Jerry’s vivid blue eyes snapped open at the smell of the smoke which coiled past his blonde tousled hair. The ash wafted past his nostrils and he sputtered and choked as he rolled off the chair he had been dozing on. His class was empty. The students had run for the outdoors safety, leaving him to his own as he dozed through the initial flames. Not that he was surprised. His class were a bunch of spoiled brats. Still drowsy, sleep hanging off his eyelids, he swayed to the classroom door. He tried the handle, but snatched back his hand as the skin singed upon the molten metal. The glass had warped over the window frame and he feared that it would be too hot to cross. His senses sharpened as he realised the dire nature of his predicament. Jerry screamed for help, panic and fear welling up inside him at a frightening pace. He screamed and screamed, but as he cried and struggled and writhed and burned the floor above him fell. Down it came in a trail of smoke and ash, and it crushed his quivering form beneath it. He welcomed the darkness that came next.
Jerry’s eyes snapped to an impenetrable pitch, and he pondered if this was the afterlife. But as he got on his knees, he felt the ashes sift past his skeletal form. He lifted his head to stark white street lights and gentle breezes and realised this was no afterlife. Jerry looked back to see the ashen remains of the school, and the stumps of wood remaining. That must have been one hell of a fire… thought Jerry, slightly shaken by the fact that he, right now, was standing amidst the ashes in which he could’ve, should’ve, died in. He looked down to the mottled flesh and burnt skin that he was ashamed to call his own, and he cried inside. Only then did he see the silhouetted figure by one of the houses, watching him from the darkness beyond. Jerry frowned, or would have if he had any eyebrows left, and stepped closer. He noticed the figure waggling a finger at him, beckoning him to come closer. He walked towards the odd persona, curiosity tempting him further still. The figure, or man, it would seem, stood forward after a few seconds, and Jerry saw him in his full glory. He was a dapper man, in a sand-coloured suit with a crisp white shirt and a deep red tie. It was quite small for a tie, but that’s the only thing Jerry could liken it to. The man smiled a brilliant white smile.
“Do you know why you’re here?” said the stranger. Jerry shook his head.
“We saved you, Jerry. We saved you from death because you are an exceptional man.” Jerry felt flattered. He had never been complimented like that before.
“You deserve everything your little heart desires. Gold, women, feasts, happiness. We can give this to you Jerry. You really do deserve it.”
Jerry nodded eagerly. He would’ve spoken, but with vocal cords that had been curled and shrivelled, there really isn’t much he could say. The stranger drew a sheet of paper.
“All we ask of you is a small favour. Consider it a final good deed.”
His hand snatched out at the paper, but the stranger gripped his wrist and held him back. Jerry’s wide eyes quivered and his fingers drew to an unbearable close. Jerry could almost feel the grain of the paper between his fingers. Almost.
“Ah, not yet, Jerry. Don’t you want to know what the good deed is yet?”
Jerry shook his head. Madly.
Jerry held out his shaking hand for the pen, but the stranger drew a scalpel and cut off a bit of dead flesh from his rotting appendage. He jumped back, not from the pain, but from the shock. After all, it’s not everyday someone cut off some flesh from your hand, right? It dropped onto the sheet and spontaneously burst into flames, and Jerry jumped back for the second time in those few minutes. The man smiled. From his pockets he drew a cloak of black fabric which coiled in his hand, and a red satin bag filled with ashes.
“Sprinkle these ashes of your flesh over the eyes of the children, the children that never saved you. Let them feel the pain you felt as your body burnt, as your eyes charred. Once the ashes fall from your bones, and your bones gleam of ivory, you will be free of this penance, and you can have everything you ever wanted.”
Jerry frowned as the man turned to leave, still confused on one thing. He opened his mouth to say something, a speechless question of sorts, but he faltered. In those last few moments, he saw the clump of pristine white fabric, also known as his shirt. His shirt, but no tie. Through the gap in his shirt, Jerry saw the blood red flesh. Only then did he realise just what he had done.
The man just kept walking.
"Goodnight.”
The Devil smiled, and walked off into the shadows, leaving Jerry to his own.
And so Jerry began his life of solitude, forever wondering the back alleys of the village, alone. Every odd night, however, he found his way into a house. A house with a sleeping child. He would sprinkle his ashes over their eyes, where they sunk into their eyelids and the tears began to form as the darkness plagued their minds. He felt the flames take their minds captive, and he smiled an ashen smile. But sometimes he would drop some. It didn’t really matter, but people would find it the following day. They always mistook it for something else. They even thought it was a good thing, saying that it brought luck. But, of course, it was something much, much worse. Jerry almost found it funny how naïve people could be. They even gave him a name, a name that inspired hope into the hearts of people living in sadness.
They called him Sandman. Funny that.
—
Credits to: Mr_Halloween
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