Selfish Sin

 

            Though it may seem nigh impossible to some, for years I had forgotten my greatest sin. However, “forgotten” may not be the right word; for, somewhere deep in the recesses of a discarded mind, there was always a voice—worrying, whispering, nagging even. 

Despite the constant reassurances of those around me—though they knew not the full truth—that part of me could never for a moment truly believe that that place, that time, that other life was nothing but a dream. Comatose or not, on some level we both knew that what we had experienced could never be imagined.

 

Back there, nothing was simple. Every step brought one closer to a goal, every word held some hidden meaning, every breath was won through great pain and effort. Nothing was as it seemed. 

Your best friend one moment was your sworn enemy the next, your home a prison, even clothing held an ulterior motive—always masking something: treasures, weapons, you name it. 

No, nothing was simple in that place where Sin dwelt and watched the daily bargains that almost always ended in slavery…no…nothing was ever simple.

 

“I’m sick of this place, Rot.”

 

“I don’t see why, you’re still young by my reckoning…and I DO wish you’d stop calling me that. You know my name,” the thing sniveled, meanwhile retrieving his stubby, bluing left arm and reattaching it with a big glob of sticky green mucus.

 

“Your real name is too long and complicated for a tongue such as mine…” I glanced at his ministrations and quickly looked away; it had been a long time since the sight had turned my stomach. “Besides…I think Rot suits you just fine…”

 

He sucked a thin trail of snot noisily back into his nose and relinquished in his usual whiny tone. “Fine then…” He drug his spindly fingers claw-like over his balding scalp, then set to examining the dead skin beneath his nails. “Well, do you care to tell me what a whelp like you believes they have to complain about in our glorious kingdom.”

 

“Ha! Kingdom! Slave pen is more like it…I’m sick of having to fight to take a s**t…to do anything!” I threw up my arms, then dodged the spit that flew from his gap-toothed mouth as he laughed.

 

“Sick of fighting, ehm?” He cleared his throat noisily and spit the obstruction on the ground. “Hate to break this to ya, but everyone has to fight, no matter where they are.”

 

“Yeah, but not as a slave.”

 

“Slave? Horseshit.” He spat again; I shot him a glare and he averted his gaze. “The Master practically made you a pet. You’re lucky; most of us are sold and used by a new master everyday, and usually not by anyone so kind and generous as the great lord.” He cackled after this last bit and I rolled my eyes.

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m still a slave. I can’t go wherever I please, and the moment he snaps his fingers it’s back to work for me.” I crossed my arms and stared up at the whirling cyclone of fire in the sky.

 

“Oh, give it a rest. He hasn’t put you to work for years.”

 

“Exactly. This place wouldn’t be half so intolerable if I at least had something to do!”

 

His perverse snigger came out sounding like a clogged toilet as his jaw fell to the rocky ground with a clatter; he reattached it before speaking. “You know, I could always voice your complaints to our Lord…and I’m sure he’d have no problem finding…another…use for you.” He eyed my body and I snarled at him.

 

“I’m not that kind of slave.”

 

His sick smile faded. “Then you have no right to complain.”

 

“Of course I do…you know what…go to the Lord. Tell him, I want out. I want more than this place has to offer.” I gestured to our rather uniform surroundings; fire and brimstone, all that lot.

 

Rot grimaced, showing a yellowed tooth. “That won’t work.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“The Lord won’t just give you your freedom. He’s not stupid.”

 

“I know, I know, nothing’s ever-”

 

“Free here,” he finished, grinning in triumph, thinking me trapped.

 

But I smiled and the look faded. “Tell the Lord I’ll make a deal with him…one he won’t be able to resist.”

 

It was the perfect deal. I knew the Lord’s weakness, and after spending years in that “damnable” place I also knew how to find a loophole. Or so I thought.

Yes, the Lord took the deal, quite eagerly. But there were two problems. For one, they say no one ever fully escapes his control. Two, I never thought that when I came to this place it would be possible for me to find love…but I did.

            That was when I started to forget. They say love is like a daze, once you’re trapped within it, nothing else matters—nothing else seems real. It’s a bliss unlike any other, truly the “something more” I had been longing for. I was reassured, loved, spoiled beyond measured; and so, all else seemed a dream. 

By the time the baby came the sin had become only a whisper of a worry. It smiled and looked at me, I smiled and looked at my husband, and my husband smiled and looked back. I was complete, happy, there could be nothing else.

 

But that night, when I came in to find that teeming mass of gnarled hands grasping and pulling at my baby through some unseen hole in her crib, it all came rushing back at me. You cannot run from the truth for long…and with sin you have even less time. As I reached for my precious babe and cried out as she disappeared, I knew…

 

…I had sold my child to the Dark Lord.