There are heavy chains around my wrists, and they drag me down as we trudge across the endless landscape. The ground is dark, lit inadequately by a sinister grey sky, but it doesn’t really matter. There is nothing here to see.
I stop, for a moment and stare behind me. In the distance I can see light, bright, happy, twinkling light. The kind shed by a family eating Christmas dinner. My guide, for he is not my captor, the chains are of my own making, clears his throat, and I resume my reluctant trek across the barren ground below me.
We reach our destination soon enough. There is a slope, and it leads down into a deep bowl in the earth. There are people there. Well, they were people once. They look as I suspect I will as soon as I take the first step towards them. Bereft of a reason for light, they exist, fueling a promise once made, an exchange that once seemed essential. They were the halves left over. The bits that they always thought would die from the pain, the loss, the sheer cruelty of letting them live. They wait for me.
I hesitate. My guide waits with me, staring silently down at my fate, sharing none of my uncertainty. We both know I have no choice anymore. The bargain had been sealed, but he was kind in indulging my sudden fear.
The silence lengthened, and I found my lips were moving unbidden, I stared into the depths of the hell that I had chosen and asked him softly,
“Why?”
My guide, he had heard this question asked before. He took my chains in his hands and told me,
“You pay for what you get.”
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