Peter, wearing no clothing, inched his way along the steep, rocky pathway, avoiding any indents in the rough, terrain. He especially dodged any with hints of steam. The ones without were possibly more dangerous, as molten fluid underground was building up pressure. He obviously wasn’t going fast enough, because a wickedly sharp spearhead tore into his side. He gasped, and cried out again as it was quickly ripped back out, shredding his flesh with agonizing pain. Staggering, he desperately managed to keep his balance, because there was a steep cliff next to the wall. A step the wrong way and it would be a massive fall. He looked down at his wound, and saw the flesh moving as it rapidly repaired. Then he risked a glance at his attacker, a monstrous creature with an enormous trident, angry eyes, two long curvy antlers. It was naked except for thick fur from the waist down and hooves that made it so it could easily make its way through the hot rocky surface even as Peter staggered on bare feet. Peter picked up the pace as much as he could, but couldn’t stop a pleased smile from spreading across his face. This drew a snarled growl from a large wolf-like creature that was also stalking him. As he worked his way down the path towards a nearby clearing, a hissing sound from above drew his attention, and he gasped, quickly covering his face as a rain-like substance fell from the sky. He yiped in pain as acid drops pelted his head and shoulders, sizzling his flesh. “Ah!” he cried out. The demon and demon-wolf looked pleased, unhurt from the rain even while their prisoner’s skin burst into tiny explosions. Peter dropped to his knees, screaming in pain. There were other screams from around, but he was too much in pain to look for any fellow tortured victims. After some time, it might not have been very long, but it felt like weeks, the rain stopped. Peter breathed deeply, his skin still bubbling. Then the wolf growled and the trident was jabbed into his back again, the pain adding to a torrent of agony. Peter managed to make it to his feet, the bottoms of which were sizzling from the acid water on the rock, but the demon didn’t give him time to try and manage his pain levels. Then he was back to staggering down the path between the rock wall and cliff. But, once again he smiled despite his agony. This time the demon noticed and it tried to say something, but was stymied for an instant, because it hadn’t spoken in a long time. Time could not be measured in the molten lava-filled center of the earth, as there was no sign of day or night. Creatures here did not die, so a clicking clock, a world’s revolving or passage around the sun meant nothing. The prisoner it was transporting was doing something the demon had not seen in its recent memory. After some thought, it remembered what its prisoner’s actions were called, and instinctively knew it in every language. It cleared its throat and finally found its voice. “What the hell are you smiling at?” Peter gave it an alarmed look, and without looking it in the eyes, he said, “I’m sorry, sir.” Then he stepped again in sizzling acid, and another smile burst onto his face. The demon snarled. “You should not be smiling!” You should be feeling the pain and anguish as penalty for your evilness on the surface.” “Yes, sir,” Peter said, and then grinned again as he took another step. They were near the clearing now. “That’s it,” the demon growled. “Stop.” Peter immediately complied, and straightened. A giggle burst out of him, and he clamped his hand over his mouth. The demon glared at him. It was not used to conversing or communicating with its prisoners. After a moment of studying Peter, the demon said. “I know you are not mentally ill. All illnesses and sickness are cured when you are here, so you will be in the most receptive position for being tortured.” It gestured to Peter’s already healed skin. “That is why you heal here, so you can feel the most pain.” Another smile flitted across Peter’s face before he could stop it. The demon frowned, then asked, “What did you do on the surface that landed you here?” Peter took a deep breath to hold back more joy. Then he thought back to his time before dying. “I killed someone.” The demon nodded. “That would do it. Tell me more.” Peter nodded. “I, um, robbed a store, and I shot the clerk. And a customer. Then, when I was escaping, I ran over and killed a little boy before a truck hit my car.” The demon just watched. It had no knowledge of what a truck was, or a car, but it was following the story. Peter took another breath, then continued. “They found me guilty of murder and manslaughter and I was sentenced to die.” After a moment he added, “I spent more than a decade on death’s row.” The demon scratched its beard. “This doesn’t explain why you are having happy feelings here, even when we are hurting you.” Peter nodded. “Yeah, well, there was a little more to it. When the truck hit me, I was hurt. Really hurt. Hurt bad. I was paralyzed from the waist down.” The demon took a breath even though it didn’t need to breathe. “Go on.” Peter looked up at the demon. “I was in a wheelchair, for fifteen years. I couldn’t walk. Couldn’t stand. I had no feeling in my legs. And this was on death row. I was a prisoner in my body and my body was a prisoner in the jail cell.” The demon’s lips pursed. Peter stood up tall and locked gazes with the demon. “So then they put me to death, and I showed up here. But now I can walk! I can stand!” The demon’s mouth opened. Peter went on. “Years of being crippled! And now I’m not!” A huge smile burst onto his face. “I’m cured!” He spun around in a circle. “I’m in heaven,” he shouted. The demon couldn’t think of anything to say. Even the wolf looked perplexed. As Peter danced around, some other humans suddenly appeared in puffs of smoke in the clearing. One of them, a woman, opened her eyes, which then widened in shock. “Wait, what, I can see? After years of blindness, now I can see?!” Another, a man, stood and in disbelief grabbed his arms. “My arms! I have arms now! I’m healed! The demon could only watch as they danced around. “Damn it,” it muttered. “Wait til Lucifer hears about this.” About the author:
After suffering paralysis from a spinal injury, author Norm Cowie started writing dystopian short stories featuring the theme of disability. Prior to his injury, he had written a dozen novels, and is an award-winning business columnist. Some of his other disability short stories have or will soon be published in the magazines Amazing Stories, Bewildering Stories and Altered Reality. His website: www.normcowie.com
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