10-?-15

Gazing out across the fiery lake I saw a figure leaning against a slab of glistening rock. Its jagged teeth hung over its protruding jaw. I favored another glance. Its horns jetted out of an oval shaped head and ended in spiraling points. There was no mistaking the prince of hell. He cracked a smile, meeting my gaze and for a moment we shared a thought.

I figured this tale has not been told properly and as it unfolds I ask you to be patient. Even I in my ancient years have seen a better side of truth and wonder how it might suit bitter mankind. In past events fear propels weak minds to conceive and harness absurd notions. I understand to a certain degree as I know the unknown can be quite perplexing. I cherish only the desire to deliver answers rather than ask more questions.

Sitting under this gloomy roof I stare beyond the boundaries of time and space and perceive a much different term. I can hardly begin to explain it. I would not know how to even try as words refuse to obey me. I am lost. I have been for quite some time but as the end draws near I find peace in knowing death is an illusion. Perhaps mankind can find solace in that. Then again the human mind is a constant working machine that constantly needs care.

I wish I knew how to comfort my own variety of horrors. My mind is its own worst enemy after all. I can do nothing to change this and perhaps someday I will cease the desire to change it. Anything can happen. I have learned this much.

Boulders splintered and decayed before my eyes. From its opened wound pumped agony in uneven spurts. It showered the stale dry sheet of earth without delay. I watched it. It took on a life of its own, slowly emerging out of frothy soil as an ash-like baby. Its crimson eyes yawn as its square mouth rubbed against fragments of scorched flesh. Hell births life of its own nature. I think mankind would be interested in discovering this fact. But then again they life with their eyes half open and half shut.

Memories come into being on the news of demise. They publish despair and suicide. Both may be considered sinful to entertain, but as I pen this with feathered quill in hand I compose half-truths. I am tired, something I never imagined possible, but here I experience it. I am not mortal. I am not an immortal. Other than infinity I am unsure how to describe my being. I was always here and will always remain despite my foes and their meager attempts at burying me.