Diverging paths

Heaven and Hell

Headzo the Life of Heaven
16/9/2033

Headzo was happy.

Of course he was happy.

What reason would he have for being anything but happy?

Sat at home, he watches his parents work, scribbling down simple equations any college student would know.

But they made a mistake, a clear mistake, an obvious mistake.

Headzo gave a little giggle before walking over, tapping on his mother's arm and pointing to the whiteboard.

"Theirs a mistake, mummy" Headzo replies "negative not positive and you forgot to take gravity into account"

The parents laughed, astonished by his advanced knowledge, before fixing the error.

He enjoyed stairing at the board, seeing the equations, seeing the progress being made on the new friend.

When he turned and walked into the restaurant, filled to the brim, he watched his brother running around.

He was in charge while their parents worked, if anything were wrong he would sort it and would be held responsible for any errors.

He was intelligent to, not like Headzo, but above average, top grades but never skipped years like Headzo.

Headzo always felt safe around his brother, he was a mediocre fighting, knew how to fight just didn't have the experience but he was able to protect Headzo and that was all that mattered.

Headzo knew very little about how bad life was for others, he was ignorant but a good listener, he would always be fascinated by others' lives but in a private school, there wasn't as many sad lives or atleast, not where he went but of course he listened; it was how he showed he cared.

Carlos the Hell That is Life
13/4/2027

No school wanted Carlos.

Instead they were sent to a shool that didn't care, a school funded by a society, a cult, a group that worships a fake God, a God made up by the groups leader for control and subservience.

This school had few rules, but only one seemed important anyways, this rule stated that they didn't care if they were in lessons or even in the building as long as you was in your dorm room when they checked on friday, you was always there as far as the school was concerned.

Quickly, Carlos met this group and learned of there true intentions.

As Carlos walked down the street, a blindfold flew over on to their eyes, placed tightly, it wasnt long before they found themselves in a dark room tied to a chair.

You would think Carlos was scared or confused, but they wasn't this had happened too many times before.

Every week Carlos would be taken on Saturday and arrive back Thursday night ready for roll call the next morning. 

It was during this time that Carlos would learn what true pain felt like. Slowly the tapping of shoes echoed through the halls before entering Carlos' room.

This figure stood, in the dark, wielding a rope, before walking over to Carlos, still trapped in the chair, in a single instance the rope was wrapped round Carlos' neck and pulled back forcing their head up and then a knife was placed upon them and sliced along their scarred stomach.

The figure looked Carlos up and down having expected a scream or even a squeal but Carlos made no sound, not anymore.

Fueled by anger, the figure grabbed at Carlos' chin pulling it up to their eyes before punching Carlos, but still Carlos made no sound.

Defeated the figure left.

As Carlos sat there, they looked around, focused on every detail of the room, a simple, wooden, rotting door, the  combination of dried and fresh blood stained the ground, releasing a fowl oder.

Then they looked at the injuries, the wounds, the long scrape left on their stomach, bleeding out, it was agony but Carlos knew there was no point in making a sound.

Then they looked to their arms, littered with cuts of different sizes, slit wrists, scarred to the bone the arms took the most abuse, but this didn't faze them, after all why would it?, for they were the cuts by Carlos' own hand.

You may begin to wonder why a person under torture would choose to harm themselves, but the answer is simple.

They were cuts done by Carlos, not wounds of bullying or from a society devout in their quest to torture, but Carlos' cuts.

It was a form of control for them.

They took comfort in the pain, not caused my others but instead caused by themselves by their own 'free' will.