer, knowing that he should be extremely cautious of whatever was chasing things through the darkness. Still scanning the darkness, something caught his eye, something so small that if it hadn't moved he would have missed it entirely.
A red dot, traveling up along the floor of the cave quickly, bouncing back and forth.
His first thought was that it was a rat, running away from the predator in the darkness instead of slipping into a crack to safety. Yet, as he studied it further, the realization of what it was chilled his body to the bone, making him rigid. It was a night scope, the ones hunters used on their guns for nightly hunts, he knew because he himself had used them frequently. Whoever was using it was running quickly, not barging into the walls of the tunnels like the person they were pursuing, and gaining speed fast. As the red dot bounced erratically around in the darkness, it would disappear momentarily, most likely because they were on the target they wanted. The target was so close he could hear their panting, their quiet whimpers and sobs, as if they knew what fate was about to befall them. He could feel their fear, feeling it seep deep into his skin from the frightened aura.
Then a single shot was fired, spot on. The noise echoed around the walls of the enclosed space, shattering the deafening silence that filled this place to the brink. Time seemed to stand still as if even the caves were in shock of the piercing noise that rattled its stony walls. His heart was frozen, and his lungs refused to pump their cycle due to the strain on his body. Whoever had fired was merely feet away from him, standing over their kill and studying it, even though the shot was clearly fatal. Though his lungs were now burning due to lack of oxygen, he refused to let out the thin breath he inhaled in surprise when the bullet was forced out of the barrel.
Cold fear began to wash over him, gluing his body stiff, as if the simplest and tiniest movement could alert the predator of his presence and expose him to the lethal weapon carried on his person. So many questions had began to form in his mind as the invisible person delivered a swift kick to corpse, its wounded body belching blood, and began their trek back into the tunnels, disappearing once again the black silence.
Who was that?
Why were they here?
What was their purpose for murdering that person?
As those questions swirled around in his mind, fogging up his senses as they jumbled about, he stayed completely still so not one movement would betray his hiding area. That was the first time the concept of time died for him, as he lay sprawled rigidly on the grubby ground and not as much as twitching until the steady population of rats began to creep out of the crevices in the walls to poke curiously at the dead body feet away. Finally his burning lungs received the oxygen they so badly desired, and he stretched his legs out cautiously before he moved to sit back up against the wall. To contemplate what he just heard.
To this day now, that one was very far away. Even now he wondered if the whole thing wasn't just a dream, or that his mind was truly losing its hold on him. For he was not even sure was he heard actually happened, or was just a figment of his imagination had created to keep him company, to show that there were more people trapped down here than just him. But every now and then, he would come across them. Carting off the bodies of their kill throughout the tunnels, bringing them back up to the surface for God knows what. That was his educated guess at least, for what else would they do with them? A few times, he tried to follow them up their ways to the surface, but each attempt had been so risky he was forced to turn back.
They had equipment, special equipment that let them see in the dark, throughout the darkness of the tunnels. There was no clear purpose to why they were patrolling these tunnels, but he believed it was because of them that he was down here. Though he couldn't fathom why. Clenching angrily at his sides, he forced his fists to relax. Just that one little movement strained his body, as if he were performing a difficult task. He was exhausted, having to force himself to only sleep in tiny periods, always having to be alert to the noises in the tunnels.
This was a tactic they all used in the tunnels, all of the people who were trapped and hunted by them for one reason or another. Stay quiet, don't speak to one another, and don't bring any attention to yourself. He had figured this out vey quickly and stuck to following the unspoken code, because if you followed it you wouldn't be caught. Yet, sometimes the people down here did speak to one another, whether it to beg for food, or just to share news of in which area the hunters were now prowling in. Everyone of them would have the same raspy voice, the one that spoke only in a quiet whisper, so they wouldn't hear them speak.
But it had been quite some time since he had come across someone else wandering aimlessly through the tunnels, rummaging through the filth and garbage to find necessities and such. It could be because he wandered further down into the tunnels, trying to make his way to the very bottom. Only when he reached there, would his subconscious admit that there was a form of reality keeping him bonded here. That goal set ablaze a fire of determination through him, and drove him forward to survive. For while others down here desired to make their way up so they maybe will one day find the surface, he chose to go down. The hunters always came from the top, because it was a well known fact that everyone was trying to claw up to the surface. But at the bottom he could live out the remainder of his life quietly and without so much terror. No more hairs standing up on the back of his neck, or fear that someone was stalking him in the absolute darkness.
Here, he could die as peacefully as he was allowed. His body would be devoured by rats and not carted away like game back up to the surface where God knows what happens to the corpses. It was a morbid preparation, but he was willing to do it. He wasn't giving up, only doing this act because he knew that soon famine and dehydration would take his life, if not pestilence from the thick gaseous fumes billowing through the tunnels.
So this is where he sat, back against the wall and hands in his lap. In his time down here, he prayed to the Lord for each one of his sins, and in the far corner of his mind he believed the Lord himself spoke that he forgave him. Every sin from his birth to his shortly coming death was now forgiven, and he could depart into the gates of heaven with a pure soul.
All he had to do now was wait.
Now no strength was pumping through his veins, and utter exhaustion was placed upon his body like a lead blanket. Was this it, the time he had been waiting for? All those horrible moments trapped in the tunnels, the moments of painful hunger, desperation of freeing himself from the terrifying darkness the threatened to engulf him, was coming to an end.
Forcing his eyes open, he peered into the same bleak darkness he had grown so accustomed too. Yet this time there was a small white light, growing steadily brighter as it came towards the spot where he sat.
Was this the white light guiding him to death?
He would welcome it with open arms. He would thank the angels that he would meet through the white tunnel's walls, let them lead him through to the gates of Heaven, where he would have eternal rest. Most importantly, he would be away from this place, away from all the pain and fear that had captured him in an iron grip, refusing to let go, it would release.
Feeling the blanket lift off him, he raised his arms in praise of the light, which was now shinning on his face with such a purity he could never have imagined. His eyes were completely blinded by the ultimate power of the beam, and he greeted it with full on joy. Now, he would be released from this place, returning to a land where he had only visited before his birth.
He was going home.
Blinded by the extreme relief and joy as well as the intense beam of light, he failed to notice the way it bobbed along the shadows of the tunnel. It was only when the white light completely bathed him that he realized something was wrong, and he carefully dropped his arms back to his sides. There was no pure tunnel of radiating peace, only the now harsh glare of white beam that now began to scare him. It exposed him in the darkness, exposing him to all the hidden monsters that lay hidden in the shadows, ready to pounce. All he wished was that it would leave him, retreat back into the tunnels and bring back the thick darkness that had wrapped around him tightly all those years. Then he wouldn't be put on display as an easy target for them.
The beam then began to lower slowly, descending towards the ground for long painful moments before it finally stopped. He stared at it for a few minutes, at that mystical sphere of light that would whisk away all his problems. Confused, he gazed up to the roof of the tunnel, where his entire seated area was now illuminated in the pure light. Among the stony walls and pipes that littered the ceilings, he finally saw the place he had been released into all those years ago for the first time. Shuddering at the creepy demeanour, he glanced around to see where he had lived for all this time.
As soon as he moved the beam jerked slightly, and then swayed. Cautious about the mysterious beam, he looked away from it, just barely noticing the shadowy figure behind it. When his eyes moved back to it, to view it more carefully, all he saw was the intense white beam. But he felt the fear returning slowly, crawling up from his toes and making its way slowly up his legs, despite the light. Then suddenly the light disappeared, and his world was once again plunged into darkness.
Just like the first time he was cast away into the tunnels, the darkness itself overwhelmed him, flowing into his lungs and choking them with such a fear he didn't know existed. He gasped for breath, trying to lift himself off the wall and away from them, refusing to end up like the other bodies on the carts or in the thick black bags. His death would be natural, not by the hands of men who wished to play God.
His weak muscles refused him to stand, so he crawled along the ground quickly, ignoring the sharp stones or rat droppings that he moved upon. The only thing on his mind was escaping. Escaping from them, the one behind him. Just like the darkness he so desperately tried to escape uncountable times, and always failed. As he managed to get a few feet distance between them, he was suddenly yanked back and dropped back to the ground once again.
Panicked, he used this chance to flee again. Blood was now furiously pumping through his veins, and his heart was racing to keep up with its demand. But as he got the same distance between them he was pulled back again. This seemed to go for an eternity, him frantically trying to escape, only to be positioned back at the start of his suffering. It was like a cat playing with a mouse, the cat tiring out its prey before slaughtering it mercilessly.
Now it seemed like his heart was going to explode from his chest under the stressful pressure of the situation. Those moments of freedom not long ago seemed to have never existed, only the terror filled anticipation between him and then. Wondering when he was about to be slaughtered. To him, that time seemed like it would never come, that life would only be this repeated cycle of chase. Thoughts of angels taking him to heaven, away from his suffering, seemed like those many memories that to him never existed at all. But he couldn't forget, and that made him weep in pure despair.
Forever he would be bound to this never ceasing torture, he would never escape it. Then there was laughter. A sound that froze him in his tracks, for it was something not even his memories remembered how to work. It was so odd, and as he paused to listen he felt that eerie chill settle in his bones once again. This sound, the harsh, cruel laughter of his predator would be his last memory before the bullet was blasted at point blank range.
There was no time to react, and even if there was, he didn't want to. For now as he fell to the ground, his thoughts were only on how he was finally free from the grasps of darkness that had control over his soul for such a long time. As his life pooled out around him, he relished in the moist warmth that melted all the icy fear from his body and soul.
As his last moments on Earth came to a close, his vision began to brighten significantly. But his visions weren't of the dank, rugged tunnels that he had died in, but of a white wall. Blinking, he reached up wiped the soot and grim away from his eyes and face to see clearly, just barely noting that all his exhaustion was gone. As was the dirt and filth that had coated itself on his body over the years. Now his tattered clothes were gone and replaced with soft white robes, which he stroked in fascination. The blurred edges of his vision began to clear, and he finally saw where he was with startling realization.
He was stood upon a luxurious carpet, soft and rich to the touch of his feet. The white walls were clear from any markings and decorated with accents. In the middle of the room though, was a large white bed with satin sheets and plush pillows. Just gazing at the bed made his body feel all the exhausted he had felt in the black tunnels and he instantly made his way towards it. Reaching it, he peeled back the covers and slipped underneath, letting the softness seep into his tired, old body. As sleep claimed his mind, he came to the conclusion that he was finally free from the dark holes of hell. But one thought chilled him to the soul before sinking into the deep slumber.
He had to die to escape.