All Roads Lead To Ruin
The wind roared, the lightning stabbed the clouds, and the thunder echoed across the sky as the rain shattered against the stone walls of the boys prison. Life held innumerable questions to the young, yet his environment would not allow it. His world was not the great open space of fresh grass and elegant trees, or the rolling hills that caressed the under belly of the mighty mountain ranges. No, his world was made of stone in a dark cell with heaven piercing the cracks of an iron cell door, and bars on a window that remained out of reach which was shared with another who slept in a dark corner opposite of his direction. All he could do is cuddle a thick ragged blanket and nuzzle a deflated pillow as he looked up and saw the clouds and witness the lightning that danced off each other from the small barred hole. What was experienced from the nightmare or vision within mere moments of his sleep passed away as nothing more than that, a nightmare, as the wind, lightning, and thunder lulled him back to sleep.
Just then he felt an indiscriminate nudge. His eyes had briefly opened to see the light shine through the barred window and before he could close them again to embrace sweet peaceful sleep another nudge had pelted his back. Then another, and another, and another. The annoyance had become constant every few seconds he tried to close his eyes. Without warning a man had spoken between heavy breaths while pulling the pillow from under the boys head and smacked him with it three times as he led him outside.
"Get up you fuckin git, get up!"
"I don't have time to fuck around with you!"
The boy could barely adjust from the sudden assault as a blind fold was placed on his head to cover his eyes and his hands tied behind his back. Again the man spoke, but not to the boy.
"Both of you take the boy."
One of the men replied in haste.
"And where on this god forbidden world would you like him my good sir?"
The man who assaulted the boy shot back with impatience.
" Up your ass."
"You know where to take him, now go before I bludgeon the skull that supposedly carries that small brain of yours."
The jest was well received by the other as he giggled at his friend. Then like a beaten dog he submitted from his jests.
"Alright, alright were going."
"Walk this way boy and don't worry we wont hurt you."
"Well not yet at least."
That subtle and remorseless remark left the boy with goosebumps as the cold air pinched his neck while they walked. Each step felt heavy against the stone and made the boy worry even more about what was soon to happen as the two men discussed a bet about how long he would last within the confines of his prison.
One of the men broke the silence while they walked.
"So how long do you think this one will last? I give it two months at the most."
The other replied arrogantly.
"Please mate two months? I'd bet two silver on four."
Again the other man spoke towards the challenge.
" your kidding!? Alright you're on."
Within mere moments of their conversation that sucked up the time of the long walk which had soon came to a brief stop, a heavy screeching door could be heard as it resounded through the hall while one of the men to his right, put his hand on his shoulder, led him in, and spoke in a depressed tone.
"Well boy, were here."
The door slowly closed behind them and additional footsteps could be heard from the opposite end of the chamber. The slow pace came closer and closer until it abruptly ended with a raspy, withered voice penetrating their ears.
"Bring him near the fire and hold him down."
The smell of burning wood grew stronger with the boy drawing near. The sweat coalesced on his skin as the hand on his right shoulder griped him tightly. Every shuffle brought his heart to pound the blood through his veins faster and faster. With incredible strength a single hand brought him low to his knees. The boy briefly resisted by trying to push up with his legs, but to no avail. He began to grit his grinding teeth that chattered like a mass of skittering cockroaches as the heat that rubbed his face now pelted his back with severe intensity. The withered voice spoke in some off beat plain expression.
" Each passing day gets harder, so don't be afraid to cry, the new ones always do."
His hand pressed down on the boys back as he tried to squirm with the addition of the other man that held him in place. The heat that brought the sweat forward onto his skin disappeared and reemerged as a hard object slammed against the middle of his back. The sizzling noise burned some form of an image into him. The boy folded from the pressure and howled in pain. There was no room to move and with the applied instrument on his back all he could do is cry until it would pass. The withered voice spoke again with only a phrase to grace the ears of the boy.
"Welcome to the House Of Virgil orphan."