Our story begins with a sly fox, who has finally meet his match. Death has finally caught up with him.
He awaits his own execution within the dark underground enclosure, unknown to anyone besides a handful of people believing they have better judgement on proper punishment than the law itself. They have taken punishment into their own hands, while harshly judging those who have stolen a piece of bread. The guilty receive no trial, no opportunity to defend themselves, only a sentence ruled by this group of people who decide who receives punishment. And they were not past sacrificing the innocent in the case of a minor misjudgment.
Before he is taken to the final cell, a group of vigilantes attempt to fake his death, saving him from this cruel fate. They explain to him how they have rigged the noose, so that it will not drop, as they slip lubricant in his pocket for when he is put in the straight jacket. They believe he has been unfairly judged, and that he deserves to have a real trial, above ground.
But as the Sly Fox waits with the executioner, death becomes a welcoming end. The executioner, with his cold dark mask, hiding his emotions. His voice giving off a slight sound of remorse, for what he is about to do the young man, with so much life ahead. He realizes that it is indeed wrong, but he was given a job and he will surely not lose sleep over it. He is simply another criminal that should be dealt with, as countless others have been over the past two years. This executioner had an air of demonic personality about him, as if he did not possess human emotions. Only the reactions. Someone who kills common thieves and prostitutes with rapists and the like every day for two years, has a tendency to lose their humanity over time, until it simply becomes an act. Those waiting to be executed could not even find words for the horror of waiting in the cold cell, watching the executioner stand and wait for what felt like hours pass within the time span of only a meager few minutes. He would sometimes speak through the mask, with a deep voice that should have been calming and relaxing, but instead only sent a chill down your spine, wondering if you would see him reveal his face from behind the mask, once you entered the gates of hell.
The Sly Fox waits in agony, knowing that the noose will fail, but he will never find his way out through this rat maze of ramps and bridges that go nowhere in the underground dungeon. They will soon catch him, and kill him despite his efforts to escape. He realizes that it would be a better death done by his own hand. As the executioner looks the other way for a split second, the Sly Fox takes a thin knife in his hand, and slits his own throat. Falling into a limp mass of body while being drained of blood through the cut in his neck. Only the executioner, and the granite stone within the earth around them there in the cell to witness the unfair demise, of a common thief.
He awaits his own execution within the dark underground enclosure, unknown to anyone besides a handful of people believing they have better judgement on proper punishment than the law itself. They have taken punishment into their own hands, while harshly judging those who have stolen a piece of bread. The guilty receive no trial, no opportunity to defend themselves, only a sentence ruled by this group of people who decide who receives punishment. And they were not past sacrificing the innocent in the case of a minor misjudgment.
Before he is taken to the final cell, a group of vigilantes attempt to fake his death, saving him from this cruel fate. They explain to him how they have rigged the noose, so that it will not drop, as they slip lubricant in his pocket for when he is put in the straight jacket. They believe he has been unfairly judged, and that he deserves to have a real trial, above ground.
But as the Sly Fox waits with the executioner, death becomes a welcoming end. The executioner, with his cold dark mask, hiding his emotions. His voice giving off a slight sound of remorse, for what he is about to do the young man, with so much life ahead. He realizes that it is indeed wrong, but he was given a job and he will surely not lose sleep over it. He is simply another criminal that should be dealt with, as countless others have been over the past two years. This executioner had an air of demonic personality about him, as if he did not possess human emotions. Only the reactions. Someone who kills common thieves and prostitutes with rapists and the like every day for two years, has a tendency to lose their humanity over time, until it simply becomes an act. Those waiting to be executed could not even find words for the horror of waiting in the cold cell, watching the executioner stand and wait for what felt like hours pass within the time span of only a meager few minutes. He would sometimes speak through the mask, with a deep voice that should have been calming and relaxing, but instead only sent a chill down your spine, wondering if you would see him reveal his face from behind the mask, once you entered the gates of hell.
The Sly Fox waits in agony, knowing that the noose will fail, but he will never find his way out through this rat maze of ramps and bridges that go nowhere in the underground dungeon. They will soon catch him, and kill him despite his efforts to escape. He realizes that it would be a better death done by his own hand. As the executioner looks the other way for a split second, the Sly Fox takes a thin knife in his hand, and slits his own throat. Falling into a limp mass of body while being drained of blood through the cut in his neck. Only the executioner, and the granite stone within the earth around them there in the cell to witness the unfair demise, of a common thief.
Now we come to modern times, five hundred years later.
A blind man is brought to a hospital for a what is to be believed as a mental illness. He wholeheartedly believes himself to be a descendant of an unheard of, never recorded man that had fallen victim to being wrongly executed in a secret underground prison. This was absurd, to the doctors. He most surely has lost his mind. There was no 'Sly Fox' in any history known to them. A simple search proved that. But the blind man was sure. He did not know until this time, when he relieved a stone of granite from the mountains of Washington. He said he saw his ancestor's own execution, which of course must be impossible. He believed that the stone showed him the echo of the memory, long since recorded within the stone and kept safe until being washed up from the deep grounds, picked up on a hike, and given to the blind man as a momento from the trip taken by his cousin.
A blind man is brought to a hospital for a what is to be believed as a mental illness. He wholeheartedly believes himself to be a descendant of an unheard of, never recorded man that had fallen victim to being wrongly executed in a secret underground prison. This was absurd, to the doctors. He most surely has lost his mind. There was no 'Sly Fox' in any history known to them. A simple search proved that. But the blind man was sure. He did not know until this time, when he relieved a stone of granite from the mountains of Washington. He said he saw his ancestor's own execution, which of course must be impossible. He believed that the stone showed him the echo of the memory, long since recorded within the stone and kept safe until being washed up from the deep grounds, picked up on a hike, and given to the blind man as a momento from the trip taken by his cousin.
The blind man found himself being woken by the heavy vibrations the stone gave off one late night, the stone seemed to be calling him. He could feel it in his hands in his dreams. The coarse texture indenting the palm of his hand. He was awoken, and guided to the stone sitting on the shelf in his living room. The vibrations became stronger as he grew closer. Reaching out his hand felt like a moment that would never end. Taking the stone in his hand, he holds it for a moment as the vibration drumming in his head faded. It was soon replaced by holographic images within his consciousness. He could see a man, of small build with a cunning smile as he walked down the street. The smile soon disappears under a black bag as he is forcefully drug into an ally by three men dressed in black robes. He is taken to the forest, and lowered by a rope through a trap door leading deep into a dark pit within the ground, where the walls are made of solid earth and granite stone. Others are there within the underground prison, screaming for mercy. Those who say they did nothing wrong. The man is allowed to see again, where he has been brought to. Horror strikes his face, this is his end. There is no way he can talk his way out of this now. He is brought to the execution room. The executioner stands there, wearing a black mask with the eyes scratched out with white paint. Still unable to hide the sense of his cold expressionless face. While his gruff dirt and blood stained hand holds an axe that hangs to his side, dripping with the blood of his last victim. And that is where the vision ends. The blind man drops the stone as he falls to the floor and pushes himself away until he feels his back against the wall. His breaths are heavy and quick, and they soon turn to sobbing. When he attempts to tell others of what he saw in his vision, he was taken to this hospital for help. However nothing could help him to understand this paranormal instance that he had experienced. He was unable to see for twenty years and here he is given sight by a stone, of the most horrible circumstance he could imagine.
In the present time, the blind man finds a way to escape the hospital, during a crisis as another patient is suffering from a seizure. The blind man hears the commotion and footsteps running past his room. Realizing that this may be his only chance to escape the hospital and find answers to his strange mental visions, he walks out of the room, turns away from the commotion and follows the sounds that he had heard coming in, in reverse, bringing him back to the front door of the hospital. Upon feeling the summer air catch his cheek, the man turns away from the busy sounds of the city, to the serene sounds of the forest and smells of the pine trees.
In the present time, the blind man finds a way to escape the hospital, during a crisis as another patient is suffering from a seizure. The blind man hears the commotion and footsteps running past his room. Realizing that this may be his only chance to escape the hospital and find answers to his strange mental visions, he walks out of the room, turns away from the commotion and follows the sounds that he had heard coming in, in reverse, bringing him back to the front door of the hospital. Upon feeling the summer air catch his cheek, the man turns away from the busy sounds of the city, to the serene sounds of the forest and smells of the pine trees.
Five of the doctors run after him. The main doctor in charge pulls out a pistol and points it at the blind man entering the forest.
“You're not going to shoot the very patient you're trying to save are you?” One of the other doctors asks. The doctor holding the pistol lowers it back to his side, letting the barrel point to the ground.
A few minutes into the prickly pine tree forest, filled with the smell reminiscent of Christmas, along with the sounds of crunching as he walks through the forest cautiously, while becoming more urgent as he can feel himself growing closer to whatever it is he hopes to find, the blind man did indeed find this secret dungeon filled with death. He becomes too distracted with his adrenaline pumping as the vibrations that he felt with the granite grew stronger once again, and does not realize he has stepped off the trail, and unto a hidden trap door. The five hundred year old wooden door within the earth covered by leaves and pine needles gives way under his feet. He can only feel the solid ground give way, and reaches out for anything to grasp, feeling that this most surely is the end. By some stroke of luck, or so he believes it to be at this moment, he feels a root, coated in dry earth, as he grasps it tight and his body swings against the entrance of the deep pit. He listens for the trap door to hit the ground, one.. two.. The boards crack as they make contact with the ground below, as he hangs from the root of a tree protruding from the rim of where the door once hid the pit.The doctors are unable to hear his cry for help through the muffling of the trees.
A few minutes into the prickly pine tree forest, filled with the smell reminiscent of Christmas, along with the sounds of crunching as he walks through the forest cautiously, while becoming more urgent as he can feel himself growing closer to whatever it is he hopes to find, the blind man did indeed find this secret dungeon filled with death. He becomes too distracted with his adrenaline pumping as the vibrations that he felt with the granite grew stronger once again, and does not realize he has stepped off the trail, and unto a hidden trap door. The five hundred year old wooden door within the earth covered by leaves and pine needles gives way under his feet. He can only feel the solid ground give way, and reaches out for anything to grasp, feeling that this most surely is the end. By some stroke of luck, or so he believes it to be at this moment, he feels a root, coated in dry earth, as he grasps it tight and his body swings against the entrance of the deep pit. He listens for the trap door to hit the ground, one.. two.. The boards crack as they make contact with the ground below, as he hangs from the root of a tree protruding from the rim of where the door once hid the pit.The doctors are unable to hear his cry for help through the muffling of the trees.
His grip begins to fail, as his hands become damp with sweat, moistening the dirt on the root. His hands slip, as he once again feels his body within the air, until his back hits a hard wooden surface, he slips off, and hits another, unable to grip anything before it gives way and he falls to another hard surface, the fourth time, he hits ground. Cold, earthy ground. Bruised from every inch of his body, but alive. And here our story comes back to where we first began.
Here he has come to the dungeon where so many were slaughtered without trial, without any way of escape within the rat maze of ramps, stair cases, and hallways that lead into other rooms with no exit, other hallways that go nowhere, sometimes even leading straight into a wall. It was built with the intention of driving those who tried to escape insane, making them feel trapped and helpless to find a way out, no matter how many combinations of routes they attempted to take to return to the upper world. The blind man cannot see this rat maze, even if he could physically see, the dungeon was dark as a clouded night. However he could hear the faint cries of pain. They were faint, but distinct none the less. He called out to them, with no answer. Only the continuation of the echoing cries bouncing off the walls. He stumbled through the cave like prison, following the sounds of the cries. He realized it seemed to belong to more than one person. As he walked towards the sound became louder, and louder, as more voices joined the screaming. It became more urgent. Sometimes... He could hear the sound of an axe hitting a chopping block, and one of the shrill screams would stop. After a moment it would be filled with another. The screams grew in volume and numbers as he continued to walk. He called out again and again but none of the voices responded. It seemed they were on a constant loop. It was like a nightmare becoming more vivid as he stepped further into the dream. It bore into his head until it began to ache and he too began to scream in agony, among the other voices. It wouldn't stop, there was so much pain and suffering within the screams of fifty, maybe a hundred people, all in one unison, begging for death. The blind man also began to seek death, for it was a better fate than hearing all this horror, that these people were enduring. These people that he did not know existed, or if they were a figment of his own insanity. The pain in his head grew stronger, every sound grew louder, he could hear the sound of a thick substance dripping to the ground. He covered his ears but it only slightly muffled the sounds. He screamed louder to stop this torture! But it only grew. The emotion in the room flooded his senses. He stumbled into a small room, the screaming louder still. He fell to his knees, and his hand landed on a wooden handle.. He felt the handle and followed it to the end, realizing it was an axe. The blade had grown dull and rusted over time. But it was clear this was the weapon used to kill those people that suffered here. Where the memories of their deaths were recorded within the walls of this room, within the granite stone placed all around. The pain grew too heavy to bear, the blind man could find only one way of escape from this nightmare. He took the axe in his hand, brought it to his neck, and slit his own throat. After a few seconds of gasping for air, his body goes limp. And the screaming stops.
You see, only those who have a bloodline connection to one of those who took part in this underground slaughter can hear the screaming when inside the cave. Those with sight could also see the fragments of memories, projected by the granite that holds memories of the extreme emotional distress that the victims endured before their death. These were not ghosts, or souls of humans, but memories of the stones.
The doctors eventually found the now opened entrance to the dungeon. One of them stayed behind, while the others hurried back to get help. They returned with rope, and made the decision to go down into the pit before help came, knowing that the blind man was most likely down there, and if alive at all, in need of medical attention. Three of the doctors shimmied down the rope, and turned on the flash lights they had brought down with them. They could see the rat maze of ramps and stair cases and hallways that lead nowhere. They did not hear the screams, nor see the memories of those who had died here. They dare not go further into the maze to look for the man for fear of never finding their way back.
The doctor who had pulled his gun out before, however, did have a bloodline connection to the memories of this place. He hears a dripping sound behind him. He turns around to see the tall broad figure of a man with a dark mask with eyes scratched out in white paint, holding an axe covered in blood, much like the blood stains on his clothing, and hands, splatters across his chest, his knees covered in red blotches from kneeling in blood. The doctor and the executioner make eye contact through the slits in his mask. Cold dead eyes, matching that of the doctor's. They stand in awe for a moment, seeing a familiar soul within each other. The doctor barely smiles. He understood the duty of the executioner. For he also had blood on his hands, that no one else knew of. Innocent lives that had been unfortunately overdosed and died within his care. Of course it could not be helped, there was nothing he could do... at least, that's was his story.
And here our story ends. Right where it first began. Revealing that every generation has evil that feels they deserve to play God in our universe. That they indeed possess better judgement of the proper fate of the human race. All we can hope for is that we spot it in those around us before it is too late, and that they, are not us.
