A bright white canvas sat ready to be used, the painter slowly pulled up a stool to the object while taking a drag of a cigarette. Once the stool was in place she took the cigarette from her mouth, and placed it in a rather used ash try. Ash was forced to the floor, but the woman didn't seem all that bothered by it, after all she had painting to paint.

The walls surrounding her were covered in various paintings of her design, some were quite detailed, while others were very plain, and ordinary looking. Each, painting however had it's own eerie feel to it. They not only seemed alive, but each of the subjects inside were suffering. An observer would be perplexed by this thought, seeing as a small handful of paintings seemed jolly and bright. She collected the paints she was going to use; blues and browns were her colors of choice, she wanted to paint a beach scene, darkened with a grey sky. 

Once she was satisfied with the image she had in her head, she grabbed a brush, and dipped it into the paints. Every painting never took the same amount of time to complete, some took a few hours,  and some took years, but each one was created with the utter most care and attention, the painter kept in mind of the customer's tastes. The woman smirked as the beach scene was coming to life on the canvas.

The ocean was a dark blue, waves crested with a grayish white. The sky was a depressive, dead grey, it was about to rain, but the clouds refused to give up it's water. A faded red boat was the only speck of color on the canvas, draped on the boat was a simple black trench coat. She added a couple more small details before she placed her brush down. The painter smiled at her work, and stood up from the canvas, she walked over to a sink located at the far end of the room, which had a small bar of soap and a rag that used to be white.

As she cleaned her hands a knocked came at the door. "It's opened." she called not even looking up from the sink. Stepping into the room was a young man, he looked quite sad, and lost. "I was told to come here." He muttered. He had a voice as quiet as ever. The painter looked over at him, and smiled. "Yes, welcome. Right on time, too." She commented as she dried her hands. The man shoved his hands into his pockets, and shrugged without saying a word. "Do you have any questions?" She asked walking over to the painting. The man looked at her hesitantly, but before he could open his mouth, she spoke. "I am indeed Lucifer." His response was a whimper, and he shrunk back a bit. "You aren't going to burn for all eternity, or carry rocks that get heavier and heavier. No." She chuckled, and shook her head. "That was gonna be Dante's hell. This is yours." She motioned to the beach scene, and the man shuttered. "Let's get going, I have other people to attend to." Lucifer stated growing slightly impatient. The man sighed, and slowly walked over to the painting. He gave Lucifer one last look before reaching out his hands, and touched the object.

Once the man was inside the painting, she picked up the canvas, and placed it on a blank space on the wall. She took one last look at it as she lit a cigarette, the man was now inside, and he was depicted sitting in the boat with a gun in his hands. He shot himself that day, but he didn't die instantly, instead he ended up bleeding to death, regretting his decision as he did so.

"Would you work for $9?" I asked, but all I got was silence.

No. You wouldn't. You're worth more. How? You have a fancy degree, and a comfy office chair.

You don't risk your life saving people or walking among unfinished buildings.

No, the thing your at risk for is obesity due to your rich diet, and laziness.

I can't afford to be lazy, nor can I afford a diet of any kind. I can't even afford the ability to get the job you have, but it's my fault I'm poor, I'm stupid. After all I'm 24, I should have graduated from college, right?

Wrong. College is too expensive, so I couldn't afford to gain the intelligence and the knowledge you have to get where you are. Not to mention, born only a few years after you.

I wasn't old enough to reap the benifits, yet I was old enough to have adults fill my head with dreams of becoming someone. Now I have other adults fill my head with the blame game. They blame my generation for being too lazy. Too entitled. Too stupid. Too superficial. Too self absorbed to get out there and find a job.

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, instead of getting a helping hand, all I got were index fingers and sour faces.

"Well, someone has to do your job."

Oh, so now it's not that I'm an idiot, it's that I'm forced to take this job because, as you know, working in a position like mine contributes so much to society.

Who else would work during the Holidays? You? No. You're too important.

So Sir/Ma'am I have one more question to ask you.

"Would you like to sign up for our rewards program?"

Death lends a patient ear,

as an tired soul vomits forth long hidden secrets.

She listens quietly writing each sin on a blank page, ink as dark and deep as the recesses of space itself.

As the page soaks up the ink the words vanish without a trace.

Death needn't share secrets of others.

Old cobblestone roads come to life,

as magenta colored fire lights up the dusty street lamps. Streets of a long forgotten time slowly breathe in the air of a new century.

The soft pink glow from the street lamps gently awaken secret lovers, but they are not who they were. They were not bound by ancient laws. They only binding they bore was the rope that bound them together, and time.

Sounds of the city fills ears.

Laughter, and crying children can be heard, from tourists looming about trying to get to the next tourist trap.

Footsteps, and unapproving stares come from the city folk trying to just get to their destination.

The only respite from the symphony of skyscrapers, are the subways that hum and buzz beneath the city.

Quiet conversations, and private thoughts fill the cars, while the grinding wheels of the car, and the changing tracks speak their very own language that no one understands.

Early mornings, and tired eyes are only evidence of busy nights.

Clasped hands, and soft touches are for the waking world to see.

They chased the rabbit down the hole out of curiosity, and found themselves in a strange, yet familiar land.

Their bodies had remembered where they were inspite of the mind's amnesia.

While they slumbered inside their own sphere of timelessness, a dangerous game had just become.

How to keep the waking world away.

A small creature approches you. You know what this creature is, as you feel a knot form in the pit of your stomach. It doesn't seem like it will get bigger, so you pick it up into your arms, and you let it sit on your shoulder.

You make your way to the couch, and the creature is silent. It's silence unnerves you a little, but you ignore it; as you reach for the remote your cell phone rings. You look over and it is your mother calling you.

Your father is in the hospital. He's dead.

You tense up. It spoke? You expect it to say something else, but it doesn't. Causiously you pick up the phone, you sound slightly on edge.

After about five minutes you realize your mother was calling to invite you to a birthday dinner. You remeber your father's birthday is in a few weeks.

She knew you forgot, and was calling to make you feel guilty. You don't deserve to go. You're a terrible son.

It speaks again. This conversation was making your skin crawl. You decide to quickly end the conversation with your mother, by politely telling her that you had an important project you were working on. She believed it, and hung up shortly after.

You take the creature off your shoulder and look at it. It speaks again.

You lied to your mother. She'll be very disappointed when she finds out you lied.

You become pensive. She can't find out, you think to yourself.

She can. You haven't worked on anything in months. She'll call you pathetic.

The creature continued. It then started walking towards you.

You're pathetic.

It then states with a wide grin on it's face.

You're eyes widen as you jump up from the couch. You then watch it as you head towards the bathroom. Showering may help, after all today was busy.

The creature watches you leave, it makes a noise almost similar to that of a chuckle before increasing in size. Not by much, but just enough to be noticeable.

Hiding will do you no good. You and I both know you're a failure.

It mused as it slowly wandered to the bathroom. It didn't enter the room, but t did stand right outside the door.

You know I'm right. Stop lying to yourself, you liar. People hate liars you know.

You pound your fist on the wall. "Get away from me!" You exclaim. Hoping that it will go away. You hear the creature chuckle, as it once again grows in size. It still can't open the door, but it's voice is louder.

You don't want to hear the truth. You know you're mother hates you, and you're father hates you. You can't show up to the dinner, because if you do you will have to lie, but if you don't show up then you'll be an even bigger disappointment to your parents than you already are.

"You're right" you state as you turn off the water. You pull the curtains back and grab a towel. As you dry yourself off you fight with the idea of going. Your siblings are doing way better than you, even though you're the oldest. "I am pathetic." You continue in defeat. "I won't go. I'm already a disappointment, so why bother trying."

The truth will set you free.

The creature muses with a toothy smile.

The truth will set you free.

The forest had settled down for the night, but not in its usual harmonic manner. Animals, including insects, have vanished, with that an eerie stillness befell the forest, yet that stillness had a deafening loudness. Anyone caught in this strange occurance, would be able to hear the sound of blood coursing through their body, and the beating of their own heart. Any on lookers would only be able to see a man, holding his head and screaming. Screaming in a dead silent wood.