(So this is a story I started based off a dream I had one time. Its just a snippet of the start of it and something that I haven’t worked on in quite a while. However, I think I might return to it because I liked the idea behind it. Anyway, feel free to give me your thoughts!)
Hands reaching out of inky blackness the consistency of quicksand kept grabbing at exposed and covered flesh alike. Their touch was bone achingly cold and left fiery prints lined in splotches of the darkness they came from. It was a terrifying nightmare, one that never seemed to end, a torture of the worst kind and that for anyone for whom this was just a dream. But for one poor soul it wasn’t a dream and it never ended, it was his reality and he lived with it every day. That alone was enough to bring goosebumps to his skin every time he thought about it, which was very frequently and as a result people tended to ask him if he was cold all the time.
Brown eyes, eyes that most called dull or dog eyes, blinked open slowly to take in a room that was messier than if a tornado had hit it in the weak light filtering through cloth curtains. It was a small room, really closer to the size of a walk-in closet then an actual bedroom but he didn’t mind. He liked small spaces, for some reason they were a comfort to him. A hand with a certain sort of skeletal quality lifted up, fingers curling into a loose fist, to rub the sleep away from first one eye and then the next. What they could not rub away were the dark circles under his eyes from an extended lack of proper sleep. He could not even remember the last time he slept well, perhaps he never had but certainly he had not since one of the gates of hell had been sealed inside his body.
Yeah, that’s right, this was a man who had a gate that lead directly to hell sealed inside his body. But that is not really this tale as it has already happened, suffice it to say that this poor man is a walking, talking, breathing gate to hell and his job is to keep that gate closed and reap the souls that have died.
The man slowly pushed himself up on arms that looked like a good twist would snap them, he wasn’t healthy and it showed. But what did one expect from a man who had to deal with what he did? And had for so many years now that he didn’t even like to think how many more he would have to deal with it. But he got up anyway and didn’t just lay about in bed, despite the early hour of five in the morning. He felt the thin sheet slip away from his exposed torso and pool around his lap. It had been cool last night when he’d gone to bed but now it was soaked in sweat, a normal occurrence for him. It would mean more laundry to do in the evening but at least that would give him something to do that wasn’t sitting around thinking about his own damned existence.
Long arms stretched over his head and he moved his body up as he worked out small kinks in his muscles that had developed over time. With a sickening cracking sound his sternum popped much as one can pop their spine if they twist far enough. He groaned and put a hand to his chest, holding it just under his collarbones for a moment. It was a sensation that plagued him every day and that he would really happily live without. He shivered and sighed, that same hand moving up to run through dirty blond hair that was lank with sweat and fell about his head to his chin in length. It looked messy, but he didn’t really care about that. He was never much concerned about his looks or perhaps he would have taken better care of himself.
Legs longer than the arms that had stretched a moment ago swung out from under the sheet and rested on the floor. Their toes curled as they came in contact with the extremely old shag carpeting, burying themselves into the carpet for a moment. Then they relaxed and the man pushed his body up, uncurling himself to a full height of six feet three inches tall. But he seemed both taller and shorter at the same time. His extremely thin figure gave the impression that he was taller but the hunching of his bony shoulders gave the impression of being shorter.
A few shuffled footsteps took him to the only other furniture in the room besides the bed, an old beaten to hell set of drawers that he used to store his clothing. Hands curled on rough handles and pulled on them, drawing the drawer out with a few clunking sounds. They picked up a pair of boxers that had been haphazardly stuffed in there at some point. Then the drawer was shoved shut in favor of two different ones being opened in order to provide him with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in a maroon coloration. With that he left the small room and entered a longer hall, pausing as his feet connected with cold wooden flooring.
No one else was up yet but he didn’t mind that, he rather liked the fact that he got the house and the bathroom to himself at this early hour. He crossed the floor and opened a door, flicking on a light inside before stepping over the threshold. He blinked in the illumination, taking in a small bathroom that consisted of only a shower in the corner, a toilet next to it and a sink in the opposite corner from the shower with enough room for one’s legs between it and the toilet. There was already a towel hanging from a bar across from the counter. He closed the door and flicked the lock; he didn’t trust his roommates after multiple pranks had been pulled upon him. He set the clothes on the counter and stripped himself of what little he wore, a pair of ratty boxers. He reached into the glass-encased shower and turned the water on, drawing his arm back quickly as the cold water turned on. He gave it a moment to heat up before he entered in and enjoyed a long shower that only partly washed away the goose bumps and tremors from the dream, nothing could ever fully erase something that didn’t end when one woke up.