A Walk Through Hell With Kerosene- Ch. 1

Chapter 1: Tis A Peaceful Hell

Sweet tender smell of the crisp cool wet air danced among the rooms darkness. Behind closed eyes I could see them, they slowly approached. Tantalizing my soul, torturing my spirit, inducing what normal people called anxiety. I refused to open my eyes as I could feel her cold icy fingers within moments of my naked flesh.
Body frozen still, more of their hands surrounded me, yet none dared to touch.
“My child. . .” a whisper upon the wind. A weight fell upon my heart like steak between starving dogs, and even closed eyes shed tears. Just another night of complete loneliness surrounded by the departed souls that await for a mans soul to ascend to a more spiritual life. I opened me eyes, the feeling subsided yet I could feel the darkness staring back as I looked for nothing in the abyss. I dare not move, for she will return and cast my soul into the river Styx herself, yet the blend of darkness among the cool wet air froze my naked body and the closest blanket lie upon the floor as if my savior awaiting for me to take hold her hand. Slowly, carefully, quietly reaching for the warm blanket as it lie among the void darkness that seemed only to mock me. I could hear the laughs of children deep within my mind, yet the darkness showed not a soul. Cold sweat devoured the silk sheets as I cast them away and snatched the blanket, saving it from being swallowed by darkness. She couldn’t see me, yet as the blanket fell softly over my head and my eyes once more became shut I could feel their presence. Death was what few people called them, Boogey Man for children, Grim Reaper for others, yet she and they were none of them. They were the extensions of my soul crying out for help to the darkness, and they reach out only for life without regret. Yet a life lived without regret is a life lived without free will, for to regret is to feel remorse for even instances when you could have had a better outcome. Yet without free will, you cast your soul into darkness where not even the wind can hear you call out for help. . . This was my peace within chaos, my sinister tranquility, my serene anarchy used only as a sleep aide, for I fear the night they approach not upon my bedside. . .

Crimson painted the vast citadel before me, centered upon the empty horizon. The rain fell not upon me yet around me, as if the great sky herself weep for my soul. Fear strikes not upon a soul unaccompanied by heart yet my bones refused to bend their angles and provide me with motion forward. An outside war superseded by inner conflict, this was life, completely composed of death and chaos yet the silence remained unconquered leaving traces of the void called reality. . . Within the soft fragrance of a dream.

Light caressing my face sending soft sweet kisses of yet another bright world slowly turning to darkness.
Tossing and turning throughout the night removed the soft blanket from my head and readied me for another morning.
If only, if only I thought with a smile, pulling myself up across the deep red silk sheets. T’was a vast cloud for only one to sleep upon, yet she was always there unseen and unheard until the light broke to darkness once more. The rough inhalation of a cigarette brought me upon the great day that awaited me. Finishing I wandered off to shower, the apartment was silent yet filled with loud obnoxious memories. Memories of love, loss, death, and humor within it all.
The icy crystals of water hailed down upon my head as I stood refreshing myself, I needed an out.
I couldn’t understand why this, why in my realm does life seem only to end before me. Children, women, men, priests, accountants, lawyers, police yet in this world they all seemed subdued by this frantic war. Like the elder brother convincing the younger to lead a life of crime without compassion.

Ring. . . Ring. . . Ring The phone broke the apartments deadly silence. Slowly I removed myself from peace to question the disturbance.
“Hello?” A short inquiry I’d post.
“Do you know the job?” the voice was the same as every morn, continuously questioning my intentions.
“Yes.”
“Shall it be done?”
“How many? You know resources are limited.”
“Limited?” the voice knew.
“Blood must be shed to provide for Jacobs demonic army.”
There was just a small click in return.
“Very well, time to get to work.” I placed the phone back down to the receiver.
I readied myself, only dressing in the usual black despite the menacing heat.
The Colt .45 waded in slumber as it hid beneath the great coat upon my back, it was only for the bloodshed of children. It cursed me continuously yet the life Samuel Jacobs forced upon us was deadly. . .