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paradiiseblu · 2 months ago

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BOY ON FIRE ( 2012 )

࣪𓂃 ˖ ࣪ 𖠵ˎˊ˗ SUMMARY . . . In which the boy learns the consequences of his actions

࣪𓂃 ˖ ࣪ 𖠵ˎˊ˗ STARRING . . . the boy + the man

࣪𓂃 ˖ ࣪ 𖠵ˎˊ˗ WARNING(S) . . . mentions of death, blood, fire + implied homophobia . if anything is missing let me know

࣪𓂃 ˖ ࣪ 𖠵ˎˊ˗ WORD COUNT . . . 1.7K

࣪𓂃 ˖ ࣪ 𖠵ˎˊ˗ AUTHOR'S NOTE(S) . . . I am so proud of this piece and really happy I can finally share it hehe . feedback is greatly appreciated !

The boy’s feet were covered in blood.

He walked down the empty, dimly-lit street, his eyes wide as he walked along the asphalt. He didn’t say anything — he couldn’t say anything. The knowing of what he had done had seemingly stunned him into silence.

He knew there was something wrong with him.

That deal, that damned deal, was the beginning of the end.

At the time, it had seemed like the right thing — the only thing, really — to do.

Now?

Was it really worth it?

Was selling his soul — his innocent, pure, desperate, twelve-year-old soul — worth what he just did, what he’s condemned to do for the rest of his life?

He had just started getting used to being in a new country, just started his new school, just started over after his parents’ divorce.

Was this what he was burdened to do forever?

He wasn’t religious in the slightest, but now he couldn’t help but pray to every benevolent deity that he knew of, begging them to save him from this burden, or at least alleviate it. His feet hurt, not just from the walking, but from the open wounds that bled. His hands hurt from the blisters all on his palms. His head hurt with a killer migraine, making him dizzy and his vision blurry.

Even his heart hurt.

It didn’t matter much, though. What hurt the most the most was how vivid — how raw — the recent events were.

The sight of a dead couple, holes almost perfectly in the center of both men’s foreheads. The smoking gun — literally — slightly trembling in the third’s hand, his face barely visible in the dim light but still showcasing the sick satisfaction he felt from killing the two men laying dead side-by-side.

The sick satisfaction turning into annoyance and even slight panic at the sight of a twelve-year-old boy holding only a plastic bag half-filled with snacks stumbling onto the crime scene, drawn by the gunshots that had rung out just barely out of earshot of the convenience store. The arrogance in the man’s eyes as he shamelessly told the boy what he had done, that the two men laying on the ground had deserved it, that they were destined for hell for their sins and that he had purged them for their wickedness.

The arrogance quickly turning into confusion as the boy dropped his bag, then the confusion becoming fear as he inexplicably caught on fire, turning into a flaming grotesque skeleton that, mysteriously enough, didn’t burn the boy’s clothes. The absolute terror in the man’s eyes as the skeleton, with surprising quickness, ran and jumped on him, burning bones for fingers digging deep through the hoodie and into his skin, effectively burning him as he was forced to stare into the creature’s eyes, forced to relive all his crimes and relive the deaths he directly caused.

The eyes turning into what seemed like charcoal, sputtering with small flames that slowly died as the body dropped to the ground, unmoving. The creature feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as it observed the body before twitching and turning transparent, seemingly melting away to reveal the boy again, who was gasping for air before turning around and throwing up at the sight of the bodies.

The boy crouched down in the middle of the empty street now, hands clutching his head as he shakily gasped from the mental images.

Everything just hurt.

He couldn’t move, not for a long time. He just crouched down, hands shaking as he nearly ripped his hair out. He had no idea what to do, he just wanted those memories gone.

It felt like an eternity by the time he finally looked up.

The man, the devil, who ruined his young life, stood before him. His arms were crossed as he looked down at him, his eyes flashing blood red.

The boy slowly stood up, his body shaking as he glared up at the man.

“I hate you!” he screamed into the night, his voice echoing through the nearly empty street. He couldn’t help the tears that escaped him, sniffling quietly as he wiped his eyes.

The man simply watched the boy, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched him clean his face.

“You chose this, don’t forget that,” he said, a quiet edge in his voice. “It was either you or your sweet little brother, Seth.”

The boy flinched as the man called him by his English name, the name he chose for himself.

The irony of the meaning of the name burned in the back of his mind now — appointed, placed.

He unintentionally appointed himself as a slave to this. . . entity, to this devil.

He placed himself in this. All by himself.

It was either him, or Nine — Isaac, as he liked to be called.

He'd rather it be him than his nine-year-old brother.

“Why did you have to do this to me?!” the boy cried out angrily, not caring if his voice was heard throughout the street.

“You chose this, Seth.”

“Yeah, and I fucking hate it!” the boy shouted, tears blurring his vision again.

The man simply smiled, but it wasn’t comforting — it was cold, creepy, emotionless. It made the boy shiver from fear and move away, hugging himself as he stumbled to his feet.

“O-Okay, okay, sorry. . .” the boy whimpered. He kept his gaze fixed on the man’s coat, refusing to look anywhere above the top button. “I’ll keep doing it, I’m sorry, okay?”

The man’s smile widened, though it didn’t soften, and he reached out, placing a clawed hand on the boy’s head. “Good. Now, always remember — you’re in my debt for saving your mother, and you don’t want anything to happen to her, do you, Seth?”

The boy shook his head quickly, wincing slightly as the sharp claws scratched his head.

He really hoped the scratches wouldn’t show. It’d be really hard explaining them away to his mother.

“Good, now keep walking. I want you to collect as many souls as you can tonight,” the man said, eyes flashing blood red at the thought of more souls entering his domain.

“Until how many?” the boy asked, his voice now steadier than earlier and quiet.

The man’s grip on the boy’s head tightened ever so slightly, the sharp claws digging into his skin and making a small whimper escape the child.

“Until you’re no longer so sensitive about seeing death,” he said, letting go of the boy and watching him stumble back, an amused and bloodthirsty smile on his lips.

The boy could only nod obediently. He kept his head bowed low, unable to do anything other than simply agreeing and going along with what was asked of him. It was all he could really do.

He hated being so powerless. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

He chose this, all by himself. He appointed himself as the devil’s twisted little pet, collecting damned souls.

He did this to himself. Now he has to deal with the consequences.

The boy raised his head and looked up at the man, meeting his bloodthirsty red eyes as he nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly, obediently. It made the man smile yet again, but this one was oddly soft.

“Good boy,” the man said, gently patting his head. “Now, keep walking. Collect as many souls as you can tonight–”

“Until I’m no longer so sensitive about seeing death,” the boy finished for him, nodding once. His serious behavior made the man laugh.

“Oh, you are one quick learner, aren’t you?” he said, calming down slightly. “You definitely know your place!”

The boy internally rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. . . whatever.”

The man calmed down fully, breathing out a sigh as he stood straight. “Good. Now keep walking.”

“That’s the third time you said that, asshole,” the boy snapped, rolling his eyes as he turned to walk.

He only took a single step before the pain started.

His head and chest felt like they were on fire, burning away inside his bones as he stumbled and fell to his knees. He could barely feel the sting as he scraped the skin off his knees, could barely feel the blood pooling under his knees.

The boy could only gasp for breath, body shaking as he begged for someone, anyone, to alleviate the burning pain.

“St. . . Stop it. . .” he gasped out, tears springing into his eyes from the pain. He felt his body burning again, but this time it was worse than before, burning deeper than when he turned into the grotesque skeleton he was burdened to hold within him.

This fire reached all the way into his soul.

The boy let out a scream, his voice rubbing raw against his throat as it carried throughout the empty street.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pain was gone. The sudden switch made the boy fall to his hands, on all fours as gasped for air and slowly stood again. He turned his head and glared at the man, gritting his teeth at the sight of the bloodthirsty smile on his lips.

“Fuck. . . you. . .” the boy gasped out, spitting blood on the ground before turning back to face the empty street, weakly squaring his shoulders. He can only ignore the blood dripping down his legs, starting at the knees and seeping into his socks, staining the bottom of his feet red.

The man only raised an eyebrow and raised his hand in a shooing motion, making the boy huff weakly and turn back around, slowly dragging his blood-soaked feet down the empty street. He took a few steps before stopping, only to turn back around to look for the man that was behind him.

Was, because he disappeared.

“Stupid fucking devil,” the boy grumbled, crouching down to take off his shoes and socks, not caring about the blood that stained them. He kept them in his hands, internally mourning the loss of his snacks that he had gotten what seemed so long ago. The plastic bag full of junk food had been left back at the scene of his crime, and he debated whether or not to turn back and get them.

He decided not to. He still felt the need to vomit at the mere thought of the bodies he left behind.

He was told to keep walking anyway, and until he felt the need to stop, he wouldn’t.

And so that’s what the boy did.

He kept walking.