The land's devil

Sarah’s fingers were hurting; her hands were shaking too hard for her to battle the door anymore. She wanted to cry. Maybe she was already crying. Her coat had dropped to the floor at one point; she slowly bent to pick it up and held it to her chest. Her purse was hanging at her waist. Of all the things to be buried alive with, those seemed so trivial.

From deep within the museum, youthful chatter was echoing.

They didn’t know yet, she realized. Tony, the teenagers, the teachers. The young couple that came with their dog. Her boss.

There was life as she knew it behind the veil of a single fact. The discrepancy buried deep into her bones, changed the alchemy of her brain. Oh, to die without knowing or to see the truck coming straight at you. She wasn’t envious of her own fate.

The devil’s goons didn’t seem to be either. Dying for His sake hadn’t been part of the mission; it wasn’t a crusade. Maybe they would have agreed to dying this way if they were asked to; but they weren’t. It wasn’t their choice, but the will of their god. It had to make sense, somehow. Right now it didn’t.

In that second, it didn’t.

“What is the worst way to die ?”, asked the devil.

The chill traveled from her spine to theirs. They looked like sheep lost in the night, she looked like a deer in headlights. She took a step back; immediately lost balance. The floor was moving under the soles of her shoes.

She fell on her ass, ankles deep into mud that looked like tiles.

She watched incredulously as the lines of the tiles moved as if caught in a current. Panic broke down her stupor when she realized the level was rising.

She stood up abruptly. She soon realized that everything around them looked like it was melting; from the lights dripping like tears from the fake chandelier of the reception hall to the wallpapers’ colors drooling down. Rugs melted into the floors, the floors melted into a pool that was getting deeper and deeper. It was a surreal sight; maybe less for people that had traveled down The Golden Road in the summer during camp or as a family tradition. It was familiar territory until it wasn’t for the followers of the devil.

Maybe that’s why they didn't move - they knew about fate.

Sarah didn’t know about fate because she was an introvert with limited curiosity for the outside world; so she tried.

She walked towards the inside of the museum like walking towards deep sea. Her vision was blurry with tears, at no point did she let go of her coat. The water level - that wasn't water - was up her thighs before she knew it. It felt neither cold nor warm. It wasn't wetting her clothes either; but it was affecting the structure of the fabric in a way she didn't immediately notice.

The Chosen One chose to walk besides her.

He didn’t seem to experience any difficulty in doing so.

“Where are you going ?”

He looked genuinely curious. She didn't answer Him right away.

“Somewhere.”

Her breath was so much heavier than His. He followed her for a few more steps.

“You’re looking for someone ?”, He asked again.

He looked back at His subjects. The five men were in a circle holding hands, murmuring something in a low voice. A last prayer before the end of times - written by men that dreamt of the apocalypse. They were soon to be freed of this mortal body and be made part of the devil’s masterpiece. They were chanting softly like it was a lullaby. Despite their faith, their eyelids were trembling.

Sarah tripped and fell under the surface. She got back on her feet with difficulty. Tasted like dirt, she thought while gasping for air. The Chosen One watched her silently. She saw Him reach a hand towards her through the chaos of the scene. With two fingers he pinched the cloth of her shirt’s sleeve - and ripped it like paper.

She stared at the torn cloth.

“What ?”

She confusedly tried to take it back from The Chosen One’s hand but He moved before her and grabbed her collar with His other hand. They watched each other in silence for a second. She was holding His wrist. He was holding hostage something greater.

She breathed in; He ripped her shirt open.

Why ?

The question started to echo in her mind as soon as she felt the air hit her exposed skin. She looked at Him flabbergasted. He looked at her with a hint of expectation.

“What the hell is wrong with you ?”

Her voice was soft as a whisper. He rolled His eyes like a bored child. Her body moved before the thought formed; she lunged at Him. Both her hands grabbed His head, trying to push it under water.

He fell back under the assault. For a few seconds, she was actually drowning Him; then He found His footing. He pushed against her, she tripped backwards. He tried to bring her down by tackling her, she hit His back with both fists. Short breaths, skin hitting skin. They were wrestling like amateurs in rising water that still wasn’t water. There was no witness to this, as the five men had closed their eyes; but it was a pathetic fight.

It only stopped when the level of the liquid landscape became so high it reached their necks. They were holding each other’s face with enough force to bruise the skin. She tried to blind Him by pushing her fingers into His orbits; He tried to drown her again. She lost her footing. Choked. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe. She was still grabbing His face when she felt the air leaves her lungs for the last time.

I’m never forgiving this.

Her fingers slid off His face.

I’m never, ever forgiving this.

Sarah lost consciousness.