'Welcome to Hell, would you like a hand?'
'Uh, sure. Thank you, sir.' Sock was lying on the floor staring above him, his gaze lost in the dark emptiness all around. The obscure figure, which towered above his small body, reached out his large hand for him to grasp. Sock was pulled to his feet, a little unsteady from the sudden force. His deep brown eyes darted about the obscurity in confusion, however all would soon become clear.
Now you're probably more than a little confused about what you just read. I would be too if I didn't already know the ins and outs of this twisted tale. But for your benefit only, let's rewind about five minuets earlier...
Meet Sock. He just killed his parents. In his sleep.
Now of course, naturally, most people would be perhaps a little shaken having just accidentally sleep-murdered their parents, but Sock was not most people. You see Sock had be struggling with the overwhelming desire to kill things his whole life. You could say he had some mildly homicidal tendencies. No, what made Sock so uneasy, was what he'd have to do next.
'Well, old friend, I never thought I'd find myself at your business end.' he sighed at the reflection of his face in which the knife cast back into his eyes. 'last words, uh, I guess it doesn't really matter, it's not like any one's watching or listening to me right now.' the blunt knife effortlessly pierced his skin, he eyes shut and his body fell lifeless into the self-dug grave.
'Welcome to Hell, would you like a hand?'