Page 84 of An Unexpected Ascension
Yes. No! Yes. Ugh!
A scowl mars my face.
“I really hope there’s alcohol where we’re going.”
“There won’t be. Although, if I had known that’s what you were trying to get, I might have helped out. I like you loosened up. You’re way more tolerable.”
“Trust me, when I’m drunk, you’re more tolerable too.”
“A drunkard then?”
My head whips toward him, eyes narrowed, my feet still stomping harshly against the ground with each step. “What? No. I hardly drank past my mid-twenties.”
Another piece of myself clearing from the fog. I stopped drinking after twenty-five, decided not to use it as a crutch for my dead mother. However, something else lingers, another reason on the tip of my tongue that I just can’t pinpoint.
“So, a recovering drunkard.”
“No!” I bark. “I found that the liquor drowns out these stupid memories that won’t stop pestering me. Just flashes like puzzle pieces thrown about, no bigger picture.”
“Yep, that happens to everyone. Takes a while to settle in.”
“I don’t think my death was peaceful,” I finally say out loud.
I’m not a fool, I know this demon doesn’t have the heart or soul to care how I died, but I do. The memories that assault me in the most unlikely moments are violent and painful. Puddles of deep red, phantom aches, flashes of wicked acts.
“Not many in Hell have a happy ending.”
“What about you?”
He’s contemplative for a few steps more, wondering if I’m worth the small talk. The city buildings slowly turn residential, the space between houses growing. The gradient of the grey street becomes darker, the concrete cracked and corroded.
It’s quieter here, bodies scarce. Some folks sit on their porch, their eyes glued to us as we pass by.
The blood sun is hotter outside the city, no buildings to shield the blistering rays. Soon enough, the sun will descend, and the red moon will rise. I wonder what kind of monsters we’ll encounter at night.
“As happy as one could be with death.”
“You seem so young, so it clearly wasn’t old age.”
He chuckles, looking up at the darkening skies, the red hue blending from scarlet to near burgundy with each step we take.
“No,” he snaps. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to ask someone how they died?”
“So sorry if I haven’t learned the etiquette of death. A little new here.”
Hermes ruffles his dark hair, his hand combing it back before dragging his palms down his face like the idea of this conversation alone stresses him out.
“I ended my own life and was happy to do it.”
His admission weighs heavily in the air, sitting on the fog that settles like thick clouds hovering just feet off the ground. One beat, two beat, three, four... neither of us saying another word.
Before long we’re consumed with mist, cool tendrils slithering around our legs, our waist. Every touch is like ice sizzling against our sun burnt skin.
“We waited too long,” Hermes murmurs, eyes shifting all around us.
The houses are few and far between now, but the fog – it’s like sitting in the middle of the ocean.
“Come on.” He grips my hand, but the fear of the unknown dangers lurking about keep me from yanking it back.
