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A Chance Meeting
By Danii Debrabant

 


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_A Chance Meeting_
_Category:_ TV Shows ? Brimstone _Censor:_ PG _Genre:_ General
_Reviews:_ 6 StoryID: 215753
_Author_: DeBrabant Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-)



A Chance Meeting
by Danii
Summary: Two figures meet in the bowels of Hell
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE! No one. I don't get money from this, just a
satisfaction for my feedback addiction and odd stares.
Distribution: You want? Take.
Rating: PG-PG13
Feedback: Please?

And now:

The scene played over and over.

Over and over.

Over and over and over.

That day...walking in to find her, in the shower...violated. Taken.
Hurt. Damaged.

Over and over, I watched it as I'd watched it for countless days. Or
maybe years. Maybe centuries. I couldn't really be sure. The pain
seemed to blur the time, played with it like a kitten played with
string. Sometimes making it longer, sometimes making it shorter. For
all I knew, it could be just a day after I'd died in that robbery.

I hoped not.

I prayed not.

But, I reflected, perhaps that was a useless excercise. Praying.
Begging a God who had quite obviously screwed me over to help me now.
Who'd screwed me over for one mistake. A mistake that I'd already
tortured himself over.

Yet someone had to be listening, because just as I finished this
thought, I could feel my spirit? body? form? being moved. Moved to
yet another agonizingly hot room. The break room.

It was the place they put you to recover from what you'd just been
put through. To organize your thoughts and fix yourself, which your
mind did automatically. Where you would let the wounds start to heal
so that they could open them up and pour more salt into them.
Apparently, if they didn't give you a break, you got used to the pain
and torture and it didn't work as well.

I can't even start to guess if that was true. I never want to know.

But this time, something was different.

For once, I could feel? see? another figure in this place. A figure
that I knew wasn't of Hell.

Dark-haired, with a heavy brow-line and a nose that had been broken
at least once. Large and muscular, I could see the large sword? stuck
within his torso and wondered why the torturers here had resorted to
simple physical pain. Normally, such things were beneath them.

He looked just as pained as I felt, so we sat there together, two
souls in deep and unending pain. Neither of us spoke. We never even
met eyes. Until, after a century or so, he looked up to stare at me.

Soulful brown eyes were below that strong brow. Eyes that had seen
too much.

And we just sat like that, staring at each other as if the other was
just an interesting part of the scenery. Staring. Staring at each
other as we both realized something.

We were different. We were different from each other, but more
importantly, we were different from everybody else that was down here.

We were, some how, going to get out. Somehow, somewhere, someway,
sometime...maybe in a thousand years, maybe now...we were going to
get out of this God-forsaken place. I didn't know how and I didn't
know why, and till this day, I will never figure out how I knew, but
I did. And so did he. He knew.

But then my own eyes went down to the sword in his stomach, and as I
watched his eyes move to the same spot, I figured out that the sword
wasn't for physical torture. For some reason or another, the sword
was causing him such great emotional agony. And, I realized, that it
wasn't just for what had been done to him, but rather what he had
done to others which was hurting him, and in the midst of my own
pain, I felt sorry for him.

You know, they say that Hell is other people, but as I looked at him,
I realized that it's just the opposite. Hell is being alone. Alone
with your own thoughts and fears and pain and guilt. The only
salvation, the only relief, is other people. Other people allow for
love, and compassion, and all the other things that make people what
they are, that make life more than pain. I guess that's why they put
us together...just so they could tear us back apart.

As this thought crossed my mind, our 'caretakers' came in, and began
taking us back to our tortures. They did it quickly, however, before
we lost sight of one another, we were able to share one last glance,
one tiny bit of communication.

See you up there someday.

##

I knew she ran this way. I'm was positive of it.

I mean, when you see someone jump out of a seven story window, then
keep running, you sort of notice where they go, but now I couldn't
find her since she ran into the darkened alley, which bothers me more
than you'd think.

Sure, this thing is a job, a horrible, dangerous, painful job, but
sometimes I got that rush like when I was live. That rush of
righteousness. Of doing a job that desperately needs to be done. Of
sending back a creature that shouldn't have even SEEN this world
again after what they'd done to the people in it.

But then the adrenaline faded, and I realized that for tonight, at
least, she had gotten away. He-...er, Heck, I didn't even have any
bullets left in my gun, and despite the fact that I can usually find
some other way to dispatch the Damned, I really didn't want to face
this one without a full clip.

So I decided to head back home.

I made my way back out of the alley, and started my trip back to the
musty apartment that you could call home if you were really stressed
to put a name to it. However, as I was walking, I saw a figure in the
dark of the street.

Immediately, my sense went back into high gear and I ran to follow
the figure in the darkness who had just made itself known to me. I
wasn't sure if it was her, but I figured I'd better check to make
sure. And as for having no bullets, I'd figure something out.

However, after a moment or so, the black shape seemed to stop behind
a dumpster, and I got a good look at just who and what it was.

Tall, probably muscular body encased in a great deal of black coat.
Brown or black spikey hair on top, and large hands sticking out of
the coat sleeves. Sure, it wasn't who I was looking for at the time,
but I needed to know the identity of this figure.

Carefully, I slipped towards him, but as I got within five feet of
him, his head cocked to the side and he began to stiffin. Then,
before I could run or get out of sight, he turned to face me.

Dark-haired, with a heavy brow-line and a nose that had been broken
at least once. Soulful brown eyes were below that strong brow. Eyes
that had seen too much.

We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us saying a word.
There was no sword sticking out of his stomach now, but I knew him.
Through all the pain and the agony of my time down there, I
remembered that one time when we'd shared a break room. I remembered
how I knew we were different. I remembered our last piece of
communication. And from the look in his eye, he remembered me as
well.

For a moment or two, we looked at one another and shared that pain.
Found a fellow sufferer in the other's gaze, and with that, felt a
small release. A release, and hope.

We'd both gotten another chance to escape that horrible place. I
don't know how he did it, and he will probably never be able to guess
how I did, but we did. We got a second chance.

The two of us stared at one another just one more time, then I felt a
grin twist itself onto my face. Quickly, even though it looked like
more of a hassel for him to do so, a smile found it's way to his. And
once more, we shared a message of certainty.

See you up there someday.

The End






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Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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