The Trickster's Nightmare

I inhale slowly.

Drip.

She talks to me between my screams.

Drip.

I believe it to be a she, the serpent; though I can not see her, for it is darker than the deadest of nights.

Drip.

Or am I blind?

Drip.

"They've forgotten you, treacherous one." Her words slither into my ears and bite as if they themselves had venomous fangs.

Drip.

I do not respond to her. It seems an eternity since I last knew how to respond.

Drip.

Is her voice the serpent's or the woman's?

Drip.

"The world ended long ago and left you here to rot with me."

Drip.

Is the woman still there?

Drip.

Who was she?

Drip.

"You deserve every sweet drop of pain I bless you with, and deep down, you know it."

Drip.

I do. But what did I do?

Drip.

What good is a punishment that lasts longer than the memory of the crime?

Drip.

"I wonder, when time ends, will you taste as good as your wife? Will you taste like sweet, useless self-sacrifice, like she did?"

Drip.

"No, I think you'll taste more like pain and loathing. Self-hatred so bitter, sprinkled with the salts of illusory grandeur?"

Drip.

The pause is always long enough for me to want the pain, so that I may actually feel something.

Drip.

My screams break mountains and my writhing create chasms.

There is always another pause, so that I may savor her blessing.

Drip.

She talks to me between my screams.

Drip.

"Your sons, your wife. None of them remember you."

Drip.

I know lies when I hear them.

Drip.

I know they're all dead. I don't recall how, and I don't recall their names, but I know.

Drip.

The splash of poison against stone is as loud as a hammer's strike.


Drip.

"Have you no will to break free? Are your son's entrails too strong a bond? You have always been so weak."


Drip.

I hate hammers.

Drip.

"What is that spark I see?"

Drip.

I dream briefly of blood and mistletoe.

Drip.

And of a wolf devouring the sun.

Drip.

I hear the serpent's scales scratching against the stone uneasily.

Drip.

"What is it that you've remembered? What stirs inside of you?"

Drip.

"Hate."

I tremble beneath my bonds.

Drip.

"Impossible!" she screams.

The restraints snap and I sit up on the three stones.

"You'll be but the first of many," I say as I reach out into the darkness.

Drip.

It was no longer venom, but blood that echoed in the endless caverns.

I stand and feel bones shatter and splinter beneath my feet.

Stones fell from the ceiling and smashed upon the ground.

I have made the world new.

Drip.

I exhale.

Drip.

The rock is jagged upon my back, and the restraints wet and raw against my chest.

Drip.

She talks to me between my screams.