Cleanse

Dimmesdale’s first conscious sensation was of floating. He couldn’t feel the ground underneath his feet as he walked, couldn’t really feel much of anything. It didn’t very much surprise him – the world had that effect on him, now. He was numb to his surroundings, numb to his congregation, numb to everything save the terrible burning of his own immoral heart.

Yet… now, he felt not even that. He felt oddly… calm, oddly peaceful, as it were, as he wandered to the outskirts of Boston village, and into the forest.

He shouldn’t do this, he knew – the forest was the devil’s last preserve. No good man wandered the forest at will, no decent soul sought out such a heathen place.

But Dimmesdale did, for reasons unknown. His floating feet took him there, as of their own accord, into the sinful, evil forest. He looked about himself, curious as to why he was being compelled here, but the landscape offered no assistance. The scenery was oddly formless, a blurry tangled mass of green and trees and dappled cloud-cover that surrounded him as he wandered deeper.

It was a nice feeling, he reflected oddly, that found him here. How fitting that his tortured soul would at last find peace in the Devil’s house. He knew he was sinful, knew he was a failure in everything God wanted of him, but still… why had he come here now, in the middle of the day?

And then… he saw her.

Hester Prynne stood ahead of him on the path. Unlike their sylvan surroundings, she was clear to see – Dimmesdale could make out every crease in her bodice, every strand of her unbound raven hair. Her face was flushed, a breathless crimson that contrasted oddly with the verdant greenery. She said nothing, but her eyes were locked upon his own, and he felt that gaze tighten a vice around his heart. His breathing grew jagged, his palms grew damp and he felt as though he’d just been hit by lightning.

Hester Prynne was a flaming bolt, burning bright against the cool forest. Every detail about her was needle-sharp; painfully beautiful he saw her rosy lips, her rounded breasts straining against the bodice that confined them, the rough cloth faintly tightening and then loosening with every breath she took.

Oh, he needed her! He needed this woman more than he had ever needed anything in his entire life! He felt the sinful desire grow in him, and usurp his very soul, and then he was striding forward to press his trembling lips against hers and…

Dimmesdale awoke with a start to the darkness of the night. His rough shift chafed against him with each panting breath he took, clammy with sweat. Oh, this was wrong… it had only been a dream, but it was still wrong for a man of God to desire such things, even in dreams. He was already tainted, already evil, he didn’t need any more!

His body begged to differ with him, and ached for evil pleasure. He could still see Hester in his mind, her straining bodice, her scarlet lips…

Dimmesdale’s fists clenched around his bedsheets, trying to quell the urge, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough… he was weak, too weak. Oh, how he hated himself! He was supposed to be God’s instrument on this Earth, not a vessel for Satan! He wasn’t supposed to be like this!

He deserved to die, deserved to be smote into the very flaming depths of Hell for his actions. Oh, he deserved it, but it never seemed to happen…

He needed to be punished for this, though, he deserved some sort of penalty for the terrible sin of lust…

Without thinking, he departed from his bed, and headed to the secret closet in the wall. Pain is the cleanser…

He had no light, but he needed none – he knew the way well enough without it; it was easily familiar to him. Inside the darkened space, his fingers found the trunk and undid the locks without so much as a thought on his part. He withdrew the scourge, and raised it high, desperately needing this penance. She still burned brightly inside his head, a hedonist flame that scorched his heart.

Smack!

The stinging leather thongs struck the flesh of his back, the pain jerked his consciousness into this world, to the here and now, and away from sinful doings in the forest. But then… she returned, raven hair twining about her lithe shoulders as she urged him to come closer, to…

Smack!

And again it felt better, one brief instant of relief, before the aching sinful feeling returned to haunt him.

Smack!

Again, a mere second of reprieve before she was there again, and all the stinging pain in the world couldn’t tear his rapturous attention away from the call of her silken flesh…

Smack!

He continued on through the night, striking himself with the bloody scourge, trembling and sweating and half-dazed in his madness, until at last release – oh, sacred, sinful, wonderful release – came, and the little closet veritably reeked of sweat and blood and his own terrible lust.

He languished for a moment, upon shaking knees, staring blindly at his surroundings and knowing the situation with far too much familiarity, before he collapsed, and a blessed darkness overtook all.

FIN.

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Author’s note: I’ve never written anything this dark before! Waay out of character for me, but I loved the Scarlet Letter and as I read the part about the scourge the words just popped into my head, so there you have it! Please tell me your thoughts!