The world around was so cold for the twelve-year-old boy, Art Brendan, that he could recall lying on the operating table as the doctors tried their very best to save him from his grueling fate. He could feel the pain of his insides being torn apart, the anesthesia not working as planned. For over twelve years, the boy had dealt with so much, even with the support that his single mother rendered, taking jobs just so she and her son could live normally. Life was merely a fragment of suffering, and death was mercy.
Convulsing in his thoughts, the beeping from the machines died out, the pain of watching his mother stay up late and having to deal with the disappearance of his father and the growing organism in his stomach and brain dissolved, and all he could feel was peace. The burden he felt he had caused was too much for him to bear, and with his death, the debts he owed could finally be paid off, and with the burning flames from hell was befitting for him.
Or maybe not-
The world that he thought, filled with the burning flames and screams of men and women, never existed as a place that he was fated to end up in; not even the golden city above was there, just nothing. He wanted to speak, but his tone was warped and distorted, like he was submerged in liquid. Was he in water? If so, why was he here? The question remained in his thoughts, like a book with words that possessed no meaning in the dictionary.
Gazing through the space, he felt the void pressing upon his chest, his body aching as though something big had lain on him. Art coughed violently, his lungs burning, and sooner or later, he succumbed to the pain, his eyelids heavy, eyes closing shut. The void had finally swallowed him, his bones cracking as the feeling of his body breaking prompted him to open his eyes, jolting as he gasped heavily.
The world had changed. Art found himself now lying on green pastures, the sky filled with clouds that covered the sun partly, causing the light above to shine directly towards a single door in the middle of nowhere. The feeling of growing anxiety bit him, leaving him to only wonder, "Is this heaven or hell?" he muttered to himself, wondering how he had ended up here after winding up in the void seconds ago.
The field was quiet, empty with only the door cast by the sun's gaze standing in the middle of nowhere. Art was alone, but he chose not to panic; he knew he was dead, but he thought that hell or heaven was a final place for him to rest. But in this world, the feeling of restlessness struck him, which was till he spotted it.
Meters away at his right-hand side was a big cedar tree, its bark darker than normal, roots stretched out and twisted strangely, with leaves turned yellow from ages without sunlight or water; some of the leaves had dried up and fallen. But this strange tree was what didn't catch his eye, the thing that loomed in the roots.
What on earth was that? Art Brendan thought, the true form of this thing that loomed, being revealed to him, it looked human, merely a boy the same age as him, but he knew that this boy was not normal. Why was that? One would ask, this boy was pale, his skin as white as paper, pupils redder than the strange spices Art's mother added to the pot, not only that, but every clothing also the boy wore to the color of his hair had the same color as his skin.
What was even more striking than the pale skin, red eyes, and hair that matched the skin was the pair of wings that protruded from the boy's back. Was he an angel? Art thought, but the sinister look this person gave him showed otherwise. If he wasn't in heaven or hell, this being was not an angel or demon, or was he another victim stuck in this endless world that stretched on forever?
Gathering his thoughts together, he tried to approach this person, but with the first step he took, he found himself now standing before the door that had stood meters away from him seconds ago. Art's eyes widened, a line of shock evident on his face, "H-how did I end up here?" he muttered, his light voice merely stuttering.
Was this teleportation of some sort? Was this the doing of that strange boy who loomed in the trees? Art couldn't wrap his head around the situation. Gazing back frantically, he tried seeking out the cedar tree, but it was gone. But this wasn't the only thing that shook him to his core.
Now, gazing at what was once the beautiful field was a world tainted by darkness and hungry storms threatening to swallow any being that moved. The earth was scorched with the green pastures roasted to the point that only ash was left. Anything green had become black, the soil now hardened, and from the sky, alongside the storm, were fragments of a broken star that rained down, breaking everything they touched.
What on earth was this place? Art could only wonder, his eyes tearing up from the smoke as he coughed violently. Was this the end of the world? Could this be hell? Or was it the combination of heaven and hell? It couldn't be that, and as Art looked closer, he was now certain of where he had landed after his death.
This was limbo, a world where heaven and hell never existed. This realization was terrifying and for a boy of his age to process such a revelation was too much, he remembered after the church service, a group of children had gathered at the back and conversed about many things, the time he had agreed to join them a girl had spoken of a world which existed outside of heaven or hell.
It seemed that the young lady was right, because Art and the other boys never believed what the girl said.
With the realization dawning on him, Art tried his best to stay calm, though it was not working; his body ached as he worried about the only family he had, who thought he was in heaven somewhere, only for him to be caught in limbo. Gathering his resolve, his heart pounding, he felt something cold press against his shoulder; it felt like skin with fingers curling around his shoulder blades.
"Are...you scared?" a cold, broken, and mischievous voice echoed from beside him, sounding robotic and twisted.
Art jerked, turning to face where the voice emerged, and as he met the owner of this terrible tone, he fell, dropping down as he gazed up at this creature. It was tall, broken, its body reminiscent of an angel with a body mangled, almost like it was a broken toy that had been abandoned by its owner.
Art gasped as he gazed at this mangled being from the crown of its head down to its feet, as he gripped its shoulder tightly, a cold feeling still lingering in his bones, something that this creature had caused.
The mangled creature tilted its head, a grotesque smile spreading from ear to ear, "I... am... your... friend, young shepherd," the creature said, stretching out its elongated hand, "Take, my hand and let us go through the gates of hell... heaven!"
Hearing every broken sentence this creature tried to conjure up, its voice sounding like a nail being dragged across a chalkboard, Art knew that this being wasn't to be trusted. The only logical thing he could do was cower in fear, the being walking towards him, and just as it reached him, trying to grab the boy, it stopped, gazing into the distance, and then it spoke.
"Is this vessel... with you?" it asked, still gazing into the distance.
Art still had his eyes on this creature, never looking back till it turned the opposite way and began to walk, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Gazing back at what this being spoke to, the young man was met face to face with the one that loomed in the cedar tree. The angelic boy loomed over him, standing as he gazed down at him with a smile.
"Are you an angel?" the boy asked, but the angel said nothing, gazing down at him with a stretched-out smile.
This went on for seconds before the angel bent forward, stretching out his hand, "Hello, shepherd, I am Albert, but to most of your kind, I am regarded as the spawn of Lucifer."
Art couldn't hold back the terror as he felt deceived, though this angel, if that was how he supposed to call this thing, still held a friendly demeanor, and was truthful to him about his identity. But was that the case? Was he truly who he said he was? That left doubt in his mind.