Hell, Day 3
Santos and Savannah were waiting in a very long line, for the best gourmet food in all of the ten circles of Hell.
They were dressed to the nines.
Savannah was radiant in her black short dress, with her hair braided up, little gems on a gold chain weaved through her hair, and she loved her cute little black heels, with little wings on the side.
Santos, bold as usual, wore a green, sparkling suit. He needed to be the center of attention and was sure that since he was handsome, he could make anything look good. He was not wrong, but he still looked a bit silly, standing in the line with the other patrons, his face serious and impatient.
Savannah was grinning as she held onto Santos' arm, and they walked into Morning Star , after waiting a solid forty minutes in line. It was hard to get in, even harder without a reservation, but they had one, made months ahead of time.
Morning Star was dark and sultry on the inside. The chairs were made of black wood, the back of the chairs carved with ornate designs. The tables had different paintings on each, fitting the same theme of the chairs that were different for each table.
Their table was one of the best in the house, perfect for privacy.
It was on the second floor, in a little nook. A little red candle in a glass bowl illuminated their table, the light bouncing off of the polished table. Their table had a painting of something odd: a large bug, a locust.
The back of the chairs had trees and flowers carved into the wood, bushes, and trees. They sat across from each other, finally happy to have a good meal, after a long time of….
Santos tried to remember what had been so hard for him to want a good meal. He couldn't remember. He smiled, and looked at the menu, telling himself it wasn't something to worry about.
"I think we should get the Blood Red Tomato soup for the appetizer," Savannah said.
"Yeah, why not? I can't decide anyway, everything looks delicious."
They were both pleasantly surprised that the waiter came over to them, not forgetting them in their little secluded space. Savannah placed her hand across the table and reached out to him, and Santos held her hand, happy to oblige.
"I'm so happy we get to spend our anniversary here," Savannah said.
"I could be anywhere as long as I'm with you," he whispered.
They flirted with each other until their two orders of Blood Red Tomato soup came in. They dug in, loving the unique taste. Something was different about this soup, and Santos couldn't tell what gave it that special kick .
He balked when he noticed there was a fly in his soup.
" Fuck."
The waiter came back immediately when he noticed that his guests weren't eating, and he asked them what was wrong.
"There's a fly in my soup," Santos shouted. "This is dumb! You can't even check before you send it out?"
"Don't be so hard on him, this restaurant is so busy," Savannah said.
"I want to talk to a manager," Santos shouted.
The waiter muttered a quick yes sir and scurried off to find him. Santos was irate, his special day with his wife ruined, and he had lost his appetite. Savannah told him it was fine, and that they could leave and go someplace better.
"I'm just upset because I wanted today to be perfect for you," he sighed.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Let's just return the food and go home."
The manager turned the corner as they were about to leave, and Santos shuddered in disgust. The manager wore a name tag, that said, Milton. Milton wore a red shirt, black pants, large black-rimmed glasses, and a shit-eating customer service smile.
Milton was a handsome man, pleasant and friendly, and asked them how he could make it better.
Santos looked him up and down as he held his nose. He recognized Milton, but he didn't know from where. He didn't need much prodding to know what he smelled though.
"You smell like shit, " Santos said.
Savannah smelled it too and didn't want to be rude, so she whispered to Santos that they should just leave.
"You can't leave," Milton said.
When he opened his mouth, the smell of feces was even stronger, and Savannah gagged, trying to keep down what little soup she ate inside of her. Santos took her hand and tried to lead her out of the restaurant.
They turned another corner, and there stood Milton, waiting for them patiently.
"You can't leave."
Milton smiled and approached them, his smile stretching farther and farther, skin ripping and tearing against the force of it all. Blood poured out of his mouth, his eyes fell out, with a soft shlop, and he made his way towards them.
"Let me make it up to you," Milton said. "No one leaves here hungry."
Santos held his wife close and promised that it would be fine.
"I love you, and-"
Santos looked at Savannah and then let go of her, shivering in disgust, not at Milton, but himself. Savannah was not his wife, he was not her husband, and the suit was really horrible.
"Please don't tell me we kissed," Santos asked.
"I… why wouldn't we? You're my husband," Savannah replied.
"Ah fuck. Here we go again, this is a trap, isn't it?"
Milton's hands were behind his back as we walked towards them, and he stopped right in front of them, still smiling, wanting to give the best service. He brought his hands out, and he held a plate of the best food Morning Star had to offer.
Savannah screamed, and grabbed Santos's arm, as she looked at the meal.
It was her hand.
She knew it was her hand, because like everyone else in the Defense Program, she had her own Ring of Fealty. It was still on her hand, sparkling in the dim light. Savannah screamed louder and looked at her right arm.
Pain she never had was there, her hand gone, her blood pouring onto the ground like a bucket. She continued to scream, and let go of Santos' arm. She fell to the ground, the terror overwhelming, the fear stronger than her pain.
Santos took two long strides over to Milton, and tore his head off, gripping his brown hair. He dropped the head, and covered his mouth, as flies poured out of his body, filling up the room and buzzing around, landing on the table, the corpse, and Savannah's hand.
Savannah sobbed on the floor, and Santos calmly picked up her dismembered hand. He placed it onto her wrist, and little stitches of blood sewed her hand back on, as the room trembled and shook.
Everything is fine, the walls whispered. Nothing is wrong.
"Everything is wrong," Savannah sobbed. "Everything is not fine!"
She made the mistake of opening her mouth, and the flies, in one cohesive unit, went for her mouth, filling up her stomach and distending it. They poured into her body, and quickly Santos pulled her out of the swarm and carried her over his shoulder.
She threw up as Santos ran through the once-bustling restaurant, now vacant, and still, devoid of noise and life. It was not quiet, it was empty, still, and perfect as a picture. Santos couldn't remember where the exit was and tried to calm himself while Savannah retched flies and blood onto the back of his green suit.
He walked down a hallway, and again, Milton was there.
Everything was fine, nothing was wrong, as Milton was back to his usual self, wearing his red shirt, black pants, large black-rimmed glasses, and shit-eating customer service smile.
"No one leaves hungry," Milton said. " No one."