How far would you go for love?

Acceptance?

How far would you go to get out of your own personal Hell?

Feedback is most appreciated!

When he woke, it was with a gasping breath of freezing air. He looked around and tried to see, but it was so dark it was as if a blindfold had been tied around his head. Feeling for it, he found nothing hindering his gaze, but realized the area was cut off from any source of light. Feeling the ground, his hands were met with rough, hard concrete, cracked here and there, he realized, when his fingers fell into the dents. He couldn't quite call out for anyone that might be near; his voice was caught in his throat. As he moved himself backward without necessarily standing, blinding fluorescent lights kicked on with loud, quick popping noises above his head, making him gasp, cover his head, and fall onto the floor again.

"Zane." A deep, almost resounding voice spoke and startled him, sending shivers down his spine. When he didn't immediately look up, the voice spoke again: "Zane." The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Squinting through the bare, white lights, he looked around, but found no one in sight. The room itself was square, the floor concrete, as he'd suspected, and the walls and ceiling made of plain red brick. A square hallway stretched in front of him, and went left and right so quickly he couldn't quite see anything else other than the back wall. "Zane." The voice came to him again, making him jump, but instead of diving back to the floor or finding a corner, two of which were very near, he raised his head and looked around, trying to get his eyes used to the absolute change in light.

Finally, he found his voice. "N-no one's named Zane here..." He muttered. It was a bit of a shock how small he found his voice, though he didn't know anything else about himself. It was as if the entire memory of his existence, his family, friends, the world other than the bare, strange room, had been erased completely, along with the memory of who, and what, he was. As soon as he spoke, he regretted it, because the voice grew in intensity:

"You're Zane." It echoed through the room and through his ears, and he accepted it as truth. He nodded quickly though there was no one around to see it. "Say it. Say, 'My name is Zane'."

"My n-name is Zane."

"Very good. Now stand."

Zane, as he'd been accepted as, followed suit without quite thinking about it. The voice demanded to be obeyed, and Zane's fear had peaked when the lights had come on without warning. It was fueled by the disembodied voice speaking to him as though it were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. "Good boy." The voice praised him like an obedient dog. "Now, come to me."

Zane looked around. The place was bare, and he was alone. "Where are you...?"

"I'm everywhere, for now. Come to me, find your way."

"I don't know my way."

"Look for it. I'll be watching you. But you must do whatever I say, when I say it. Do you understand?"

Zane looked at the hallway in front of him. He was about to move forward, but was halted by a defying thread of doubt in the back of his mind. "No." He growled. "Why should I? You brought me here, you must have! I know I haven't just been born!" To confirm this, he looked down at himself. He was fully clothed, with long, thin arms and legs. His jeans hid the fact that he was barefoot, and the ground was chilling his feet.

The voice was silent for a moment. The lights flickered. "How disappointing." The voice sighed, like a wave of air, filling the room and vanishing with a whistle. Most of the lights popped off, leaving one square buzzing above Zane's head. Outside the oddly muted pool of light he was standing beneath, black feelers began moving forward, and the sound of millions of insect legs crawling along the walls fell on his ears. He turned around in a slow circle, feeling his heart begin to race and the hard pounding fill his chest. The feelers, which seemed to be made completely of the dark surrounding him, grabbed his ankle and snatched him down, pulling with slow, jerking motions. He yelped, trying to claw his way to the other side of the light, but the same feelers were there, and tried to snatch his hands until he wrenched them back. The thing around his ankle pulled harder, tossing his face into the ground hard. When he came back up and looked over his shoulder, he could feel tears streaming down his face uncontrollably. "Okay! Okay, I'll do it, please let me go, I won't talk back anymore!"

The worming black tentacle flew backward and into the darkness again, and the sound of scuttling insect legs fell away. The lights came back on as Zane shakily picked himself back up. Staring around, at the walls that were still of brick and floor that was still of concrete, he stifled a sob and wiped his face. The voice was soft when it spoke again: "Watch your tongue. You belong to me. Now come to me."

Zane swallowed hard, but nodded. If this was no more than a sick joke, it was a good joke.

Zane shook the fear from his bones and stepped forward. It was so silent he could still hear his heart racing at such high speed it made him lightheaded. Slowly moving down the hall, he tried looking around the left and right adjacent halls from where he was, but only succeeded in seeing more brick. The silence itself was almost deafening, and by the time he breached the halfway point, he was sure he was deaf until the omnipresent voice returned.

"Go right." It instructed curtly. Zane jumped at the suddenness and tone, as though whomever possessed it was still angry with Zane for disobeying him previously. He didn't even consider doing the same thing, and, before turning right, made sure to look down the left. There was nothing but another, shorter turn, which mirrored the one he'd been told to enter. He did, though, without much hesitation. Rather nervous as he reached the second turn, which went left, he twitched as though something had come at him before even making it to the mouth of the next hall. This hall was stunted, and opened up onto a massive room, longer than it was wide. It looked almost like a stage, and the air was swimming as if heat emanated from the floor, the place lit up from a place he couldn’t quite see.

Silhouetted by the lights behind it, an almost human-like figure stood in the center of the room. It only moved when Zane did, as he stepped forward, it did as well. Less than curious, he moved backward, though it was as if the shadow had a string attached to Zane, and as he went back, it came forward at a much greater speed, accompanied by what sounded like a sickeningly thrilled cackle. He gasped, flailing as he tripped over his own feet, falling onto the ground and against the wall behind him and covering his face as a huge bang shook his world. When he managed to open his eyes and peer in front of him, he found a new wall where the room had been, and a mirror just above his head, attached to the wall. He moved to the corner to his right and curled his arms around his knees.

“I can’t do this.” He yelled. “W-what was that thing? Where am I!?” He buried his face in his knees to be rid of the glaring lights. “What am I doing here...?” The question was for himself, though he had no idea why.

“Stand up.” The voice commanded.

“I... can’t.” Zane shivered, and tried to move himself out of the corner. His legs buckled beneath him halfway up, and sent him back down.

“Stand. Now.”

The voice seemed to be fading to its disappointed tone, and Zane feared another blackout. This time a light wasn’t above him. Biting back a sob, he pushed himself up with his hands on the walls behind him, leaning against it in case he lost balance again. “Good boy. Now. Look in the mirror.”

Zane sighed shakily, but did as told, and turned his gaze up. To his shock, Zane discovered a fully grown man staring back at him, mimicking his movements, showing the same fear he felt. Light blonde hair, somewhat long, mussed as if he’d been in a wind tunnel. A pale, thin face, shadowed light brown eyes. The collar of his black shirt was wrinkled and looked as if it had been splashed with bleach. Carefully bringing up a shaking hand, he touched his face, his hair, his small nose, and went back, sliding down the wall behind him into a crouching position. Zane felt more like a child than an adult, but he found himself lucky he could still remember what a child or adult even was while he forgot almost everything else besides how to speak.

“Go left, now.” The voice breathed.

Zane closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut so hard tiny stars burst into his vision. “Why are you doing this...?” He spoke through an almost delusional laugh. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“I didn’t. You came here on your own.” The voice sounded almost fatherly. When Zane looked at the wall in front of him in disbelief, as if the owner of the voice were right there, it continued: “You told me you were so lonely. You were so sick of being alone. I said I would give you a chance to be loved, because I would love you forever. You were so happy. But I told you that you would have to go through a grueling test to prove you would love me, as much as I love you. And you agreed.”

Zane was staring at... nothing, in disbelief. “B-but I---”

“You had your memory wiped of your entire life before this day, though it also wiped your memory of when you came to me.”

Zane shook his head. Was he really that desperate...? He cursed his old self, the one he couldn’t recall, for being so willing to give his life to something he couldn’t even see now. “H-ave I always been... so helpless...?” When he spoke, he felt his face grow hot.

“Yes. You were very needy. Now that you have no memory, it’s grown worse. But if you return to me, you can have your memory back.”

“What if I... die...?”

“I won’t let that happen. But your trip will not be painless.”

Zane swallowed a sob that was about to make itself known, and stood himself up. His joints felt as though they were being held together by water, but he did as previously requested and started down the hall, heading left.

The room off the left of the main hallway was rather similar to the one he’d just been presented with. However, this room was more narrow, and while longer than it was wide, it was much smaller. Two tall, wide steel doors resembling garage doors sat embedded in the brick to his left, and as he approached, he studied them. One was sprayed with a dark red liquid, which Zane could only assume was blood. He fell backward as his heart leapt in his chest, edging along the opposite wall. The lights above him flickered, making his heart still for a moment as he was sure the voice had decided to torture him again by flicking off the lights once more. Instead, the two doors in front of him decided to roll up without warning, forcing Zane back once again, only to hit the wall and wish he could melt right into it. As they raked against the stone, rising out of the way, Zane could only see somewhat into both areas, though the lights above him were still shining as brightly as the sun.

Lights began to flicker on inside the tunnels. Only in one, however. “Take the darker path.” The voice instructed.

Zane looked into the path that was lit up rather easily. He couldn’t quite see anything, but the place looked very plain, mirroring the hall he’d only just come down. “Why not the other one?” He asked warily.

The voice didn’t reply. In its silence, the lights down the seemingly bare hall flicked on a bit lighter, in flashing patterns that revealed to Zane a scene he wished he could have not seen: Forms and figures hanging from their necks from the ceilings, wrapped in nooses and impaled by thin pipes jutting from the walls. With a sound of disgust, he fled from the sight into the darkness of the second tunnel.

A dozen steps in, he slowed with quick pants, not quite used yet to the exertion. The image of an endless fall began forming in his mind as he moved forward, and he paused, beginning to move his foot along in slow swipes to feel for any change in the path’s flow. It did, rather unexpectedly, the floor tilting downward not at a terribly nerve-wracking angle. Sticking close to the wall to his right, Zane felt his way along, trying to find holds to grab onto. Though the walls were beginning to lose their texture, and as he was patting it to find some blemish, his feet found a very slick substance, like ice, forcing his feet out from under him and sending him down. With a high yelp, Zane clawed at the floor, scrambling for something to hold onto until his legs completely fell away from beneath him, following the ground into a pit he couldn’t even see, as his clasping fingers finally found a lip to hold onto.

“Let go.” The voice said. “Fall into the pit.”

“No! You p-promised I wouldn’t die!” Zane’s voice cracked harshly, and he cried out. “I can’t let go!”

“Disgusting.” The voice spat the word, as if it left a bad taste in its mouth. Zane’s grasp had begun to loosen, but as he tried to rearrange his hands, something grabbed his legs and yanked him downward. He let out a shocked scream as he fell what seemed like miles.

When he hit the ground, it was as if the place were laced with long, sharp pokers that went through his body, stabbing into his arms, legs, and crisscrossed his torso. The white-hot pain was beyond what he could speak, and though he knew his mouth was wide open, he couldn’t make a sound. His eyes spilled hot tears, letting them run down and into his hair. His muscles twitched, letting more pain explode through to every point the unseen spikes grabbed at him. As he breathed, each strangled gasp shallow and harsh, a string of what looked like Christmas lights came to life above his head, giving light to his new surroundings. He managed to turn his head a bit to look around.

No spikes were in sight. His body was lying flat on the ground, and not a drop of blood could be seen as he turned his head to get a visual of where, specifically, he was. He couldn’t quite make anything out, though, and as he looked down to himself, he tried to move. As he twitched his hands, and his feet, the horribly debilitating agony fell away like a slick sheet. He pushed himself up, breathing shakily. “What... I thought... I...” He looked up, and found nothing but a reddish darkness where the strings of tangled white and yellow lights failed to reach.

“Now you know the price of disobedience.” The voice said, almost soothingly, as if to reassure Zane. “The darkness I force upon you will give you pain. Do as I say, and it will leave you be. Do you understand now?”

Zane picked himself up, wiping the dampness from around his eyes. “Yes, s-sir.” He coughed. Then he looked around. The place was rather circular, but a glass door hugged the wall in front of him. He couldn’t quite see outside, the panes were frosted, and it appeared semi-lit beyond.

“Go through the doors." The voice said. Zane began forward, but the voice continued: "Before you do, however, you must realize: You will think the following tests to be beyond your abilities. But you must complete them to get to me."

Zane nodded, and continued toward the door. For some reason he wanted to meet the owner of the voice. At first he considered it more of a morbid curiosity, to come face to face with the man, or creature, putting him through this, but as he put his hand on the golden door handle and pushed down and out, Zane was sure he wanted to meet the voice's owner because he was desperate for... anyone.

The room beyond the gold-handled door was darkly lit. A single bright, bare bulb hung over a metal table bolted to the tile floor. The room itself reminded Zane of a morgue, complete with cold steel drawers lining the far end of the room. On the steel table, a sheet sat hiding something that looked eerily similar to a man, or woman, Zane really couldn't tell. Though a familiar weakness had saturated his knees again, Zane moved forward, letting the door close on its own behind him. He looked around, at the blank tile ceiling. The voice remained silent until he began forward, stepping lightly though his cold feet made little sound. Even as he approached no movement gave way under the sheet; it was as if the thing, be it human or no, were most certainly dead.

"Pull back the cover." The voice instructed. Zane clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering, and raised a hand, shivering, letting it fall onto the frayed corner of the sheet, and slowly, he pulled it away. A strangled gasp almost made him choke, as the pale brown eyes of his mirror image gazed back at him. Every detail screamed at Zane that it was he who lay before him, from the small nose, the mussed blonde hair, the pale skin and even the bags under his eyes, the form of himself lie on a freezing metal table completely unclothed, with only a thin sheet to protect him. He watched his doppelganger turn its head toward him, but say nothing. "To move on, you must first sacrifice who you used to be." The voice said. "Take the knife beside you and strike your old self in the heart."

Zane looked around. He hadn't seen it before, but now his gaze fell on a small metal cart, on which laid a long-bladed knife, definitely not something one would use to cut open a body. It almost resembled a steak knife. He picked it up, the wooden handle rough in his hand, which shaked a bit as he lifted it up. "What... what was I before?" He asked, turning his gaze onto himself, lying helpless on the table.

"Do you really want to know?" The voice asked, as if Zane had requested something even the owner of the voice didn't want to do.

He studied himself for a moment, and as he did, the doppelganger closed its eyes, letting a tear slide away and fall onto the table. Zane shook his head. "No."

"Then be rid of your old self. One strike should do it."

Zane hesitated, bringing the knife up and above his old self. It opened its eyes, and mouth. "Kill me!" He gasped, thrusting the blade downward and toward him, shutting his eyes as the sound of ripping flesh met his ears. A light, airy breath filled the room, and Zane went back, away from the body, falling onto his knees. His hands had been sprayed with blood, and as he stared at them, an overwhelming sadness pressed him down, and he sobbed loudly. It almost felt good, but the situation wouldn't let him forget where he was, and what he had just done. He put his hands to his chest, feeling the pain of the heavy blade inserted between his ribs and pulled down, then over, as if he'd done it to himself.

"You did well." The voice said. Zane didn't respond, even as the room began to rearrange itself. The walls fell away like dust, puffing out of existence as they crumbled, like a sped-up video of natural decay. The table shuddered, and the doppelganger fell to sand, blown away in part by the sudden wind. He put his hands down as the ground beneath him became softer, yet still cool to the touch, and blinked hard to make sure it was real. Indeed, the soft yet rather dark grass was real, and as he looked up, Zane saw trees, large leafy bushes, and statues of men and women with their hands to their faces in different poses. In front of him, a large stone fountain spat clear water into the air. The entire place was circled by a massive stone fence. Zane's hands fell to his sides.

"Where... am I now?" He spoke tentatively.

"This place contains your memories." The voice said. "Every leaf and blade of grass is a moment from your past that now, must be forgotten. Wilt these memories for me, Zane."

Carefully, the young man stood on unsteady feet. "How...?"

"You'll find a way. It's somewhere here. But there is something else here, willing you to cease your path to me."

"What?"

"Them..." As the voice spoke, a shattering, rumbling filled Zane's ears. The statues, dotted around here and there, put their arms down with quick, jerking movements, revealing demonic faces and mouths filled with teeth. "Go, Zane. Before they stop you."

Zane's heart leapt, and he took off, around the fountain and down a path lined with cobblestones. The sound of heavy, crunching footsteps were close behind him.

Zane's lungs burned as he ran, feet slipping on the dewy grass. It seemed to sing underfoot, as though the memories held in each blade knew his presence and tried to make him stop. Zane would have liked to, had he any time, but the crackling, rumbling of stone rubbing on stone sent him forward. The trees were too tall to quickly be climbed, and each way he turned, between lush bush or web of vine, he was cut off by one of those quick, tall statues come to life. Several times he was almost surrounded, though he did manage to squeeze through between the wide trunk of an old tree and a bush of thorny roses. The thorns caught onto his clothes and ripped at them, scratching up his arms and feet as he stepped over and on the brambles.

He entered a small gazebo, where a couple windows were shattered and ivy had spilled in. The dark was bluish, as though the place were lit by the moon. "I don't know what to do!" He yelled, looking up, where he suspected the voice to be coming from when it spoke. "I don't know what you want me to do!"

One of the living statues busted into the gazebo, nearly freezing Zane where he stood. However, he clambered out of one of the broken windows and over the ivy, nearly tying himself up in the thick ropes. Shaking the ropes off his legs, Zane flew back through a series of bushes and glanced behind him. Some of the statues had gone into the gazebo, but as he turned back to look where he was going, he ran headlong into one of the statues that had gone around go cut him off. It drew him into a near bone-crushing hug and kept him there as the rest of the statues began toward them, and as Zane struggled, his skin chafed against the rough stone. As one of the female statues stepped forward, Zane brought up his legs and planted his feet squarely on her chest, pushing backward as hard as he could. It put the statue holding him off balance, and it went backward with Zane in its arms.

The resulting crashing land seemed to jar the teeth from Zane's head. But the arms released him, and as he scrambled up, he looked down to the remains of the statue. Where it broke, a dark liquid oozed out, as if the stone covered a living thing. But he didn't pause much longer; he took off again, turning left and nearly falling into the fountain. As the statues began catching up, Zane threw himself into the water, losing what little hope he had left of escaping the garden.

The statues circled him, trying to find a way to lift their legs, though they lacked much joint mobility in the knees. Zane stuck close to the middle, just within the veil of water falling from above. As he went around it, stepping carefully to not slip, something grabbed his foot. He gasped, falling backward, but as he felt around, noticed it was more fabric than anything living. He pulled it up as hard as he could, using both hands to yank it. Something that resembled a plug flew upward and almost hit him in the face, and as it came up, the fountain stalled, draining.

The statues that had formed a borderline wall, but as the water drained and a pale brownish-black gas began to emit from the hole in the bottom of the fountain, they froze, their eyes dulling and their mouths twisting in angry howls, though they couldn't speak. As the gas rose and spread, it saturated the trees and clung to the grass. The singing of the plantlife seemed to turn angry, agonizing, as a slight hissing sapped the life out of every living thing, besides Zane. The trees drooped and their bark began peeling, turning an ashy gray, the grass browned desperately and, as Zane climbed out of the fountain, soaking wet, it crunched underfoot.

"Good boy." The voice returned quickly, startling Zane as he pushed through the crowding statues. "Your past memories have been sabotaged."

"What if I want to go back?" Zane asked nervously.

"You can't. You've already killed your past self, and now, you'll no longer remember who and what you used to be."

Zane gulped. He had no family, friends, and no past. It was as if he were simply spawned one day. But he had been the one to kill his old self, not the voice. The voice simply told him what to do. "What... well... What now?"

The voice remained silent, but the fountain itself began moving. Almost resembling a sliding trap door, it moved aside, raking up the dead grass and dried soil. "Come to me." The voice almost seemed to emanate from the hole, and a light breeze washed over him, chilling him not in a way he feared. "You're almost there."

Zane sat on the edge of the hole and lowered himself in, trusting that there wouldn't be a drop more than ten feet below him. In fact, it was less than that, and the suddenness of the jolt sent a shock of pain up his legs. Stifling a growl of pain, he stepped forward, keeping his hands and arms out in front of him and dragging his left foot to make sure yet another drop or slick spot that would send him forward and down again. Yet for some reason he trusted that there wouldn't be another trap. Though the image of a deep pit, complete with long, rusted spikes at the bottom, filled Zane's mind, and he paused, shuddering. The pain of the previous encounter with such a pit, though the spikes weren't real, felt all too fresh in his mind. The pain was definitely real.

As he stopped, gathering what little bravery he had left, a light flashed to life in front of him. It filled the space, revealing gray stone walls that mirrored the ceiling and floor, as if the place were built into the side of a mountain. The source of the light died down and as Zane could focus on it a bit better, he saw the outline of a human, perhaps a woman, with pale white robes that caught the light and reflected it as if they were made of a liquid mirror. Her hair was pale golden blonde, falling past her sharply pointed face, her lips red, and her eyes very pale blue. "Zane." Her light voice seemed to echo eerily in the narrow corridor. "You don't have to go on. You can stay with me, and I can take you away from this place." She opened her arms, draped with silvery strands of silk. "I can give you your old life back, or I can give you anything you like."

Zane moved his tongue, which felt heavy and dry in his mouth. "A-are you the... the one I've been hearing?"

"No." The woman shook her head lightly. "But now, you don't have to meet him. He's caused you pain, fear, and he's taken away your entire life."

The voice spoke on a breeze flowing past the woman: "My tests set you free. Your previous life was riddled with pain, flowing with tears and blood. Do you want that back?"

Zane shook his head, but kept his eyes glued to the woman. Her face grew dark for a moment. "You must come with me." She said, almost sternly. "You have no choice in the matter."

"You do have a choice." The male voice hissed. "You've had a choice the entire time. However, your own fears of pain, the dark, the unknown, placed in your head every illusion you've seen. The stone statues in the garden were the omens of your past willing to bring you back to the abusive, painful life I've allowed you to leave behind."

Zane shook his head hard. This woman had suddenly appeared, when he was so close to figuring out who had brought him here, as if she'd followed him the entire time. But she never gave any direction like the other voice had. She was like a vulture, ready to swoop in easily for what little doubt was left in Zane's mind. "I can't do it. I won't go with you." He said, glaring at the woman. "I don't want anything you have to offer!"

His sure tone sent the woman reeling. The light emanating from her flickered, and in a moment, she screeched, the light growing to a blinding degree and flashing again, forcing Zane's eyes closed and arms up to protect them. It faded, allowing Zane to see what was left. The remnants of the woman's light clung to the air, and gave light to the rest of his way. As he squinted, he could see what looked like a door very slightly open quite a ways down the hall. He moved forward, quicker this time, almost at a slight jog.

"Run." The voice passed him, like a breeze, and for a moment, Zane halted, looking behind him. The corridor had become black, as if a living shadow were pressing toward him. A high-pitched squeal pierced the otherwise hush, and a familiar sound, like millions of insects crawling, hit his ears. The darkness was moving toward him quickly, like some massive living thing. His breath caught as he looked on it, and saw a strangely female head begin to peel away from the center. Without quite realizing it, Zane's feet began moving as quickly as they could, flying over the slightly uneven floor. He didn't look back even as loud, earth-shattering bangs shuddered the corridor. Panting noticeably, he lunged for the open door, forcing it inward as he flew into a round room.

The door slammed shut as quickly as Zane entered, and as he struggled to catch his breath and remain standing, he became eerily aware of the form in the center of the room. He looked up. The room was a complete circle, with wooden floors and walls tall windows lining here and there, showing a blackness outside that seemed to go on forever. Not much else was in the room other than what looked like a round table, and on it, every location Zane had been to made out in a small model.

The owner of the voice was tall and thin, elegant in various ways. As he moved, it was as though he were gliding. His hair was extremely long, resembling raven feathers, his eyes so dark one would assume they were black, but they flashed in the lights of various littered candles. His clothes almost resembled that of the woman Zane had left behind, long robes flowing as he walked, but this time, black and dark purple. They dragged the floor and seemed to move out of his way when he took a step. His pale face was softly angled, his hands long and carefully made, as if he were a statue someone had worked on for years. He moved forward, stopping in front of Zane and putting his hands on his face. "You're mine, now." He said, in a voice low and soft that resembled the tone of the disembodied one that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Zane wasn't afraid for what felt like the first time in quite a while. He smiled, and went forward, putting his arms around the owner of the voice. He was only somewhat surprised when the voice returned the gesture and tightened his grip. "You'll never be alone again." He said, in a tone so reassuring Zane felt tears run down his face. When he looked over to the windows, he saw them brighten somewhat, and for the first time could see a real sky, painted with violet and navy blue, and swatches of pink and red, signaling sunrise.