The Gates

Like the many nights before, and those yet to come, Ezra Iscariot stood at the Mouth of Hell. His hands buried in the ragged pockets of a dead man’s coat and a cigarette firmly clamped between his lips. A layer of thick sooty coal caked his skin and clung to his auburn hair. This beloved city before him was reduced to ash and rubble. This was the end of the world.

 There was no war or disease. No great famine or burning inferno. Rather, one day it just faded away. People would disappear from crowded places, buildings would dissolve into sand. The air became thick and dark, the world nothing more than a wasteland.

 It had been weeks since the nothingness had taken over. Yet, it never seemed to claim Ezra, or that forsaken gate.

 Standing proudly in the vast desert of charcoal and death was a mass of twisted iron, supported by two marble columns. Through its slats, one could see the stretching horizon on the other side. Nothing stopped him from walking around and yet there he stood, humbled by a simple padlock chained to the doors.

 Ezra took a long drag from his cigarette, relaxing into the unnatural silence. The gentle glow of the embers forced the darkness to retreat slightly. He clung to the slightest warmth the smoke brought him.

 “Open it”, A low voice rasped.

 “The heart, use the heart!” Another growled.

 With a sigh, he savored one last puff of smoke. Just ignore them, Iscariot. They’re just voices; He reassured himself, running the thin metal chain between his fingers and at its end hung a heavy heart-shaped locket. The aged metal covered in twisting ornate patterns. It created a perfect cage around a small black key.

 Ezra had found the small antique only days before it began. Lying in the bushes beside an alley gate, he had stumbled across it while grabbing a quick smoke. He knew better than to go to that alley. He had heard the legends, after all. The towering structure held no purpose, a set of gates with nothing but brick on the other side, an alleged portal to hell itself.

 His actions seemed innocent enough. After all, he just figured some girl dropped the thing. What was the harm in looking?

 Ha. The damn thing wouldn’t leave him after that. He had tried for weeks to cast it off. He sold it, shipped it, buried it, hell he melted the thing for god’s sake. Yet there it remained, in the pocket of his father’s jacket. And each night, it throbbed. As if the silver veins beat with blood, no different from the organ in his chest.

 The voices always followed. Deep growls and whispers would fill his head. Some were sweet and comforting, others seemingly demonic. Each baited him to open the gate. He couldn’t outrun it. He couldn’t leave the city he once called home.

 No, each night he was to stand staring at that gate, forced to listen.

 “Just open it, dear child.” A soft female voice purred.

 “OPEN IT!” another screamed manically.

 It didn’t faze him anymore. With a soft huff, Ezra drew another cigarette from his box. The package of Marlboros never seemed to empty. At least this hellish reality would not stop him from killing his lungs. Dropping the locket, he pulled out his trusty Zippo. Click… click… click… spark. The familiar sound brought an odd calm to him. The brief flash of light held the shadows at bay, or at least long enough to give him a light.

 They were just in his head. There was no need to worry. Taking a deep drag his shoulders slumped. It was alright. This night was just beginning, after all.

 This relief was soon vanquished. His heart lurched in his chest as something moved in the shadows. Something… no, someone stood on the other side of the gate. His hazel eyes narrowed. No, it was just the smoke messing with his eyes. There was no one else here, right?

 He took another drag, trying to force these hallucinations away. His mouth was dry as he tried to steady his breath. He blinked and blinked. Yet there it remained.

 Standing around five foot ten, the boy looked no older than nineteen. He had his father’s eyes and his mother’s thick wavy hair. A beauty mark settled just above his top lip. Its blackened fingers curled around the Iron Gate as it peered through.

 It was him. Or at least it looked like him. “Ezra Iscariot.” Its voice was a smooth tenor. “How very nice to see you.” It licked its lips with a long blackened tongue before giving a Cheshire grin. A row of perfectly white fangs were revealed.

 “This is not real.” Ezra’s voice cracked slightly as he pulled the smoke from his lips. He’d need something more than nicotine to force away this kind of crazy. This mirror image of him...it couldn't be human. Not… real.

 “Oh, I assure you Ezra, my boy.” It dragged its long, pointed nails over the bars with a horrible scraping noise. “I am very much real.” The creature pulled his hands away with a dramatic flair.

 “Who are you?” He firmly clutched his lighter in his fist, his knuckles felt tight.

 “I’m known by many names. But I suppose you can call me Azazel. I am here to aid you.” The creature swung around the marble post before plucking the smoking cylinder from his hand. The creature pressed the fire to his tongue, putting it out with a wet sizzle.

 “How so?” He muttered, taking a step back.

 “You know Iscariot; doors are not always used to enter.” The beast mused, tucking the crumpled cigarette into Ezra’s breast pocket before lightly patting his chest. “And quite frankly, I’m growing tired of watching you linger at my gates.”

 “So it’s true. This is the gate to hell.” He swallowed hard, his throat parched.

 “Kid, you’re in hell.” Azazel let out a low, guttural laugh. “Though, I suppose this is a chain smoker’s paradise.”

 Could this really be hell? It seemed so obvious, yet it never crossed his mind. He had spent weeks in darkness, with no food, no water, just cigarettes and ashes. It made sense, but he expected something worse. Maybe it’d be different if he had something to lose. Ezra’s family had been dead for years. He had no friends, no animals. He was alone long before this. Perhaps that’s why he found such a strange calm in this world. He had nothing to lose. Nothing to gain. He had nothing.

 “All you have to do is open those gates. After all, you’re the one who holds the key to freedom.” Azazel whispered seductively, running his blacked fingers down his arm. Ezra flinched away, reaching for another cigarette. “Ah ah ah, I would take it easy on those. They can kill you, you know.” The demon grabbed his hand, pulling it from his pocket.

 “I don’t fear death.” He pulled away from the demon’s grasp once more. “How do I know that gate doesn’t lead to something worse?”

 Azazel raised a brow. “You humans are always so crass.” The demon sighed. “When you grow tired of living in this darkness, and that lighter runs out, I will see you on the other side of my gate.”

 As it turned, he saw the red in its eyes. His companion stepped through the gates, leaving him alone once more.

 So Ezra Iscariot stood in front of those unmoving gates. A cigarette firmly clasped between his lips and his hands buried in a dead man’s coat. Dirty fingers clutched the heart, as he pondered. Was this truly the exit to hell, and did he want to leave?

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Authors Note:

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and feel free to leave a heart, they are always appreciated. Follow me on twitter @Emilia_the_Bat for vocal updates as well as my art.

Have a wonderful, be safe,

~Emilia