The Scapegoat

A boy, burdened by the mutual hatred of his parents to one another, seeks to take the pain of others so that they may live in bliss.

Shadows dance across the hall, flickers of light passing back and forth. Footsteps resound against the tattered floorboards, growing louder, approaching nearer. A boy with a hatred building in his eyes, fear striking daggers into his heart. He runs from nothing, yet he runs from everything. He anticipates obliteration for those around him, a swift death cutting across those he loves like a scythe into the grass. A mother and a father hurling words at one another like spears. Thoughts of death proliferate in his mind; he wishes only to cease such pains. And yet, he continues to run. Running from all that is both literal and figurative. Running from parents wishing torturous strife upon one another, running from the emotions boiling over within him, running from the tears streaming down his cheek. Content only once the frustrations of those who created him run thin, it feels then as if he shall never be content. Wishing to take their place, yearning to take their pain. After all that has plagued him, the burden of such hate pales in comparison to that which he has experienced already. If only such misguided souls could pass unto him the sins that they bear, he could rest easy once more.

Such an ambition leads only to annihilation, yet in his fear he failed to foresee a consequence as grave as this.

As he grows older, larger too do his accomplishments grow. Seeing abhorrence streak the eyes of his parents and witnessing crime take root in those he grew fond of, vices propagating like weeds in a field left untended; to for once see joy in those around him was pure ecstasy. Just to feel love caught in the wind like a fallen leaf on a cool autumn day, even if completely vicarious, would provide him the greatest bliss he ever could imagine. But this carefree spirit would be birthed from the boy's own pain, to free others of sin by himself acquiring it. And so, the boy of a virtuous and humble nature would forever be tainted by the misdeeds of others, sent further into the fires of perdition with every act of this masochistic transfer of others' malpractice. No amount of good intentions could save the boy, a drop of oil lost in a sea of evil, but one brought about by his own hand. Even so, he was content spending an eternity set alight in the flames of all that is unholy, so long as the expiations that he passed onto others would free them of such a fate. However, to embrace sin once is to embrace it again, and without guidance, those whose sins had been freed would only relapse into evil yet again.

Burning fields portending burning flesh; crumbling walls sheltering crumbling souls. The sky bleeds red as those beneath it fall upon the same fate. The chords of death flow ever slowly, creeping inward, sealing the fate of those left within its clutches. This hell burns as if the air itself were talons, digging into the skin of all who wish to defy it. The boy, who so young was left to bear witness to the hatred his parents directed towards one another, would in death be surrounded by evils that are one and the same. The horrors of his youth would stain every part of him, like a cloth left bleached in the sun for far too long. The life of the boy, the innocent scapegoat, would be lived in vain, as all whose sins he took would choose only to sin once more. As the boy was left to wander a foreign land surrounded by familiar faces, all he could feel was contempt: the same contempt felt by the parents whose resentment had led the boy into eternal condemnation.