Testimony of the Damned

You know what gumption means, kid?

I don’t reckon you do. You wouldn’t have locked yourself in this infernal cesspool of torment and nightmares if you did. It might not have been your intention. Perhaps you thought you had more time. Did you think you could do something else other than get involved?

Hard to say. I don’t rightly care.

You made your choices, kid. I made mine. The blood on my hands? See it here, kid. My skin is bloody, the nails black and cracked. I’m rotten, kid. Through and through. Every choice, every action, I knew.

I did what I did because I wanted to.

Does it mean it was right? Course it wasn’t right, you stupid miscreant. I’m down here just like you, and people don’t find themselves here if the things they did were good when they were alive. Wipe that look off your mug, kid. This ain’t hell — do you see any fire or brimstone? Smell any sulfur, kid?

No? Course not. Hell ain’t like what movies show you.

It isn’t like anything most people think of. Hell, kid, is of our own making.

We incarcerated ourselves. We chose to be here the moment we committed our self-chosen sins. I made my choice when I chose to kill those people. You made yours when you chose to turn your back on another kid in need of help. Hiding because you’re afraid doesn’t mean you’re resolved of your actions.

Maybe if you stuck up for her, told those little shits to leave her alone, she wouldn’t have walked off that bridge. You say you’re innocent, but that guilt eating you alive? It says you’re guilty, kid.

You know what the difference between you and me is? I died. Got shot twenty times by a firing squad. Killed on the scene. It was meant to be my greatest project, kid. Their deaths? Meaningless, now. Damn cops are good at their job, and I got distracted. The vision…it was overwhelming.

You, though? You got in an accident. Unconscious, but alive. The machines breathe for you right now, kid. Can you feel the tightness in your chest? Heart the buzzing at the back of your skull?

There you are, kid. Alive, kicking, and defenseless.

The thing about cowards, kid, is that they’re good at hiding. They can tuck themselves away, out of sight, and tell themselves a hundred different things to ignore what’s happening. Which is what you’re gonna be doing real soon, kid.

Gumption can mean many a thing, kid. Courage. Bravery. Initiative.

Monsters like me? We’re good, always perfecting our disguises.

And you’ve given me an initiative, kid.

You’ve given me a way out.