Damiens Ordeal - 1. Damiens Ordeal

Damien awoke in the shadows, a place from one of his nightmares. It was a frightening thought, being afraid of the dark for the past forty some odd years of his tenured life, and yet now the darkness was his only companion.

“Hello? Is anybody in here?” he called out in a panic, his voice trembling with each syllable. “Is anyone here? Please, someone help me!”

His own voice echoed back towards him, scaring him even further.

“FUCK! HELLO?” he beckoned once more.

No body replied.

Damien was on his own, and in one way or another he discerned that he needed to get moving, somehow, and overcome the fear that managed to haunt him all of his years. With a bit of gusto, and a bit of psyching himself up, he reached out and found a wall that felt like glazed tile on his fingertips, and with the support of the wall, he forced himself up. Immediately after getting to his feet, they gave out from under him as a sharp pain radiated from his sides. With a thud, he met the floor again and cut his hand open.

“For all that is holy, what the fuck is going on here,” he muttered and complained to himself.

His rear end was soaking wet, he felt cold and unable to do anything about it. Just as the hair stood up all over his body, he remembered he’d bought a souvenir, a lighter, while visiting Florence on a business trip. He’d stuck it in his suit pocket for safe keeping to show it when he got home to his husband. He swiftly went looking for it and found it within a few seconds.

With a quick flick from his thumb, he ignited the fluid within and a light came forth.

He could finally see, and quickly brought the lighters flame towards his hand which he found ripe with blood. “Well, what the hell…” He then bent down and found a seven inch blade on the ground. “This must have been what cut me. God Damn It!”

He then directed his attention to his sides that screamed in pain. Here too was blood, seeping ever slowly from a wound. “I’ve been stabbed. Wouldn’t this just be my day?”

Damien fainted from this sight and slammed his head against the wall.

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“No thanks, I’m just taking my time to look around this beautiful city, thanks though.”

After picking out a post card that showed the nude statue of David by Michelangelo in the fifteen century, and a lighter from a local merchant, he placed them in his suit pocket beside his plane ticket. He would only have another twelve hours to enjoy the city before going home, but before leaving, he wanted to check out more of the culture, and thus he decided to check out some of the night life.

A few hours later, he found a bar that had music blaring. It was deafening to his ears, but he still enjoyed the chance to try fresh wine from some of the local wineries.

“Give me the freshest wine you have my kind sir,” Damien asked in English to the bartender.

The man behind the counter shrugged. Obviously unable to understand the language or the accent of which this New Yorker spoke.

Damien getting the hint of the situation gestured for a drink, and pointed to a bottle on the wall. “That one sir, please.”

The bartender nodded and grabbed a glass, poured the red liquid into it, and passed it off.

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With very little light, he clenched his side with his free hand, and ventured onward while using the wall as his guide. There was very little light given, but with time, he learned to trust his senses and used his feet to push things aside, feel around, and help him move forward without tripping. Eventually, he stumbled and used the lighter to see what it was. It was a broken shoe with the laces missing, and the sole completely gone. But that wasn’t the only thing that caught his eye, for within his sights lay a human skull. This frightened him dearly and he took a step backwards and allowed himself a minute to realize what he saw.

‘Jesus Christ, where the fuck am I?’ he questioned, unable to totally grasp what had really happened to him. ‘This can’t be real. I’m dreaming God damn it!’ He then pinched his forearm, but with that, a pain shot down his arm. “FUCK! This is real.” He swiftly proclaimed.

‘This would be so much easier if I had a flash light,’ he concluded as he decided to move onward in his hopes of getting out of this place.

With each step he heard an echo, a crunch here, a smash there, and light dripping of water every so often. It was eerily, though he was indifferent to the sounds, he deeply hoped that he’d get out alive. Eventually, he reached a fork, in one direction was nothing but darkness, while in the other a pin point of light shone in his direction. A glimmer of hope arose in his heart when he saw the light and he swiftly took pace towards it.

Damien dashed forward, skipping whatever hit his feet, for whatever it was, he didn’t want to know. After seeing a human skull, he didn’t want to make this his eternal grave. With a deep urgency in his step, he eventually reached the end, a tunnel with a bathroom off to his left, which he quickly entered.

A mirror rested on the wall, a bright light shining overhead, a toilet behind, and a sink in front. He looked at himself, his face not as he remembered. His lips were flush with lip stick, his cheeks with blush powered across, his forehead with the words, FAGGOT, across his head.

He didn’t like what he saw and swift ripped his dress shirt off. To his surprise there were more words written. Across his chest was whore, his stomach, nigger lover, his navel read, sinner, and across his arms read, you’ll go to hell for this. These were all words spoken against him in his life. These were all scars that plagued him. Would he so easily believe that the love he shared with his colored husband was wrong? Not so. But the words that were so easily spoken were charred in his flesh, and in that instant he awoke in his bed at home, his husband beside him.

In that very moment he awoke Aaron and told him of his dream. It was scary, but he knew that with his lover by his side that no matter what, no matter the words, he had a man that loved him regardless.