Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
The Door to Hell
We stood in front of the Door to Hell. Hell gaped right next to my feet like a wide ruthless jaw framed with a ring of fire, radiating thick and heavy heat. There was darkness everywhere around, spreading and stretching as if trying to conquer the painful red, its shadows dangling over our sore eyes, lifeless faces and frozen silhouettes. The cold, probably following Hellmouth's lead, kept fiercely trying to sink its poisonous fangs into our bare goosebumped arms. It seemed to me that in the darkness I could hear the silent crackling of fire. Mesmerized, I stared at the lashing flames, deep crimson with loathing, tirelessly bouncing up and down, eager to start licking our limbs and caressing our bodies until we were utterly consumed with blaze – until we turned into fire – until we turned into ashes – until we became one with Hell.
This fiery performance was hypnotizing, and it seemed to me that from time to time in the spires of flame I could catch a glimpse of flashing eyes, of infernal grin, just for a second, and then it would disappear again in the spurting blaze. I knew it was just my imagination, but the fire looked alive and it seemed like Lucifer himself was wriggling in it, rejoicing at the sight of sinners at the threshold of his domain.
Then my memories emerged. And I could see my house on fire, I could hear that fatal merciless cracking sound ringing in my ears like a funeral toll. I could see the spires of flame licking my parents' bodies, I could see them thrashing around in pain, the pain that obliterates any will to live and makes one beg for death, I could hear them screaming in savage voices like tormented beasts. I could see their burnt corpses, I could see myself, a frightened pale child, crying in terror in front of what was left of my cosy little world that had suddenly collapsed, writhing in heat and turning into ashes.
The vision continued for five, maybe ten seconds, but I quickly chased these images away. I had already experienced my very own show of Hell's flames, had experienced it and had survived it. I might have not erased it from my memory, but I put a full stop to it. It remains just an episode in my past, a tiny point on a timeline, sometimes trying to swing the Balrog's whip and to wrap it around my knees, but I don't let it. I pushed it down and locked it up during the trip to Northern Ireland.
I flinched as Mello's fingertips unexpectedly brushed my hand, cold as ice. I raised an eyebrow, a pointless gesture as it was dark and I still couldn't look away from the sight. Not taking my eyes off the ring of fire, as if averting my stare would mean losing control over it and setting the fire free to consume and to destroy us, I let Mello take my hand, and his fingers slowly entwined with mine. It was clear the sight of the Door to Hell affected him as much as it affected me, even though in a different way.
I could feel that Mello's hand was slightly trembling and I turned to look at him. It was hard to make out his features in the dark, but his eyes were illuminated by dancing flames. Reflected in his eyes, they seemed so perfectly in place as if they had always been there, a reflection of Mello's soul. As if suddenly a hole had opened in his inner wall and his soul was trying to expose itself, to free itself from a cage it had been imprisoned in. It made perfect sense for that fire to be there, in fact it made me wonder why it hadn't been there all the time. After all I had got used to the presence of fire in my life long ago.
„So this is what is waiting for us," said Mello in a hoarse, rusty voice, flames burning in his eyes.
I didn't look at the fire anymore, I looked at Mello's irises, because there it seemed even more real, even more infernal.
„You know I don't believe in afterlife. Even if it's as alluring as this," I replied, smiling dimly.
„It would be too fortunate," said Mello, still talking in this strangely serious husky voice. „If there was no Hell, I mean. It would be unfair. They might consider Purgatory for you. But I deserve to burn."
How can you burn in Hell when it's Hell itself that's burning in you? I thought, still looking into Mello's eyes, but said nothing.
Instead I took my hand out of his and placed it on his neck, slowly closing the distance between us to place my cracked lips on Mello's, cold as the night around us. I kissed his lips, pulled his dry static hair and stroked his leather, all the time fully aware of the Hell burning next to us, which probably seemed so petrifying and so enthralling because it incredibly vividly and convincingly portrayed what our lives had been slowly but steadily turning into.
„We both would burn there," I finally said, after breaking our kiss and tucking a strand of Mello's hair behind his ear.
„And that's precisely why we won't. They wouldn't risk it. It's existence is so questionable that they couldn't afford to keep someone denying it so thoroughly and stubbornly as I would, no matter how long they burnt me."
Even in the dark I could see Mello's lips curving into a small smile. I wondered if this place had such a strong effect on other people. I doubted it. I knew we should had been more affected by other things, horrible things that we found to be part of our daily routine, than by a sight of gas lit on fire. But it did affect us anyway, and I was glad we had gone there before coming back to Ashgabat, which could had been a lovely place under normal circumstances I believe, despite its utter lack of freedom of speech and its ridiculous authoritarianism, but that I hated a bit more every day that we spent in Turkmenistan, involving ourselves with mafia and oligarchs.
„I wonder what it feels like to burn," said Mello absent-mindedly. „To feel the raw pain of your flesh being eaten by fire. There might be no Hell, but I have a strange feeling that one day I'll burn anyway. I can almost sense it, my body on fire, without any way to escape. I wonder if that's how I'm gonna die."
He shouldn't have said this. My Balrog had been locked up safely enough, but sometimes it liked to slam with its full might against the door and walls of its cell, trying to escape.
Please don't. Choose any way you want to die, but please don't die in a fire.
Mello abruptly turned to me, the very next second after the words left his mouth, and behind the Hell's flames I could make out an apologetic look in his eyes.
„Fuck. Matt," said Mello, as bad at apologising as always. "Fuck. Sorry-"
I shook my head and kissed him again, to feel his cold lips and to make sure they were not on fire in spite of the blaze in his eyes, to get rid of a solid lump that had got stuck in my chest. I knew it would pass soon, but I was slightly annoyed by the fact that I was still so sensitive about it. I didn't want to dwell on traumas from the past.
They don't matter anymore, I thought, as I wrapped my arms around Mello's waist.
You know you're risking your lives every day, what difference does it make, I thought, as Mello yanked my head back to get a better access to my neck.
I just don't want my life to be burnt down again, I thought, as the Inferno flamed in front of us, as intensely as it had in 1971.
The End.
Author's Notes: The Door to Hell. Google it:)