Gehenna - Writing

Nora Boone

Trying to remember.

The First Rotation.

I tumbled down from nothing. I fell hard on my back, the air shoved out from my lungs and was instantaneously replaced by what felt like sand pouring down from above me. It scratched through my gums, my esophagus. Filled my nostrils, my eyes. I jolted upright, trying to cough. My closed eyes trapped microscopic grains that skated across my cornea, digging for my iris. I felt the plume of sand on the crown of my head, a steady stream down my back. I heaved my body to the right, trying to get out of the spew but found no ground beneath me. I free fell for a moment before reconnecting with a sloped surface. I started to roll, rapidly picking up the pace as the incline sharpened. There was a snap as my torso came into contact with something rigid, a crack as my jaw hit something similar. Sand whipped through my body like shards of glass finding every crevice, every fold. I felt the curve start to plateau and the friction diminish as I slowed to a stop, landing flat on my stomach. 

A familiar metallic flavor filled my mouth and bubbled over, its own pool forming to the side of my cheek. My limbs were weighted like sandbags, my arms trapped underneath my torso, a twisted knot of forearm. I attempted to untie, slowly pulling my arms out from under me, my hands beneath my shoulders. I hoisted myself up, my head the last thing to unfurl. Bringing my knees into my chest, I finally sit up, supporting myself on the loose particles with my palms, sliding slowly every moment.

I blinked my eyes open, they watered, clearing the sand caked into my vision, seething pain nonetheless. I stifled all cries, unsure of what could hear me. Once my eyes were truly open, red is all I saw. Every particle was a bright ruby, glinting and taunting me. The vast expanse reminded me of Arizona, flat and forever sprawling. I looked up, the sky was a sheet of white xerox paper with one circular sun-like object emanating warmth. Around me were sandy spires of hourglasses, continuously draining sand through an invisible hole. It’s possible that is where I fell from. The origin of the sand was lost in the cloudy mist of the blank sky. I noticed objects half buried in the red waves, a tattered American flag, dead lilies, a pearl necklace, and some I couldn’t identify that resembled various books, scrolls, and clothes. 

The shushing of sand whistled in my ears as the wind picked up. I turned my head away to avoid the blast of dust. It made me notice, in the distance, what resembled erected buildings. I thought it could potentially be civilization, people. From a distance, each shape appeared to be a black triangle, all with wiry spires pointed towards me. 

I forced myself onto my feet to start walking toward it, seeing no other option. Survival instincts powering me forward. I took in sharp shallow breaths with every step, imagining the pieces of my rib rupturing the rest of my organs. Could’ve been worse.

I walked for a while, head glancing back over my shoulder at every whisper, every snap. Always nothing. Until I heard the growing bellow of what sounded like a choir of metallic screeches, growing steadily in rhythm and pitch in unison. Thousands of minor chords sung with guttural wheezing, like it was the final breath every time it was released. I froze, the hair on the back of my neck bolted upright. Tingling sensation pounded down my spine, the bass of the sound cloaked my body, feeling like it took hold of my loose rib cracking it further with each beat. I peered around frantically, seeing nothing. A pink mist enveloped me, blinding my path forward. My ears and lungs were filled with the noise. My body a bomb about to detonate. 

The last thing I remember was the flash image of a mangled red cavern, long taloned teeth sloped at odd angles forming knots with each other, a black ooze spilling out from gums coating the enamel, a black hole at the end of the tunnel, calling to me. I heard the word “fuck” screamed frantically, pierce through the thunder, felt something hard strike the back of my head, and the world went black.

The Second.

I woke in the cool confines of musty darkness, the air felt heavy in my lungs. Every breath cut short by the prodding of my displaced bones, a reminder that it couldn’t all be a dream. My back weighted against a stone wall, my hands rested in my lap. I found myself in a small room the size of a shed, light silhouetted a doorway up a flight of stairs directly above me. I reached my hands up to rub my eyes but they caught before they reached my face. A sort of makeshift chain of cord and layered duct tape bound both my wrists to the wall. I almost laughed, partially at the craftsmanship but probably more due to delirium. My demeanor hardened instantly once I heard the voices, the ones coming from the light above me. I remember what they said.

(in whispered tones)

Girl: Do you think she’s awake? 

Boy: Bro, how the hell should I know?

Girl: ‘Cause you are clearly older and wiser. And chill, I’m asking a perfectly valid question.

. . .

Girl: Soooo, do you think it’s better to do it when she’s out or–?

Boy: I think it’s better to know who we’re dealing with before we do anything.

Girl: Okay, but why? I feel like it’d be better for all parties if we just got it over with? It’s not going to get more pleasant the longer we wait.

Boy: We have to be more careful after what happened with Jen. We can’t go all willy-nilly anymore without questioning who they are. For all we know, she’s a Disciple. 

Girl: A Disciple who got caught by an Esus empty-handed? Out of uniform? In a formal gown? In the middle of the Sea? Alone? C’mon, August, use some context clues. She looked as fresh as the rest of them.

Boy: Never saw one get up and walk that far, and neither have you. She could be some kind of trap. All I’m saying is, we should be smart about this one.

. . . 

Girl: So are you going to check on her or what?

Boy: Or what.

I heard a scoff before the darkness of the doorway lifted, revealing the two silhouetted figures staring down at me. Her face was lit by her torchlight, sharp angular features intensified a quizzical but standoffish furrowed brow. She looked about my age, give or take a year. The warmth of her brown skin was amplified by the pearl white of her horned mask, pushed back on her head, bringing her dark curls with it. He was more difficult to make out, but he had a similar strong jawline and wide nose. He was only a head or so taller with a stockier build and a shaved head. Freckles climbed up and across his face, emanating out from the bridge of his nose. They both wore long flowy cloaks, with some sort of striped patterning I couldn’t entirely see. She moved the torch towards me, looking down from above. The shift suddenly made her most notable feature the finger bones that curled around the torch, seemingly held together enough to hold the object, despite the absence of cartilage or muscle tissue. I averted my gaze, and our eyes met. She turned to him.

Girl: She’s awake. You ready, Sherlock?

He glared back at her, then looked down at me. He took the torch and walked down the stairs and sat down on the bottom two, bringing himself to sit about eye-level with me. He got right to it.

Boy: Who are you?

I didn’t answer. His question made me realize I only half-knew..

Boy: Do you work for the Cult?

Again, I remained silent. Unsure what answer could best serve me in getting out of this conversation. And out of whatever hovel this was. 

Boy: Um, why were you, like, out there? Alone?

Again, I did not respond. Only stared back at him with the most stoic unemotional expression I could muster. Before he could ask me another, she cut in.

Girl: Arm or leg?

My eye twitched, not fully comprehending what she meant. 

Boy: Rowan, what are you-

She plopped down next to him, stared through my eyes to the back of my skull, and asked me again.

Girl: Would you rather,

She pulled a short blade from its sheath, attached to her belt, initially hidden by her long cloak. She aimed it at my shoulder, arm fully outstretched.

Girl: Keep your arm,

She aimed it at my knee.

Girl: Or your leg?

Boy: Rowan. Upstairs. Now.

Girl: Well AUGUST, wasn’t like YOU were-

Boy: ROWAN.

And with that. Rowan broke her gaze with me, retreating out of my head to turn sharply around and clomp back up the stairs, disappearing from my line of sight. August rose with a sigh, peered again at me for a moment with what looked like an apology> Or pity, neither a great look on him. He turned and followed. The door shut, leaving me alone..

The Third.

Caught up to the present now.

I’ve been down, in what I presume is Rowan and August’s basement. I was easily able to free myself from my “chains”. Teeth are useful. This small room is clearly used for storage, containing many objects in piles, barely visible in the dark. It’s where I found this book as well as several small sketches and copies that illustrate snapshots of the world above. These will be instrumental to my escape.

My entrance to this place remains a question. Filling in the gaps of my memory may hold that answer. I hope that I can find something familiar, which may jog whatever lies latent. The main piece I’m missing is how I got from my normal daily routine to falling from a red spire of sand into wherever this is.

Also, it is critical that I get home. Juno will never make it on her own without me and I can only hope she’ll be able to manage til I get back. 

I am prepared to defend myself when the time comes.

All I can do is wait for one of those idiots to open the door.