Short Story

The mouse, scurrying as quick as he could, stopped abruptly at the crumb of food. No time was wasted as it picked it up and began nibbling. Sitting in an upright position, the mouse eyed Camael carefully as it filled its cheeks.

"Filthy little beast," Camael whispered. "Why can't you go steal from those who have it to spare?"

The hard stone floor was cold, sending shivers through Camael's body. He tried to change positions but the iron binding strapped around his leg was attached to a very short chain, keeping him close to the wall. As a result, there were only a few positions he could sit in. Looking down at his exposed legs, Camael noticed how dirty he had become. He didn't even want to know how his face looked. How did he get here, he wondered. The room itself was just wide enough for two people to stand abreast and stretch out their arms. It was about four times as deep, compared to its width making it possible to stack several people in the room at once. Right now, though, it was just Camael and the mouse.

Camael strained to try and remember how he ended up in the King's dungeon but it all was a fog. He couldn't even recall how long he had been here. It seemed as though he had always been here. As hard as he tried, this place, that stupid mouse and the ugly guard standing outside the bars was all he could remember. There the guard was, as usual, sharpening his axe as he does everyday. Seeing that Camael was giving him some notice the guard grinned at Camael, exposing some very rotten, black teeth, and a large scar across his face.

"Today is graduation day for you, "the guard chuckled. "Then there will be more room in my little inn."

"What are you laughing about fool? What do you mean?"

Aye, a fool I am, but a living one. Better a living fool than a dead wise man," the guard scoffed. "I have to tell you this every day but you never remember. Maybe you're the fool."

Two of the king's guards that Camael had never seen before approached the cell and placed a key in the lock. Camael couldn't help thinking that he wasn't about to be released. As they entered the cell they grabbed his foot and unlocked his binding as well. With a jerk they pulled him up and began to drag him towards the door of the cell. Camael tried to walk but he couldn't get his legs to work.

"Where are you taking me," Camael screamed, struggling to free his arms from his captors grip, "what are you going to do to me?"

"You know very well what we are going to do," the head guard said. "It's time to pay back the king for your crimes."

The two guards easily forced Camael to his knees, and his head onto the stained stump, exposing his neck. With all the fight Camael could muster, he desperately tried to free himself. In his weakened state, however, he was no match for the two men who contained him with little effort. As Camael looked up he he could see the head guard standing in front of him, holding the large axe that he had spent every day sharpening. Showing the same rotten grin he gave Camael earlier, the guard raised the axe over his head.

"Say hello to St Peter for me," the guard chuckled as he began to bring the axe downward.

Camael awoke with a start. He could feel his heart racing and his lungs strain for air. Everything was blurry but Camael could make out what seemed to be a solitary light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Glancing down at his legs he could just make out his navy blue pants and white sneakers. "Thank God," Camael thought as he closed his eyes again, "it was just a dream, it was all just a bad dream."

"Hey Camael," yelled a familiar voice, "wake up. You're gonna miss all the fun."

Camael opened his eyes and strained them towards the direction the voice was coming from. "Who's there" Camael said.

"You know who's here, and you know what time it is, so show a little life while you can," the voice responded.

Camael's vision was still a bit blurry but he tried to stand anyway. He just couldn't seem to move. Looking down at his arms he could tell that they were bound to the arms of the chair. Inspecting further, he noticed that his legs and chest were strapped as well. His head seemed to be anchored inside some sort of helmet. As he strained even harder at where the voice came from, Camael's vision began to clear. Staring at him and grinning was a man with rotten teeth and a large scar on his face. He was standing next to the wall, holding on to to a large lever.

"It's graduation day for you Camael," he chuckled, "Say hello to St. Peter for me."

As Camael stared in horror, the man slowly pulled the lever down.

-Jim