In Hell, there is a place where people who have committed murder go to reside for eternity; it is titled the Seventh Circle. There, perpetrators are placed in the outermost ring, where they are immersed into a river (called the Phlegethon) of boiling fire and blood to the amount of sin they have committed. If any of these criminals attempt to get out or leave their position, they are shot with arrows; they are not ever allowed to leave. As I walked along this wretched river with Nessus, a centaur, I requested to talk to one of the poor souls. He granted permission, and I walked to the river. There were many I could have chosen, yet there was only one who caught my eye. He was a young man, who looked about twenty-five; his eyes were brighter than the pale blue moon itself and he carried a look of mystery on his face. I turned to Nessus and told him of whom I had chosen. Nessus called to him, and the pathetic being was brought out of the Phlegethon. It is here that I had him record his story in my binder.

I am Augustus Leroy Mallory. I was twenty-four and three quarters when my life was so cruelly taken from me. However, in all honesty I did deserve it. I caused many bad things to happen to people, although whether or not they deserved it is not for me to decide now, nor was it then. It all started in May of 1873. I was twenty-two, and life seem to hold many vivid successes. My job back then was a watchmaker, and since England always needed more of us, business was thriving. I worked with two men; one was my dear brother, Thomas Harold Mallory, the other a man the Devil himself considered a friend. His name was Cornelius James Obadiah. This man cheated his customers, lied to both my dear brother and I, and stole money from the business. Although I vastly despised him, I never did anything to harm him; I was not a fighter, murder, or the source of anything truly evil. I only focused on my job, my family, and my future; however, my entire outlook changed when Cornelius one day caused something absolutely dreadful to happen to my brother. I was just coming back to work from home, where I had gotten food for my brother and I. Just as I was crossing the street to go into the shop, I heard screaming and things being thrown. I sprinted into the building, where I found my brother lying on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from the head. I looked up to see Cornelius holding a broken mantel clock in his hands.
“You fool! What have you done?” I screamed at the destructive man.
“Well,” he bellowed, “the idiot just HAD to tell one of the customers that I have yet to fix his clock; now I’ve lost twenty pounds because of him!”
“You cheat! Thief! Fraud! Get out of my shop! Go fetch a doctor before I call the police!” I bellowed at Cornelius. Once he left, I bent down to help my poor baby brother.
“Tommy are you well?” I asked in almost a whisper. There was no reply. I ripped off my coat and dabbed at the blood that was like a waterfall. Once I had wiped the blood away, I tied a makeshift bandage onto his head. The doctor came soon after, and they took him to our home. Mother and Father were distressed, and although they did not blame me, I felt as if it was my own fault. This was my brother; he had followed me around when we were tots, raced with me down the cobblestone alleys as adolescents, and now  trusted me to have his back as a manager in work, and as a brother in life. However, I had failed him. I was the one who had hired Cornelius. It was I who refused to fire him, although dear Thomas had countless times tried to tell me otherwise. Although Cornelius was horrid, he knew what he was doing, and he could fix clocks faster than anyone. I was the reason Thomas was injured; I was the reason that my trusting baby brother could not see and became faint when he walked; that he no longer laughed and sang silly ditties. From that day on, my heart had changed. There were no more dreams, hopes, or schemes save for one. That lone idea was so horrendous that I was the only one who knew. I was going to murder Cornelius Obadiah, just like he had murdered my brother’s soul. I was going to have my revenge.

It is at this point that Augustus looked up at me, tears in his beautiful blue eyes. His pale face quivered, and  my heart went out to him.
“Can you do this?” I questioned.
“Y-y-yes…” He said. The man swallowed, brushed back his shaggy brown hair, and continued writing.

When the police came to investigate our “issue,” I falsely told them it was an accident: the mantle clock was bumped into by Cornelius and it fell on Thomas’s head. Since my brother didn’t want to talk about the event, and Cornelius didn’t want to go to jail, I was the storyteller and everyone believed my tall tale. I kept Cornelius on the job, so I could keep an eye on my victim. As I started planning his assassination, I became very paranoid. I almost never went out of my bedroom at home; minus when I went to see my brother. I would sit at my desk after I had done my filing for the day and plan every little part of my homicide mission. I rarely talked to mother and father; at the shop I was polite but distant from my customers. If they found out, my life was ruined. I could trust no one. Finally, the day had arrived. I woke up early, and left the house before my family was even awake. As I passed my brother’s room on the way out, I peeked in to find him peacefully sleeping. He would be proud of me. I was taking a cruel person out of this world, making it a better place. Right? In my head, my whole plan was considered a good deed for society; however, I started to regret what I had yet to do as time passed throughout the day. I kept looking at Cornelius at work, wondering if he had a clue about his unexpected end. My plan was to make his murder look like a suicide; people would believe that he took his own life out of depression; for he had “accidentally” injured Thomas, ruining my brother’s entire life. Wouldn’t that cause pain inside? I thought so. My plan was foolproof: I would get away with the murder and no one would care if he was gone, for he truly was a formidable man. It was about five o’clock, and I was just beginning to close up shop. I sent Cornelius home early, telling him that I was going to stay late and that he deserved a break. As soon as he was out of sight, I quickly locked up the building and chased after him. I tailed him until he went into his home. I then went back to my home and got all the supplies I would need. At midnight, I went back to the building Cornelius resided in. I cannot say exactly how I was able to get in, because I have blocked most of that night out of my head. From what I do remember, I snuck into Cornelius’ room and put a cloth up to his mouth. As I was doing this, fear stuck me from behind. I had goosebumps on my arm like those you receive when a cold breeze passes by on a warm day and only one question popped into my head: what if I was caught? However, before I could reconsider my plot, Cornelius passed out because of the lack of oxygen. I continued with my plan and set up rope and hung him. I checked for a pulse, and when there was none, I sat down on his bed. That was it. Cornelius was dead. I felt tears in my eyes and quickly wiped them. A murderer crying? I should be joyous, yet I was not. I just avenged my brother by murdering Cornelius. Then why didn’t I feel satisfied?

Augustus stops suddenly. He looks up at me and attempts to smile.
“I broke the pencil.” I laughed, and pulled another one out of my bag. He took it, smiled and thanked me, then continued writing. How could someone this nice be a killer? I did not know, and as I watched him write, I continued to ponder. He was so sweet, so kind, even a bit charming.  However, anger and grief can drive a man to a certain kind of madness, as was the case for Augustus.

Three weeks after I committed homicide, I stood in the middle of my room, confused. I was still so angry, so upset with Cornelius. Or was it Cornelius? Yes, he had caused this trouble, but then why was I still so irate? As I contemplated this, an idea occurred to me: I was not only mad at Cornelius for hurting my brother, I was angry at my brother as well. I was upset because he was not better. He suffered day and night, and brought pain upon my mother and father. I had to get rid of him as well. But how? I did not want to kill him quickly, for there was no way to pass it off as a suicide because he was physically very weak and could not do any self harm. Then how? I pondered this for a good while, and when it finally came to me, I was ecstatic. I would poison him. That would give me time to be with my dear brother, yet he would go sooner than natural death and give my parents and I peace. Or so I believed. I started bringing him cups of water that contained arsenic , as well as cooking his rice in the poison. Although I thought that this type of murder would not affect me like it did Cornelius’, I was very, very wrong. Now, I always felt like I was a fish out of water; in other words, I felt exposed. I was blatantly killing my brother in front of my parents. I felt embarrassed, angry, and depressed. My routine was always the same: get up, poison Thomas, go to work, come home, poison Thomas, and go to bed. I couldn't stop; I had to finish the job. Finally, after two years of torture, physically for my brother, and mentally for me, Thomas was close to death. On the day before he passed, I walked in, and I immediately felt like I was being punched in the gut. Thomas, my poor, dear baby brother, looked horrendous. I walked to his deathbed and sat down beside him.
“Augustus?” He asked in a whisper.
“Yes Tommy. It’s me.” I said, and started to choke up. What had I done?
“I just wanted to tell you that… that I forgive you.”
“Thomas, what in the world are you talking about?” I questioned.
“I forgive you for killing me. I know you have been poisoning me for awhile now. I don’t blame you. I am a burden for Mother and Father.” He whispered, his voice becoming even more faint and scratchy as he went on. I felt tears come into my eyes. This wasn’t how I had planned to say goodbye to the brother I murdered. This was not my plan.
“Tommy…” I began.
“Augustus…” He coughed and blood came up, yet he continued, “You are, and will always be, the best brother I have. Remember that, okay? I love you…” With that final statement, he coughed again, bringing up more blood. I called for mother, and ran out of the room without another word.

The next day, Thomas died. For the next few weeks I was in a daze. I rarely went to work, and I avoided my parents even more than before. I continued on with my sad, sad life until one day Death came for me. You see, there was a servant girl who had loved Thomas dearly, and had overheard our last conversation. Therefore, she was very angry with me; when I came home late one Tuesday evening, she stood outside the door with a mantle clock I had made for Thomas. I saw her, and did not fight back, for I knew I deserved what was coming. Now, here I am, writing my tale to a kind woman, and taking my time for I know when I am done, I will have to go into the lake again. However, since I have no more to write, I shall be going. Goodbye, and I hope that you remember my sad tale. Goodbye and God be with you.
~Augustus Leroy Mallory

I hear a thud at his point, and look up to see Augustus closing the binder. He hand it to me, shakes my hand, and with tears in his eyes walks dutifully walks back to the lake.
    “Thank you!” I called out. He turns and waves, attempting to smile as he walks into the Phlegethon. As I watch, the man takes his punishment without screaming or crying unlike the others here in the outer ring of the Seventh Circle. I feel tears well up into my eyes, and a small sob comes out of my mouth.
    “My lady, what is it?” Asks Nessus.
“Why does the world have to be so cruel?’”  I ponder out loud. The centaur does not reply, and guides me along to the next circle. Maybe Augustus did deserve what he received, or maybe the punishment was too light. I am not the one to decide. He could have gotten worse for betraying his brother, yet he didn’t. Either way, it was still horrible, and I was glad to leave the Underworld, although the memory of Augustus Leroy Mallory will stay with me, and hopefully with you, forever.