Travellers of the Hellworld by Charles Robertson word count: 416 #weeklywritingcontest @danielandangel

For thirteen-thousand-and-twenty-seven miles, I have travelled with Father—or so he claims, no land seems to be angled as it ought to be. Neither of us remember our true names, but we do maintain some vague memories of our lives before; I was a teacher of ... something, I am certain, and a cashier and a writer and a taxicab driver, in what order I am uncertain, though the latter of these had Father calling me Cabbie. His name, however, comes from his past as a man bound to Catholicism—he even maintained his crucifix necklace, and a Holy Bible, burnt to match his disfigured skin, when arriving to these eldritch planes. Upon my awakening, I had only one forearm, uncleanly torn off, it would appear. Alone and wearied, I wandered for anywhere between one and a millenia of days before encountering another living being. A Snapper, Father and I call what I saw then, for its great mouth is a battery of nine or so pinceresque beaks, snapping independently from one another. If not for Father warding off the beast for enough of a time that he could grab my extant hand and run, then I am unsure if I would be alive now, that is, if death is a phenomenon alive in these lands. When I asked him of where I am, he said only, 'welcome to Hell,' though I would sooner say the realm in which I exist is a place of despairity and monstrous evils, the daemonic forces of Hell would cower in fear. It is only now I have made a quill of sorts, from the fine, pointy tooth of Winged Whale, dying after great struggle from greatsword Father bares, and the axes I bare, made of steelesque metal stronger and sharper than any material I have encountered thus far. This battle is one we would most oft avoid at all costs, as we would for all the monstrosities, but it had us cornered within the depths of its pit. I am uncertain if either of us shall find a safe land to settle, or even other people for that matter, but writing as I do now, as I am certain I did once before, returns my mind to sanity for what few precious moments I have to few. And perhaps, in the future of this non-linear timeline, if I am to die, another traveller may find my writings, and be given the information to avoid what mistakes led to my demise.

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