Story Summary
Long ago I sold my soul and doomed myself to an eternity in the Underworld. I was treated like a slave for centuries, but no more! I'll find a way out of this destiny or die trying!
Today I continued the never ending trek over hazardous mountains, and damn snow that comes up to my knees. There isn't much else in this desolate wasteland. Every dull white valley and frozen field looks the same to me now, so there's been nothing worth writing about.
Until today.
I've been careful to avoid all villages and towns like the plague. Thinking of myself as a ghost who haunts this depressing wasteland and leaves nothing behind. But today I ran into my first living being in weeks.
It was an elderly mortal man with long white hair blowing wildly behind him in the wind. Covered from head to foot in several layers of mismatched woollen clothes like a street beggar. Waddling through the deep snow with a slight limp on his right side.
I was too caught up in past regrets and memories of dead people, to notice his approach, so I didn't see him coming until it was already too late.
I suppose that I could have fled. I should have fled. But he was already there, and I was so certain that I could crawl myself out of that shitty situation without running.
I quickly covered my face with my tatty hood, hunched over, and stumbled like my back was permanently bent. My barely covered feet tried to subtly veer away from my new foe, but the sharp cliff on my left side, that overlooked a murderous drop, meant that I had to watch in terror as he slowly wobbled closer and closer.
At last his crumbling body was before my own.
I lowered my head further to hide my ghostly complexion, and nodded like a real mortal to acknowledge the old fool. I even went one step further and croaked a strained "good morning," because that's how damn kind and generous I am.
The old mortal mumbled a quiet "hello" and continued on his way.
I was so sure that my superb acting skills and centuries of experience had fooled him-
But then that shitty old mortal spun around on his crippled feet and looked back.
There was no denying that he'd realized that something wasn't right about me and my shoddy potato sack coat. His beady little eyes examining me from head to foot.
Perhaps the mortal was only interested in a stranger who was wandering these lifeless fields, but my overly paranoid mind screamed out that I'd been exposed!
I quickly hobbled away, then sprinted as soon as the old fool was out of sight. Scampering over large rocks until night fell.
I pray that I'm safe in this deep dark hole that I've dug for myself.
But perhaps there was a time long ago when this vagrant lifestyle of running and hiding was completely unimaginable. Back in the days when I still lived on Earth.
I can't tell you why I sold my soul. None of us can. But what could possibly be worth agreeing to spend an eternity in the Underworld? Just like countless others, I was auctioned like an object, treated like a slave, and forced to do unspeakable things for several corrupt mortals.
I may have escaped my last master, but my problems are far from over. After weeks of running, I've had no choice but to escape to the most desolate and remote place in Hell.
Hades Teeth.
Here the snow falls for hours without end, and strong winds howl across jagged mountain peaks. I often lose my way as the nights grow longer. Giving me no choice but to seek shelter until sunrise.
But I curse every minute that I have to remain in the same place.
There's no time for this troublesome snow.
I may not have much time left at all.
Day by day my hope slowly diminishes. The foolish confidence I had before is almost gone. How can I possibly achieve freedom when every soul before me has failed? How can I keep my broken mind sane?
That's why I must record everything while I still have the chance.
I may have foolishly wasted decades by giving in to blind servitude, but others shouldn't repeat my mistakes. Other souls should know of my journey. The places I went, the things I went through, the knowledge that I plundered from this world.
I suppose that I should start from the beginning, or in my case, the only beginning that I know. To me, life began on the day that I arrived at the home of my very first master. A weirdo who foolishly deluded me into thinking that Hell wasn't such a bad place.
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