Categories > Original > Horror > Hard To Find Angels In Hell
Silvia began to stride over the cobblestone steps of the town square in a furious rush, sweat beading down and sinking like bullets into the stone. Her head remained twisted back as if she was look for someone, her baby clutched tightly in her grip. Crimson liquid gushed from the corners of her cherry red lips, the baby's emphatic cries echoed through alleyways and rang through vulnerable fleshy ears. "The church," Silvia thought. "I-I must make it to the church ..." A heel from her buckled on shoe broke free, leaving the emaciated woman to stumble free and plant herself against the gelid ground.
"My baby!" was all she could manage to scream before knocking her teeth into her palms. Blood spurted everywhere one could possibly imagine, the baby waded in a pool of it as well. Coming up from behind, four men garbed in ebony cloaks staggered after the child, insignias gracing their sleeves. The panicking mother scrambled forth to her child and just barely scooped her up before taking off once more. This displeased the four men greatly ...
The cathedral loomed overhead, a group of leering travelers huddled before it in hopes of a clandestine meeting with their "chosen one". Silvia stepped through the soggy grass of the cemetery she was forced to bound through, tender fingers wiping grime from the whimpering baby's chubby face. "Hush hush, it'll all be over soon," she tried to console. "We're almost there." Silvia, too, had an insignia that was relative to the one the men had, so many intricate swirls and crosshatches were about, but the baby herself had one marked into the back of her neck.
Finally she had made her way to the apex of the town, the church she had been seeking. "Someone save us!" she screamed while spitting out more blood. To no avail did the people even give her a second look before attempting to asphyxiate her limp body. The baby was torn free from her hands, her slender spindly hands, and raised proudly up to the sky. Of course the baby did not understand a bit of what was happening around her. She would never ever know that she was different from all the rest, how she was more important than the others.
Returning to the cathedral, the four men in cloaks sniggered under their breaths and moved as one. "Hand over the child," they hissed in unison. Hands traveled over the baby's tender skin and she found her way into one man's arms. "Her mother has made a fine sacrifice this fine bleak day." He revealed his face to be pallor and scarred, a soaked button up shirt adorned his frail body. "Saint Capone," the masses roared. All but Silvia joined in on the trance-like chant. All she could whine was "Don't do this to us ..."
"Is the gasoline ready?" St. Capone flicked his tongue out in a rather unbecoming fashion.
"Yes sir," cried one of the many followers, holding up the bucket with a grin plastered to his mask of a face. St. Capone nodded and gave the signal. Silvia shuddered as the liquid death sloshed against her skin, infected marks already surfacing. "Now light the match and let the witch burn, burn, burn!" he demanded it to happen and happen it would. Silvia's lips twitched into a frown. There was nothing she could do at this point, all strength from within her body had diminished. "Someone ... s - "
"The punch-line to the joke is asking 'someone save us'!" St. Capone doubled over in laughter. "No one is going to save a poor excuse of a human being now." A match struck against the back of a matchbook and in slow motion it fluttered to the feet of Silvia. "This be the end, my friend ..." her famous last words ... Day faded into the night despite the change being hardly noticeable. From within the darkness came a voice, its velvety whispers slithered into their minds.
St. Capone scratched his head in confusion and set the child down, almost as if he had no will-power to resist. Colorless legs stepped out from nowhere, not a shadow could be casted. Her itching fingers lowered themselves and wrapped around the child's back and no more cries were heard. Glossy eyes gazed upon this odd stranger of the night but a finger was drawn and shut those eyes. "Child, you must never see my face." And with that, she swept away with the baby in hand. St. Capone would not give up this easily ...
"My baby!" was all she could manage to scream before knocking her teeth into her palms. Blood spurted everywhere one could possibly imagine, the baby waded in a pool of it as well. Coming up from behind, four men garbed in ebony cloaks staggered after the child, insignias gracing their sleeves. The panicking mother scrambled forth to her child and just barely scooped her up before taking off once more. This displeased the four men greatly ...
The cathedral loomed overhead, a group of leering travelers huddled before it in hopes of a clandestine meeting with their "chosen one". Silvia stepped through the soggy grass of the cemetery she was forced to bound through, tender fingers wiping grime from the whimpering baby's chubby face. "Hush hush, it'll all be over soon," she tried to console. "We're almost there." Silvia, too, had an insignia that was relative to the one the men had, so many intricate swirls and crosshatches were about, but the baby herself had one marked into the back of her neck.
Finally she had made her way to the apex of the town, the church she had been seeking. "Someone save us!" she screamed while spitting out more blood. To no avail did the people even give her a second look before attempting to asphyxiate her limp body. The baby was torn free from her hands, her slender spindly hands, and raised proudly up to the sky. Of course the baby did not understand a bit of what was happening around her. She would never ever know that she was different from all the rest, how she was more important than the others.
Returning to the cathedral, the four men in cloaks sniggered under their breaths and moved as one. "Hand over the child," they hissed in unison. Hands traveled over the baby's tender skin and she found her way into one man's arms. "Her mother has made a fine sacrifice this fine bleak day." He revealed his face to be pallor and scarred, a soaked button up shirt adorned his frail body. "Saint Capone," the masses roared. All but Silvia joined in on the trance-like chant. All she could whine was "Don't do this to us ..."
"Is the gasoline ready?" St. Capone flicked his tongue out in a rather unbecoming fashion.
"Yes sir," cried one of the many followers, holding up the bucket with a grin plastered to his mask of a face. St. Capone nodded and gave the signal. Silvia shuddered as the liquid death sloshed against her skin, infected marks already surfacing. "Now light the match and let the witch burn, burn, burn!" he demanded it to happen and happen it would. Silvia's lips twitched into a frown. There was nothing she could do at this point, all strength from within her body had diminished. "Someone ... s - "
"The punch-line to the joke is asking 'someone save us'!" St. Capone doubled over in laughter. "No one is going to save a poor excuse of a human being now." A match struck against the back of a matchbook and in slow motion it fluttered to the feet of Silvia. "This be the end, my friend ..." her famous last words ... Day faded into the night despite the change being hardly noticeable. From within the darkness came a voice, its velvety whispers slithered into their minds.
St. Capone scratched his head in confusion and set the child down, almost as if he had no will-power to resist. Colorless legs stepped out from nowhere, not a shadow could be casted. Her itching fingers lowered themselves and wrapped around the child's back and no more cries were heard. Glossy eyes gazed upon this odd stranger of the night but a finger was drawn and shut those eyes. "Child, you must never see my face." And with that, she swept away with the baby in hand. St. Capone would not give up this easily ...
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