Saint Peter’s Gate

Ember was shaking. Fear crushed her ribcage, making it nearly impossible to breathe without gasping like a drowning fish forced onto a beach by unrelenting waves. The voice spilled into her ears, burning her mind like molten lava, but soothing it with the sweetness of a sugary sundae treat. Tears streamed down her face, her mouth was opened in anguish and terror. She thought her heart would stop at any moment. Then the voice promised that if she took his hand, all the pain would stop, and after all isn’t that all there was left. He, or it, was right. There was nothing left but pain. Wasn’t that true? Yes, it was true. Ember sobbed. Just three days prior, her poor father had fallen, no. . .walked off of the roof and died instantly. Mother had been despondent. She did not speak except to ask Ember to take her baby brother to bed. Then today, this awful earth shattering day, mother took the baby into the bath and did the most unspeakable, horrific thing she had ever witnessed. The clawed hand was still outstretched, promising salvation, promising numbness. Ember did not want to feel anything anymore. She wanted to go blind. She wanted to give up. She wanted to die. There was truly nothing left for her here now. Her family was gone. There was only the creature before her offering solace, offering peace. The now broken young woman watched as her hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, ready to be set free of the heart breaking pain of this world.