Past
Hidden in the depths of a desert, amongst scorching heat by day and sharp, numbing cold by night, was a pit. And within this deep wide circumference hundreds of souls waited for their deaths. The hole that led into this place was not only the entrance but also the only exit. These souls would look to the heinously teasing sky daring those to try and climb to freedom.
And the idea was simple enough.
This hope was chained to all the unfortunate souls-a hope that caused them ultimate despair and frequently took their lives. The despair would engrave itself on their souls, gradually ripping and gnawing on their sanity. They would forget the soft caress of light and forcibly be plunged into the embrace of darkness. Agonizingly slow, they would become apathetic beings-no longer living, but uselessly striving to survive in a place where their deaths came sooner than the inevitable.
There was no order here, every soul rampaged freely-and this would be their only freedom. Murder, rape, disease, the rapid decreasing of human morality, a place that turned once proud, brilliant men into filthy, savage beasts. As time passed, this pit would be the only world these poor souls could comprehend. Existing in a wild place, predators clawing and maiming each other for a position at the top of a throne that remained a dream. No matter who was stronger, a knife to the heart will bring any mortal man instant death.
It was no exaggeration that this prison be titled Hell on Earth.
And this hellish place was what a man called home for nearly all his life.
The prison had been taken his name, his basic humane emotions, and was still taking its sweet time devouring his sanity. Killing a man was no different than breathing to him. At times, he found himself relishing in his victims' pain. Watching them writhe and squirm in his iron grip, watching them plead and cry, degrading themselves into worms-and he would snap their necks that instant; such cruel acts made him feel powerful, unstoppable.
The prisoners were afraid of him, and he remained alone. Due to his massive size and towering height he was often called a monster; a nickname he allowed if it kept him alive another day. He believed all traces of his humanity had evaporated decades ago-and sometimes he questioned whether it was ever there at all. Perhaps it would've taken a few more years for the darkness to completely engulf his heart, the dark tendrils ready to take the last piece of his humanity, were it not for the sound of cheerful laughter that halted its movements.
He sat on the stone floor in his cell; the barred door was closed though he could open it whenever he wished. He stared across the large space in the center of the prison, significantly lit by sunlight, to the opposite side of his own cell. There, within a chamber, was the woman and the two small children.
He remembered when the woman first appeared years ago. He couldn't drown out the roars of men, who had been deprived of the opposite sex. At the time she was heavily pregnant, so the prison doctor made sure to keep her locked in that cell. A few months later a baby would be born. A few years later another would be damned to the pit. A three year old, whom the woman graciously accepted as her own. Now the children were five.
The man watched the children giggle; such a soft, odd noise that echoed along stonewalls. He had heard them cry, shriek, even curse-much to the mother's dismay. But this was the first time he heard them laugh. He couldn't, ever, remember hearing laughter in the prison-unless it was that of a predator preparing to indulge in beastly behavior.
The man focused his gaze, examining their faces. An unusual tingling sensation pulsed through his flesh as he felt his cheeks warm. They, both, were smiling and their big brown eyes were wide with excitement and another emotion he couldn't depict. The smaller child had short scruffy dark brown hair, a slight olive-toned skin, rosy cheeks, and sanguine lips.
The other had short black curly hair-like a sheep's coat-brown skin, reddish brown lips, and a tiny mole beside her left eye. In his eyes they almost morphed into little animals; the kind that do no harm. The children were tossing back and forth a jagged edged dagger. Each time one of them missed catching the, rather dangerous, weapon a fit of laugher escaped their small lips.
The man's brows burrowed, he wondered what could be so amusing as throwing a dagger at each other. And he could tell they were genuinely delighted by their activity. The mother was smiling as well, though her eyes held a great deal of concern. Perhaps she wanted to stop them, but couldn't bring herself to end their game.
The man let out a low snort, no matter how much they liked the game it was still hazardous-she should stop them before they accidently stab each other. He looked back at the children who now stared back at him. He held their gaze; surprised they caught his eavesdropping from such a distance. The child with sheep-like hair lifted her hand and hesitantly waved at him, causing the man to tilt his head in question. Did this child not know who he was? What he did to people? How he killed people? Why would the child even bother acknowledging his existence in this forsaken place?
He though it best to ignore the child's gesture, yet his body betrayed him as he came to the realization that he was waving back.
