Damned to Hell

This short story is created to go with a picture I drew recently. http://www.ratemydrawings.com/drawings/manga-original/519656.html Here it is.

It was dark...gloomy...almost scary. I walked along a pathway on an empty street the way I did every night. I listened out for screams of victims, or yells of a killer. Tonight, it was quiet. I held a rusty knife in my hand, waiting for someone to try attacking me. Shh...I think I heard something. Nah, probably just the wind. The air began to fog up, and oxygen became thick and hard to breathe. I wasn't breathing silently. I could hear the same sort of breathing from nearby. I held my breath to see if it was just an echo. Huff, huff. Someone was following me. I started to walk a little faster, hoping to get away from them. I did not want to kill tonight. I could hear their footsteps creeping closer, until a hand covered my mouth, and my knife was twisted out of my hand. How could anybody see that I had a knife? Especially with no light source! My heart rate rose, and I could feel my blood boiling. I started to strengthen myself out of the grip. The cold blade of my knife touched my neck, very gently. I wasn't going anywhere from this point. I always wished one day I would finally become an angel...but I didn't want that so soon. I heard the hoarse whispers of a criminal's vengeful words flow through my ears. The blade was now at the joint of my right arm. I felt the blade slice slowly, but painfully through my skin and stopping at a bone. The pain was greater than any pain I'd ever imagined, until the blade was twisted. The criminal sliced my skin right, creating a wider wound. I felt him take the blade out and place it on my chest. I knew this would hurt more, and that I'd die if he hit the right place. Again, the blade was jabbed right through my skin. I would've of yelled in agony if his hand wasn't over my mouth, only releasing a 'mmmmf' sound. The knife ripped the second wound more, blood almost gushed out...both my wounds felt numb. I started to feel weak. At least I will be an angel, I told myself, to stop myself from being scared. I felt a blow into my back, I had been stabbed a third time, right into my spine. My eyes closed, and I could feel nothing. I wasn't breathing, and no one was holding me anymore. Was I dead? Was it just a dream? I felt as if I was falling. It was pitch black, and wherever I was smelt like ash. I felt a chill up my spine. Tiny roars could be heard from somewhere far away. Something was moving around in my back. I felt as though I was in the hottest place, yet it felt so cold. My breath was harsh, and blood stained my skin. Skin...I wasn't wearing my shirt! My pants aren't even the same. They're torn, and they felt like they had been rubbed by charcoal. I felt the moving thing in my back again. Suddenly, six spikes ripped through my skin. I could not feel the pain, and I was not bleeding. A shower curtain-like material followed the spikes. I heard the sound of a giant flap as the moving stopped. What was this? I have wings? But...they aren't feathered...they aren't like that of an angel's...was I damned to hell? Where am I? I didn't feel scared. I heard that time seemed to be slow in hell. I got bible rumors that it seems like almost a lifetime in about ten minutes. I also heard that souls unlucky enough would be tortured and ripped apart, 24/7. This didn't seem to be happening...so I mustn't be in hell. But then where am I? I finally figured out the control over my wings and flapped them, aggressively. My fall slowed, and my feet gently touched the ground. It felt like gravel, and for some reason, my shoes and socks were gone too. I saw some dim fires in the distance. I heard footsteps, and the chanting of "one of us!" in that same distance. Something grabbed a hold of me and took me into the air. They flew towards the fires and chanting. I was dropped. I could see myself. My skin was dirty, my blood had dried from my wounds. The ones that were chanting all had wings. There was only a mere ten of them around me. The all bowed down in my presence. They mentioned that I indeed was in hell, but I was hand picked by Lucifer to be one of his Demons. My future here was ripping souls apart one by one every day? I couldn't handle doing the Devil's work. I could not become one of them. They soon mentioned that I was picked to be a leader of these Demons. This group wasn't Lucifer's henchmen, we are demons that can cross over to Earth. Why did I have to kill as a mortal? Why did I take to the streets every night just to get revenge for what criminals did to innocent human beings? I see that revenge doesn't solve anything.