A Red Rose

I don't want to play anymore, kids. I am too tired. Go to sleep. Let us all sleep. A lullaby, its words forgotten, wafts into my ears. Loved ones fall asleep, one by one. This time, they do not scream as I lay them to sleep. No blood. They look so peaceful, except for their physical state. The woman sweet of face but bereft of her skin is there again. I am grateful that she does not shriek at me this time. The little ones seem happy in their sleep. So full of life. So innocent. And their candles were blown out so easily.  I weep at their loss. My loss. The man. The twisted man, neck broken until his head was twisted a full 180 degrees. His arm was missing and his body was a steaming open mass of organs and bones. None of it was moving. His torso's missing flesh draped his sides like flaps from a box. As I watched them sleep, another figure faded into my view.

It was me.

My carbon copy smiles at me. His easy smile reminds me of happier times. Times that would have gone longer if not for my actions. That smile is forgotten. He makes a finger gun and points it to me. He says, " Don't worry, it'll all be over soon." I ask, "Are you telling the truth?" He chuckles and replies, "I am you, why would I lie to you, William?" I hear a click, a bang and I wake.

I sit up. I stare at my empty cell. Only my bunk and the bars which served as my window existed. I looked out. I see only yellow light but no sun. The cell is pitch black despite the light. The bars that were the cell door let me see out into the gray block. Strange, where is the cell opposite? I hear whistling and relax slightly. Frank must be in a good mood today. The looming shape of my constant prison guard stands in front of my cell. His voice sounds different. It sounds like he is in a cave and I at the cave's entrance. An echo. " Here now, you're awake. Good. Your third round's today. If you win, we'll let you off for two weeks." Two weeks. They can pass so quickly. Time is relative. I grasp at this lifeline however and nod. Bars clang open. I slowly walked out, taking care not to move my cuffed hands too much. As I walked out of the darkness and into the white light of the prison, I glance at Frank's face and blanch.

The guard's face was freshly flayed, leaving a reddish skull covered with muscle grinning at me. The gruesome sight chuckles and teased, "What? My face to much for scum like you? Ha!" He pulls me along. While we walked, or in my case, dragged my feet, the mutterings return.I pay no attention, until the mutterings evolve into shrieking. I yell and I am backhanded by Frank. I quiet down, but my eyes shift wildly at the many cells I pass. The shrieks belong to the woman. Hands reach out to me and Frank. They were in various stages of decay but all of them had one thing in common. They wear the ring that the woman wore. Faces emerge from the shadowy cells. Faces like Frank's, or features that were taken away leaving smooth surfaces. Skulls and demonic in nature. We pass the cell where I saw the eyes that were mine. A man lopes into view. It was the same man in my dream. Myself. He smiles and makes a finger gun. I shudder. The Door opens and my handcuffs fall away.

I stumble into the Room. I look at my much-abused wrists. They had been rubbed down until I spy a hint of white bone under the bloodied skin. The physical pain is nothing. The Other Door opens and a man falls in. He gets up and brushes his prison clothes. He sits and smiles at me.

He is me.

I stare aghast at him. What is this cruel joke? My last fight and they give me my, myself? I look to the window that was not a window. I follow my movements. The Voice says, "You first. You with the bad wrists." I hold up my wrists. I do the same. Both our wrists are in the same state of abuse. We shake our heads and reach for the gun. I grab it first. He is a second too late. I aim it at my head. I look at myself. His smile has faded, replaced by a frown of concern. Yes, he, I should be concerned. I ask, " Will I die today?" He shrugs and replies, " Only the gun knows. Have faith in me." I flinch at his voice. It sounded like three copies of myself talking from deep inside a cave. I have faith. I have hope. I have guilt and shame. I pull the trigger.

A click. I lower the gun and place it gingerly on the table. My copy takes it. He does not raise it to his head immediately. He says to me, " You will not die. I won't either. Not yet. I will spin the barrel." He does so. Five remaining chambers become six again. He raises it to his head. He hums the lullaby. I sway to the rhythm. We both take a breath to prepare. He fires.

A click. He slides the gun to me. I look at him and flinch again. His face now looked as if I was seeing him through a television with static. His echoing voice now laced with static, he asks, "Well? What's wrong?" I shake my head and say nothing. Something is wrong here. I disturb myself too much. While he does not smirk like the man before, something about him makes me want to shoot him. I stop there. What I do not like about him, I dislike about myself. A clever trick to undermine my confidence. How can one lie to oneself without discovering the truth? I aim at my head. My impersonator gazes at me with pity. I fire.

A click. Four chambers left. I set the gun down and agreed with myself, "You're right. I won't die." He frowns and say, "I said yet. You and I will not die yet."I chuckle and retort, "I won't. But you will." He frowns and pick up the gun. He has already spun the barrel. He has lost his chance to save himself. Even if he aims at me, I will not die. I have seen it. I feel a shift in the atmosphere of the Room. It has grown cold. Deathly cold. I shiver. How can it be? Temperature does not change like that. The other me seems unaffected. He holds the gun in his hands, pondering his next move. I rub my hands for warmth, ignoring the smarting pain from my wrists. I look down at my ruined wrists. When I raise my head, my eyes widen as I see myself training the gun on me. I laugh. "You won't kill me! The bullet is in the next chamber!" He calmly stares me down. He simply says, "If you could see yourself, you'll know the bullet is in this chamber." I falter at his statement. I calculated the possibility correctly, didn't I? If I go first, and he spins the barrel at his first turn...my thoughts trail off. Have I made a mistake. He nods his head and says sadly, "You have made a mistake William. Rest in peace." I only have time to gape at his statement before his face completely blurs, the Room spins and the gun fires.

I hold a red rose in my hand. My wrists looked brand new. I pinch the healed skin. Nothing. I wonder what is the rose for. I stand in complete darkness except for the rose, which seemed to glow faintly. I walk forwards, the only way I think I can go. It is hot and humid but I do not sweat. I keep walking. A nagging feeling in my head tells me to turn right and continue straight. I do so, and I see a faint red glow in the distance. I continue walking. The red glow intensifies as well as the heat. I reach the source of the glow and I recoil in horror. Jagged stalactites tinged with red hung dangerously low to the ground. Pits filled with flame dotted the landscape. The horizon seemed to stretch forever. Worse, I see tortures the likes of which tyrants, psychopaths or madmen could envision. I continue forwards, trying not to look at the tortures. I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was. I bumped into a another man, one not chained or tortured.

It was me.

He wears a suit. Like I, he does not sweat in the sweltering heat. He grasps my hand and shakes it warmly. His voice was the same as before. "Ah, you have finally arrived. I have just the place for you." For some reason, this version of me scares me. I stammer, "W-what are you talking about?" He grins, revealing too sharp human teeth. He replies, "You do not know, it seems. This is my lands, you have been sent here. And I am the one who everyone fears." His form contorts, twisting and growing. The suit rips apart to reveal tough hide. Wings grow. Great horns sprout from his head. He grows taller, taller, taller. I finally recognise him. I scream, "Sat-"

Throughout the depths of Hell, a scream echoed which dwarfed all the others. Imps and demons paused in their work for a moment, then continued. The scream cut off with a terrible finality but to the denizens and the damned did not give it another thought. It was just another cry of terror like so many others.

The rose withered. It had fulfilled its purpose.

The patient had finally gone quiet. Dr. Woodsy did not know whether it was a good thing or not. He peered through the small window on the door at the patient. The patient was just as Woodsy remembered, in his straitjacket, sitting in a corner with a stony face. He had been screaming incoherently for a few days before quieting. Dr. Woodsy took down his observations and turned towards his office. He had to consult with his superior on this matter.

Dr. Woodsy hurried along, coat flapping behind him. He turned a corner and nearly bumped into a woman and her children. Woodsy pushed up his glasses and peered at the family. Recognising them, he sighed in relief and said, "Ah, Mrs Sanders. I was about to notify you of your husband's condition." The woman, Mrs Sanders, or Harriet, asked, "What happened to William? Is he alright?" Woodsy shook his head and replied, "No. He has finally stopped his screaming without our using sedatives. I am not sure whether this is good or bad so I am going to consult." Harriet asked, "May we see him?" Woodsy hesitated. Harriet pressed, "If William is quiet now, maybe he won't react so violently when I see him this time." Woodsy pondered her argument and nodded. He could not refuse this caring woman and her children staring at him with large pleading eyes. He said, "Very well, follow me please."

Harriet tensed as Dr. Woodsy pulled aside the small viewing window on her husband's cell door. She crept closer. Her children grabbed her skirt for reassurance. She saw the emotional wreck of her husband. He did not move to acknowledge her. Indeed, William was quiet. He did not scream, kick his legs or froth at the mouth. Harriet whispered, "William." He did not stir. Kate tugged at her skirt. She squeaked, "Mommy, is Daddy ok?" "I'm sure he's fine pumpkin." replied Harriet, though worry ate at her heart. Harriet edged even closer to the door. Her nose pressed against the cold steel metal. William looked paler than before. His eyes were closed and his jaw was slack. He could be sleeping, experiencing his nightmares that had plagued him six months ago. Woodsy was murmuring at her side about his condition but Harriet was not listening. There was something wrong with her husband. She looked closely at him.

His chest was not moving.

A wail. Woodsy was so startled he dropped his clipboard. Harriet sank to the ground, tears flowing from her eyes. "Mrs Sanders, what is wrong?" asked Woodsy. Harriet sobbed, "He, he is..Noooo."
Woodsy peered into the patient's cell. His eyes widened as he saw what Harriet saw. He quickly raced away, shouting, "Emergency! Medic! A patient has..." His panicked voice trailed away as he went to get help from the orderlies. Harriet's children stared at their grieving mother. Danny asked, "Mommy, what happend?" Harriet did not seem to hear her son, instead continued to cry, this time louder. Affected by the intensity of her tears, Kate and Danny started to cry as well. They felt soft, shaking arms close around them and pull them closer to their mother. Harriet whispered to them between sobs, "Your father, has gone to sleep. It will be...a long sleep." She kissed her children and hugged them closer. They were alone now. The medics arrived but were too late to save the patient.

Woodsy wiped his brow again. He said, "Shall we hand over your husband's, erm..." his voice trailed away. Harriet stared at his desk with hollow eyes. She whispered, "Just do what you need to do doctor." Woodsy hesitated. He said nervously, "Very well, we shall make the arrangements and I shall inform you when we are ready." Harriet nodded slowly.

It is horrifying how a good man can crack so easily. One of the best men, a great dad, a promising employee. And he suddenly snaps. Went mental. Tried to kill his own family. His wife still forgave him. Said he was stressed. Only sent him away to an asylum after the police started asking questions. A shame. His original state of mind was buried deep into the recesses of his new, twisted mind. He was too far gone.

A shame. I quite liked him.