GuNNhead

I think about the pit. It’s always in my mind, somewhere. It’s where my love is. It’s where I keep it. Every so often, I take a peek, just to check up. It brings a smile to my face. Not many things do anymore. The pit is what counts, locked up safe and sound. When I shine light down there, I hear a chorus of angels. They call my name. Minkle. I think it suits me. The days I spend thinking of my loves, it makes the life I lived all worth it. I think of things to do, in the hole. It feels good. It’s filling, like a dinner for the soul.

In the night, I open up. I walk down the stairs. Admire. All so beautiful, all mine. My collection, it’s complete. I thought it never would be, but this one… this latest addition, so pure, such dedication to the craft. The walls are clean, pristine. I see to that. Filth accumulates, always accumulates. I touch and stroke each of my ensemble as I pass them. They all have their roles in my life. And they play them to perfection. It took years for me, but I am a perfectionist, I suppose. Love is something that takes hard work, to make work, I say. They feel it, my soul has been put fully into all of them.

Now, the newest one, the latest, the best, the youngest: I always wear my best suit for her. I made it for her. When the others see me in it, they know that I am making time for her first. Though, none are ever left in neglect. No, each gets their attentions in each of their own special ways. Once we are done, I exit her room. One of the oldest eyes me. I still want to play. He wants to play. We stay in the pit, with all the others, and play. I ask another to join. They do without question. They cannot question, it’s not in their nature. So pure. Such love.

A frothy mess. We clean up. I am soft. Moisturize. Smoothness is key to being me. Without it, I am not. I can’t speak of the games I play to anyone. They don’t play. They couldn’t, their minds are… wired wrong. But not my loves, not my love. No, this is the truest thing in the world. A fact of feeling. It can’t be taken away from me, I will always hold it inside of me, inside of them. They can try to take my loves away from me, like they used to, but not in the pit. It’s my secret. Even if they did, I would only find more love. I have a lot to give. They feel how large it is, they are the only ones, they understand me. I open myself to them, and they open themselves to me. We are inside of each other.

I walk back up the stairs, and close the door. It locks automatically. I’ll never be left alone again.

The deep-sea suit swayed within the misty waters at the bottom of the ocean floor. There was an eerie, almost timeless quality to the way it seemed so still, yet the murky, slow undercurrent kept flowing along in spite of anything. Inside the suit; only bones, picked clean by years, 100 years to be exact, of microscopic flesh-eating.

Time enough below the world above for ancient neptunian dimensions to take notice and include it in their games. The right glove of the suit began to float, rise, and a mystical spear appeared within the clutch of the covered bones. It ignited in a blue, aqueous flame. The light shined illumination across the barren landscape, revealing very little to light, save for the skeletal remains within the domed helmet. The boots began to tread forward. The movement of the armored cadaver was slow, and sluggish at first; heavy yet light, suspended by the same substance the beared 15000psi of liquid pressure down upon the suit of bones. Soon it was moving a solid pace, adjusted to movement, adjusted to this mystical unlife. The torchlight, long extinguished, strapped within the gloved left hand lit up, outlining the path in front of it.

Soon it had entered a new form of landscape. Strange, tubular structures erupted out of the ground, and bioluminescent jellyfish swam around freely. Echoes out of time resounded towards the lost inner depths contained within the very being the bones, reawakening soullular fragments. The structures got larger and larger the further the suit walked, kicking up small clouds of dirt behind it. Flecks adrift crossed in front of the bright beam of supernaturally rejuvenated artificial light.

It slipped down a sharp incline, steady on its feet, and arrived in an alcove where no life exists. Driven forward, it continued on its unknown path. Symbols began appearing on the smooth ground beneath its boots. Then, walls seemingly appeared out from the darkness, also covered in these markings. Time is no object to the deceased and the gods, it simply exists as a measure for those without vision, used to guide the blind. Each step sent out aquatic echoes reverberating throughout the near-endless tunnel. Upon entering an opening, the spear lit a gigantic arena. The purpose is of no question. It was an arena for the battles of forces and beings of another place, a constructed conduit out of time and space. There was only one entrance into the arena, and only one path that felt like an exit: it went downward.

The gladiatorial depictions surrounding began to glow in the dark and clear water. Tentacles and spectral armor emerged from the stone, before solidifying into humanoid sea creatures. They lined up along the edges, weapons at the ready. One space was left, for the mysterious guest. The suit took to the water, moving naturally and fluidly. There were greater powers at work within it. Once it was in position, a rumble shook the coliseum from within the abyss of the pit below. It was time to begin. The warriors immediately clashed amongst each other, mostly ignoring the newcomer. However, there were the few who chose to demonstrate their strengths upon this alien, this outsider. Upon the first strike of sword against its mystical spear, cognisance was sparked. This drafted dead man now knew of himself within the games of war. He stabbed his attackers, and blood spilled out into the water. Those who could no longer swim within the fray sank downwards. Occasionally they were awakened from shock by the moderator, and dragged down into the endless darkened abyss, claws dragging along the stone walls in a fight for survival. It enjoys a struggle, but not as much as a realization. It is much more than physical. A power that held truth long before death existed.

Limbs floated, suspended in the bloody waters when the battle entertainment was done. Only the newcomer remained. The memories of his life, lost at sea, fuelled his triumph in this mysterious place. The marine gladiators, destined to be given flesh to lose it, have lost; returned to their plane, bested by one attached to a mortal coil.

He floated there for a moment, wondering about his death. The feeling of drowning. The feeling of winning. Then, the feeling of incredible fear and unease of the unknown below. He swam.