And hell welcomed me
By Kwelio Largo
The hottest smelting furnace, the largest imaginable conflagration of heat and destruction, is nothing compared to the unquenchable fire in a place of everlasting punishment.
Torment in body, soul and mind in accordance to past sins, transgressions and nature. Committed, thought and spoken, the amount of truth rejected.
God’s punishment, severe, everlasting, unforgiving, terrifying and all consuming. Where death is the doorway and the past cannot remain buried forever.
There are ultimately, worse fates than death!
ALL HOPE ABANDON, YE WHO ENTER HERE.
Forward
I opened my eyes…
Pain hit me.
Ferocious. Blinding hot pain. Indescribable, intense and continuous.
My fingers. My toes. My arms. My body….nothing! I could feel nothing but the solid wall of pain. I opened my mouth to scream and choked on the evil, obnoxious smell. My mouth, my tongue, throat and lungs were seared immediately. My senses were overwhelmed. Noise. Like being in the center of an atomic bomb explosion, No. Ten thousand atomic explosions.
Screams, begging and curses. Unending and uninterrupted. I tried to run. I tried to breathe. I tried to scream again but there was no air in my lungs. They pumped, begging for the life-giving substance that just was not there. And that which was-was so foul that my desperately begging lungs refused to accept it. That which grudgingly entered was so scorching hot it added to the unimaginable pain the rest of my body endured.
Time.
There was no time.
No day. No night, just unending screaming pain
There was only heat. Heat and pain and hellish noise. I could not think. I could not cry out for help. I tried to scream. I tried to breathe. I tried to get the hell out of this place.
Something happened and my sight came back. Just before my eyeballs charred to black cinders once more, I saw a sight that would forever be engrained in my over-taxed and fearful mind; people, thousands, millions of people all around me. Flames, fire and black billowing smoke rising to forever-darkened heights.
Only after countless comings and goings of my sight and only after how many hours or days or weeks or years was I able to understand; I WAS IN HELL
The orange and red glow of the flames rose to fifty, 100 times the height of the tallest man-made structures. Below me was molten rock that charred and burnt my feet to the bone. On all sides were men and women fighting each other to escape the inescapable. Black and white and brown. All nationalities from all corners of the world. Screams reverberated in many languages. Curses rose to stinking foul heavens. Flames roared as from a bellows all around me and I cried out in fear and anguish.
There was no release. There was no letup.
Thirst was multiplied.
Fear. Pain. Noise. Toxic foul air. Fire and molten rock. Unending screams. The fighting and clawing peoples jam-packed trying to get on top of each other so as to get out of the molten fire beneath. Scrabbling and scrambling I lost my footing like countless times before and as my clutching, charred and scorched hands were brushed aside, I went down under the weight of scrabbling multitude to be trampled into the glowing molten rock.
The sheer walls of this molten, fiery pit were glassy smooth, so implausibly high that none could even dream of getting out. The walls ascended into the heights, dismissed by every suffering, begging and foulmouthed individual who had better things to do than stare up at the impossible canyon walls so far apart.
How long it took to get up on my feet I cannot say. What I can say is that I burnt. There was no difference between the molten rock and the flames given off. They were both equal in intensity and magnitude. I burnt with greatness so profound, to an extent indescribable. There was no up or down. There was nowhere better than the next. All there was, was blazing, roasting heat and enduring physical pain.
Once more something entered my over exhausted and fatigued mind; malevolence. It permeated this foul place. Malice and evil abounded.
Screaming from fear and pain, I climbed on top of some unknown person to escape, only to be grabbed by countless, mindless hands to be in my turn, jerked and pummeled to the molten floor once more. Every extremity. Every internal organ. Every part of my cursed body endured undreamed of pain and agony.
Please let it stop. Please let it end.
The emotional distress, agony and torture. The struggle to breathe the toxic, poisonous air.
The ever present pain of my flesh peeling off in bubbling swathes, was nothing compared to the knowledge that slowly entered into my fearful, apprehensive mind;
I WAS GOING TO BE HERE FOREVER
Chapter 1
Hell is only a word
Reality is much, much worse!
The CheyTac .408 round entered the marks forehead. And just like the five watermelons I had tested on previously, it burst open with a shower of blood and gore. The mark was dead and hadn’t seen it coming.
Unfortunately for the female pedestrian four meters behind him, the heavy round designed for accuracy by a balance of the rotational and linear drag, passed through the target and proceeded to lodge in her right hip. As the slightly malformed round hit her, she twirled like a top and slammed into the pavement face first.
I swore. Damn pedestrians wherever one looked. The hit was time sensitive. From the high profiled and even more highly securitized office building to the black bullet proofed Limousine to the heavily security conscious estate that bragged of its ultramodern and futuristic home protection technology, this was the only way I could conceivably get past his bodyguards and at the mark. And that over a distance of just over 1000 meters! Mentally clapping myself on my back for a job well done, I quickly removed the US Optics SN-9 day sight from the CheyTac Intervention sniper rifle. Folding up and packing the Vector laser range finder came next. Opening a mat black carry case, I placed each in its specially designed holding slot and clamped them down. Closing the lid, fingering the spent cartridge casing, I looked around my immediate surroundings. Normal. Clean as a whistle.
“My boss is impressed,” the voice said over the phone. “He would like a meet.”
“Nope. Not interested.” I said. Taking a last sip of a very flat coke. Pulling a face of disgust, I dumped the empty can into a rubbish bag on the front passenger seat of a non-descript Chana Star mini-van. The damn thing had a top speed of 120 km per hour – downhill. On the open road I could easily reach 80 but struggled like hell to top 100. Then again, what can one expect from a 1000cc motor carrying all this body around?
“I don’t think you understand chum. Nobody says no to the boss man.” The tiny voice said over the cheap cell phone I held to my ear. Damn. I had to clutch the phone between my ear and left shoulder so as to gear down because of a slight rise. The phone was slipping, my eyes dancing about looking for the inevitable traffic cops hiding in the bushes alongside the roadway. It wouldn’t be advisable to be caught out while driving and talking over a cell right now. Not this soon after a hit. The damn cheapy phone had no speaker system so I had to go the logical and safer route. I pulled over on a slight decline, making sure I was over a meter from the asphalt. The decline would help when I pulled away so as to garner enough speed to rejoin the traffic.
“Ok Buddy. Let’s get things straight between us,” I said. “Like I told you in the beginning; no meets. You are the go-between. You! Nobody else. Just you and me and the airwaves. You hired me. You pay me. We are done. You have another job for me? You know the channels to follow. We don’t meet. Never. Now I’m dumping this crappy phone and will notify you as to the new number in a day or so…”
“My boss has…”
“Not interested. Follow the channel I gave you, then we can talk. Right now I got better things to do.” Killing the call I flipped the phone upside down, removed the sim-card and flicked it towards the road where it was immediately ridden over by a semi. A savage twist of the wrists and the cheapy was in pieces and in the ever present rubbish bag.
“Now then,” I mumbled to myself. “Let’s see if we can get you up to speed,” I said to the Chana as I pulled away.
Chapter 2
Hell.
A single truth,
Seen too
Late
As if I were not suffering enough in this godforsaken place, a new horrific pain sliced through my back, chest and left side and I was bodily jerked out from amongst the seething masses of suffering, screaming, blaspheming humanity.
Was this a heart attack my mind screamed as my body jerked to and fro like a marionette puppet?
With mouth wide open and uttering screams of anguish at the incredible pain, I hardly noticed that I was rising slowly up through the scorching, bellowing flames. Up and up I went writhing in unimaginable pain. Trying to breathe noxious overheated air. Trying to breathe, trying to scream. It was difficult to think. My thoughts strayed from one thing to another. Sometimes no thoughts entered my mind at all.
Just the pain. That was always there.
The unending pain.
Of a sudden, the burning was gone!
The massive back and chest pains were still there though. I gasped in the luxury of not being in that forbidding hellish flame pit. The air was still a noxious, toxic and overheated substance my lungs rebelled against but at least it did not come with the furnace like heat.
My sight returned to its fullness, not that it helped much as it was darker than dark here except for the glow of flames reflecting of thousands and more thousands of disgusting, nightmare creatures crawling, hopping or running wherever one looked. Some slithered up the cavern walls, some down. Each it seemed had somewhere to be. Most dragged along screaming humans, male or female, the old or the young. All were naked. All were fearful, screaming, begging for forgiveness or cursing. From begging to cursing to screaming, that too, never stopped.
Bodily pain started to fade as my physical form regenerated abused organs, bones and flesh. The enormous back and chest pain stayed with me as my body floated over an evil and dark landscape. A landscape of utter nightmare. Fire and brimstone wherever I looked. Millions upon millions of humans screaming, clawing, begging. People by the thousands being boiled alive. Many more thousands being torn apart piece by piece by creatures from nightmares only to regenerate and have it all start over. There were tortures I couldn’t even grasp. Hundreds and thousands of people were standing as if statue like. Nothing happening to them. Just standing in one spot with only their eyes jerking back and forth in abject pain and terror. Then there were those that were trying to eat from oversized spoons twice their own body length. The food looked like decayed flesh covered in maggots. Why they were punished this way or why they would want to eat that crap in the first place was anybody’s guess. What I do know is that this form of punishment was just as bad if not worse than where I had come from. Women having their nails cut out with sharp blades. Men and women skinned alive.
My mind slowly came back from the dark recesses it had tried to hide in and where it had failed miserably. Glancing down to my chest I saw three massive claws protruding from it. My listless and bobbing head moved just enough for my eyes to catch the sight of two more claws sticking out my left side, one had erupted out of my side just below my armpit while the other had exited my left arm just below the socket. Because of the curved nature of the huge sickle like filthy looking claws, my numbed arm was effectively pinned to my side.
I tried mightily to lift my head but fear and pain collectively defeated that notion. Struggling to breathe. With a throat so parched no amount of water could quench, I stared in fascination at those long, filthy jagged claws. It slowly penetrated my mind that the creature that had a-hold of me must be huge. The errant thought vanished as, of a sudden; I was hoisted up in the foul, rancid, toxic air and bodily heaved over a precipice!
I fell.
Oh god. How long that fall was.
Flames, searing heat hit at me almost instantly. Once more I was in the furnace heat. Yellow and orange and blue flames all about me. Black, toxic smoke billowed. The heat was so incredible that my skin bubbled and turned black. Whole sections sloughed off. My sight went almost immediately. I tried to breathe. I tried to scream.
I tried … dear god I tried …
And then I wasn’t falling no more!
I had arrived at my destination if one could call it that.
If I had for one moment believed that the fiery pit where the molten rock reached my ankles was the best hell could deliver, I was sorely mistaken. Hell has many different levels of pain, torture and punishment. This place I was in was going to be but one of many as I was to discover.
I arrived with a large splash of molten rock and was immediately forced down by the weight of countless writhing, screaming bodies. Tremendous pain erupted all over me. I breathed in molten rock. It entered my nostrils, my mouth, my eye sockets and ears, my anus. It scorched my flesh away to the bone which immediately regenerated to be burnt away again and again and again.
Somewhere somehow, I had gotten to my feet. Just how I had managed I cannot say. But the ability to be on my feet was of no consolation as unlike the pit I had been in before, this was a lake. A fiery furnace of molten, golden yellow and orange colored swirling liquid that reached above my head. I was forced to fight continuously those around me. I fought non-stop. I fought without thought or consideration of any. I fought tooth and claw. I fought to stay above the lake of fire. I fought and lost. Going down I fought to get up. Getting up I fought to stay up. There was no release. No letup.
Chapter 3
Then He will say to those on his left, “Depart from me, you
Who are cursed,
Into the eternal fire prepared for the
Devil and his angels
The thud on the front door woke me from a fitful sleep. I yawned loudly. Morning already?
Getting up was never a problem for me. Sudden wakefulness and rising were so ingrained I never thought much about it. The Glock clutched in my right hand was just as automatic. Grabbing a pair of shorts, I drew them on – I hated sleeping with any sort of clothing on, I walked to the front door and opened it, there on the front porch steps was a plastic wrapped newspaper that had rebounded off the front door. Damned idiot just had to aim for the door. Then again, better not to piss the bugger off as it may be a window next time. I grunted in the early morning cold as I retrieved the paper. Coffee would go down well about now. Taking a last searching look around, I noticed nothing out of the ordinary. No skulking figures under lampposts. No window tinted vehicles parked on the curb two blocks away. No early morning joggers. All fine on the western front it seemed.
Sitting down on a kitchen chair, I unwrapped the paper while sipping at the piping hot coffee. Seemed some idiot of a lawyer had made it to the front page. A glaring photograph of some middle aged gent with a good looking broad at his side. Probably his wife I thought. A photograph insert of another woman – his mistress I surmised. Love tri-angle. I sniggered, paging over until I came to the business section. My eyes following my forefinger until I found the “Employment Wanted” section. Sifting through the countless requests for work of all descriptions I finally found what I was looking for;
“WANTED!!!
A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN TO DO ADD JOBS AROUND THE HOUSE!! NO CHANCERS!
CONTACT: BEN @ 021 ….”
I checked carefully once more. Each letter was capitalized. The exclamation marks; 3 then two then one. The single letter spelling mistake. I looked around for the ever-present cheapy. There by the kettle. I got up to retrieve it and dialed the number; “The number you have dialed is incorrect. Please redial….” I cut it short and looked at the number on the advert again. Substitute the last four digits with the first three and …
“It’s me,” I said. Taking another sip of coffee. It had cooled down a bit. Not much but just enough to take a larger sip than before.
“A certain package has been left at uhhh …,” the voice on the other side said. I could hear a rustling on the other end as if paper was being crinkled. “Do we have to go through this shit every time we do this?” the voice bitched.
“We do if you want to conduct business with me.” I said
“Fuckit. Ahh. Here it is … he started reading off coded letters that I wrote down with a pencil on the margin of the newspaper.
“That’s it?” I asked
“Yeah. That’s the lot.”
“Got you. Next time use Zulu-Foxtrot-X-ray indicators to find your master key for any further communications, I will supply you with next week’s keys at the place mentioned.” I killed the call before he could answer. Now for a shower. A nice long shower.
Pretoria.
I hated cities. Too many people. Too many vehicles. Too many buildings. The traffic was a bugger to drive in. everybody was in a rush to get wherever they were going to. Taxis were the worst. Let me rephrase that last part; Taxis and the Metro Police. It was a tossup between who was worse. Damned idiots got their drivers licenses out of lucky – packets from the 1800’s. I drove to the address I had decoded. I drove past, ignoring the grey dilapidated residential building. Damned traffic. Ten am and traffic was backed up to the hilt. Taxis double parked with emergency flickers on. People getting in and out of them. Blaring horns as frustrated drivers were caught unawares by this sudden callous disregard to traffic rules and regulations. The ever present Metro Police nowhere to be found. Traffic moving in a jerky fashion. I sighed. At least there was no rush from my side. Moving my arse into a more comfortable position, I prepared myself for a long wait. Twenty minutes later I had only moved about eight meters when I spied a side road on my left. Indicators on I crept towards it and took myself out of the immediate area. I found some underground parking five blocks away. Paid the attendant an extra ten bucks to make sure my old Chana Star did not suddenly develop the means to vanish and promised him ten more when I came back.
Collecting my package was as simple as one, two, three.
Walking back to my vehicle was another matter as two blocks from the underground parking lot, I had for some reason developed a tail that wasn’t very good at his job. I ducked into a dimly lit shop and was assaulted by smells I had never before come across. Not incense. Something more … exotic?
“Can I help you?”
I looked up and saw a black lady staring at me with an inquisitive expression. I noted the three young black men sitting around on the floor sorting and sifting through different colored tree bark, roots and sticks. There were countless bottles of either black or red liquid stacked haphazardly amongst the array of … muti! A muti shop. This was a shop that catered for black people and their traditional African herbal medicine. I doubted anything was for black magic though one never knew. Traditional medicine was something one could get at your local pharmacy, except that here it was sold in its original, raw form.
I immediately felt uncomfortable. “Just looking,” I mumbled, eyeing the glass fronted shop. My tail was peering into the shop and spied me. We looked each other in the eye and his got huge when they dropped to my waste where my Glock was visible in its quick draw holster. He ducked back and disappeared into the traffic.
Probably a guy looking for an easy mark, I thought. Leaving the shop without looking back. My trip to the underground parking was uneventful after that. Just the way I like things; normal.
Something about the contents of the file bothered me. I was sitting in my kitchen basking in the afternoon sunlight that streamed in through the open windows.
I could have sat in the lounge but then there was no sunlight to be had. The kitchen table was strewn with documentation, photographs and information on the mark. To one side, R50 000 lay in small denominations. Half up front and the next half on delivery of the contract.
I scanned the documentation once more; Mark Twain – go figger that one out. Address given. 32 years of age. Married 17 years. Two kids. Benjamin or Bennie for short. 5 years old. Margareta or Margie for short. 7 years old.
The Primary schools name and address. What times they left from home. Who drove them there and picked them up afterwards. Even what was normally on the sandwiches taken by both. Sandra. Housewife. 31 years old. Blonde. Weight; 76 kilos. Liked floral dresses and jeans. Last and only work description; waitress. Work place; Golden Canyon Spur Steak Ranch.
Mark Twain. Hair black. Short cropped. Weight; 107 kilos. Construction Supervisor. Employed by Shepstone Construction PTY(ltd) for the last 9 years. Contact details and address given. Vehicle: 2001 Toyota Corolla Sprinter. Eggshell Yellow.
I glanced through the six post card sized photographs of the couple taken in shopping malls and at church gatherings. One depicting the mark in a white hardhat and a grey suit smiling at the camera while surrounded by other suites.
Nothing untoward. Everything normal. Just the way I liked things.
So why was I getting this idea that something was off?
I checked the time, glanced at the mess on the table again and pondered the situation. I never asked questions before. I took the money. Did the job. Went onto the next one. I was good at it. Very good. A professional trained by the old SANDF as a sniper then a stint of formidable training with the SAS. Did a few black ops here and there in countries that were hot and dry. NEVER married thank you lord. I was a professional and prided myself that I could get the job done no matter what.
But this. This was different. Something was screwed up. It was just too normal and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt about life, it was Murphy’s law. Murphy said that if something can go wrong, it bloody well has already!
Time I think, to get some of my own snooping done.
I had four days to kill.
It turned out that the mark was an everyday-joe kinda guy. Nothing I could pin on him. No gambling debts. No hidden mistress. No royal oats running about. Just an everyday normal kinda guy trying to make ends meet.
The wife on the other hand, to my way of thinking, was damn lucky to catch such a man. She too had no previous major or even minor transgressions. So just what the hell was going on here? I started checking the backgrounds of close family and acquaintances and came up with – nothing! The odd one or two had small skeletons in the cupboard I dug out, but nothing major or news worthy. Nothing surely to go out of their way to spend so much cash so as to put Mark Twain six feet under.
I glanced at the bartender over the counter, indicated a refill and turned in the barstool and watched as a couple got up from their table and hand in hand, shuffled through the small conversing crowd that stood about with drinks in hand. A slow waltz had just started and the couple moved to the dance floor. I watched as the two only seemed to have eyes for each other. Holding hands. Lovingly caressing each other with minor unnoticed fingers or lips. These two made me wonder if just maybe, just maybe I was missing out on something?
I turned back to the bar as my drink arrived. Paid for it and left without drinking so much as a sip.
A vehicle pulled into the driveway. Headlights flashed through slightly parted lounge curtains. Sitting comfortably in a straight-backed kitchen chair, I slowly fondled the large Boerboel head draped over my lap. In the semi-dark I watched its eyes as it trustfully looked into mine.
The only light now came from a soft glowing night-light in the furthest corner. I had arrived some time before, made friends with the large dog, moved a kitchen chair to a corner occupied by an indoor plant, repositioned it out of the way and placed a small coffee table in front of me where a silenced 9mm pistol of undetermined make and design rested. Key in the door. The Boerboel chuffed and wagged its tail as it rushed towards the front door. Lights came on. Voices of deep affection and welcome as both animal and humans greeted each other. Footsteps coming closer. “Hope you didn’t leave a landmine again Buster?” a male voice asked affectionately.
“If he did then you will have the honors,” a soft female voice laughingly said. “I smell nothing but one can never be s…”
She stared at me in horror. Her eyes huge. Both hands clasped over each other and raised to her mouth in shock as at the same time the man squeezed past her, his right hand stretched out for what looked like a television remote lying on a small table in the middle of the carpeted floor. He turned his head in surprise as he finally noticed me sitting quietly in the corner pointing a very large silenced weapon in his direction. ‘Buster,’ sauntered over and licked the fingers of my right fist that clasped the butt of the pistol. I ignored the dog and motioned with it to the dumbfounded couple. “Sit,” I commanded softly. “Move. Shout or scream and you die,” I shrugged. “It’s your decision. My way and you may live through this.”
“Who…?” the man started. Some life coming into his eyes.
My weapon moved to cover his wife. “Your decision is to have your wife die?” I asked tonelessly.
Shoulders dropped. Abject terror entered his eyes as his palms came up, fingers splayed. “Please! No!”
“Then sit. Both of you. There.” I motioned to a couch across from where I was seated.
Quietly. Nervously, they glanced at each other. The woman nodded and stretched out her hand. It was clasped by the mans and they sat close to each other staring silently at me while ‘Buster’ the large Boerboel, twirled around almost like chasing his tail, huffed and lay down at their feet. Head lowered to paws, he stared at them.
I watched the two adults and considered my next move. Should I or shouldn’t I? That be the question. A matter of two squeezes and it would be over.
Collateral damage aside, the job would be over and I could collect my outstanding fee.
My eyes never left theirs as I I came to some internal decision. Just how that happened is up for conjecture as I slowly lowered the pistol and placed it softly onto the coffee table. The business end pointed in their general direction.
“For what its worth, you do not die this evening,” I said softly. “But that does not mean that somebody else may step up to the plate and completes the contract.”
“OUR CHILDREN…?” Sandra Twain started.
“Still safe and sound exactly where you dropped them off this evening. The Groenewalds take good care of them. I watched her body language and saw her facial muscles relax. Her body posture eased and she was close to relaxing back into the couch. Close but not completely.
“Please”, Mark Twain gushed, “If you are not going to kill us, then why …?”
“There is no why”, I stated. “There just is. I would advise you to relocate tonight. Get away and stay away. Do not come back to fetch anything. Take what you can in as short a time as possible, collect the kids and disappear.” I got to my feet while watching their every move.
“For whatever reason, there is a contract out on you,” I softly stated to Mark Twain. The surprise he showed was interesting. The look he gave his wife and the shrug said that this man was completely in the dark.
“Why would …?” A frowning Sandra asked but once again stopped as I chipped in.
“There is no why. There just is. Whatever the reason, you life is now forfeit. You. Your children’s. Your friends and family.” I bent down and picked up the deadly weapon from where it lay. Slowly I untwisted the long silencer and pocketed it while placing the weapon in its spring loaded shoulder holster and patted ‘Buster’ on the head again as he rubbed against my legs.
“Our dog likes you.”
I smiled at Sandra Twain as she stared accusingly at the creature. “Animals have an affinity to me. Its people that are not trustworthy.”
“He should have ripped you apart. I don’t understand. He’s been trained.”
I looked at the dog, “Buster! Sit!”
The dog obediently sat and stared at me. Its short stumpy tail wagged on the carpeted floor. “Enough. Your time is up.” I looked at them both once more, “Tonight. Tomorrow morning. Next week. One or both of you will be dead. Your children will either be collateral damage or handed to family or welfare. You decide.” I turned my back on them and walked to the back door through the kitchen. I did not need to look for a key or struggle to let myself out. That certain problem had been sorted out straight after I arrived.
Does this mean I had already decided to let them live? Before they even arrived? I stopped on the pavement and thought about that for a few seconds as my eyes jumped about looking for anything suspicious.
Nada. Nothing. Everything quiet on the Western front. Normal. Just the way I liked it.
Chapter 41130Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEDjw9EaDX3
1130Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF5mdUNfEmQ
Every seeker can start over. For his life’s mistakes are initial drafts and not the final version
– Sri Chinmov
This place called Hell has no words that could describe it to ones satisfaction.
It just is.
It exists only as a torment. To both humans and the creatures here. Do they also suffer like we do? I cannot say. Do they feel the heat and burn and feel the pain as we do? I cannot say. What I can say though, with absolute certainty; is that they hate us. Hate on the other hand is too simple a word to describe their contempt and utter malevolence towards us. They do what they do because they detest and abhor everything about us. They loathe us with an intense hostility that is manifested in every torture and sadistic pleasure they derive from our painful screams of utter desolation and fear. Do they eat? Do they have sundowners or relax in front of the television after a hard day at the work place? I cannot say. What I can say though, is that they enjoy their gruesome unholy work.
Once again, I cannot say just how long I was in the lake of everlasting pain. Just how long and hard I fought to not be totally, completely, immersed in that molten godforsaken broth of hellfire. A day? A week or a year? Two years? Ten?
Time has no meaning here.
Time is something of the past. Time is of no consequence when you are in hell. Time is also something that is in abundance in a place that stretches out over a wide, blacker than black cavernous area. Only the furnace like flames break the inky darkness. Only the cursed flames penetrate the unnatural evil night. Shadows dance across glassy smooth high walls and evil countenances. Countless millions of evil creatures scuttled, crawled or slithered about countless passageways while dragging or torturing screaming deranged humans.
Somewhere, somehow, I landed up being hauled out of that indescribable lake. I screamed and begged to no one, to everyone. My screams joined those of countless billions and rose forever upwards into the smoke filled darkness as I was nailed upside down against the black glassy wall of some passage. I was ripped apart in a never ending process by those evil creatures. Some with scales, some with spiky manifestations. Some with tough leather-like skin covered in suppurating evil smelling puss. All had teeth though. Teeth and claws. All had one desire only. The continuous, unrelenting deliverance of pain. Their hate and disdain for me was like something I had never before seen or felt. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was lost. Hearing and feeling my arms and legs break and heal. Splinter. Heal. Skin torn to shreds. Heal. Chest and stomach ripped open with internal organs splattering over my upturned face to be trod on or pulled viciously out of my writhing pain wracked body. Heal.
To breathe the toxic overheated air is like one trying to breathe ammonia fumes. Just millions of times stronger. To scream without air in ones lungs when those same lungs were violently ripped from your living torso and eaten with much gusto, is like having double pneumonia only a million, billion times worse.
I couldn’t breathe though somehow, painfully I did. I couldn’t scream but found a way to. Pain, the one constant factor. Never once relenting. Never once gaining a threshold. New ways and means to elicit more and more.
I was just one of millions upon millions who voiced their chilling, torturous anguish to the uncaring menace filled heights.
Suffering many more physical and mental torments than I would ever know how to describe, my agony and suffering suddenly, wondrously, came to an end!
I stood whole in body and mind. I stood shaking, begging and crying. Trying to breathe the noxious, contaminated and overheated air. I stood alone, shivering in fright and dread, waiting for the commencement of the next phase.
Lifting my weary head as hunger and thirst rushed through me in continuous unremitting waves, my eyes caught a small bright light approaching. About me crawled and slithered, scuttled and hopped the myriads of evil, menacing creatures. Though they were all about me, none touched me. Not a scrape of claw, teeth or spine came near me.
Hope flared!
Who or what was coming towards me?
Was this going to be a prelude to worse than I had endured? Looking about me at this place I wondered how long forever was going to be and shivered in abject fear and self-pity.
Chapter 5
[When it comes to God] We can't run out of second chances...
only time.
-Robin Jones Gunn
I’ve mentioned before that I hate cities?
Well Johannesburg is the worst. The top of my list. Can’t stand the place. A cosmopolitan city with people from all walks of life. Every nationality. The original rainbow city.
My problem is not with the city per-se, it’s with its people!
Every day, twice a day at least, all these thousands and thousands of nice ordinary people climb behind the steering wheels of their vehicles and become thousands and thousands of Schumacher’s. Traffic signals are to be ignored. Crossroads, speed limits and basic traffic laws are for the peasants to adhere to and in Jo’burg? Their aint no peasants residing in Jo’burg. Only reincarnated Schumacher’s!
I was in the part of Jo’burg which looks really rundown. All cities have one or more areas that look similar.
Approaching the Diamond Exchange – I had decided to invest in some blue white ice as they hardly if ever depreciate in value – when I smelt smoke. My eyes darted to the dash of my Chana and saw a faint wisp of darkness rise up against the inside of the windscreen so I did what all Jo’burgers seem to get away with, I double parked without indicating so damn quickly that I heard the guy behind me blaring away on his horn.
Grabbing my passport I jumped out of the vehicle and moved away to a safe distance of ten meters and turned to look back at the old girl. Well, let me put it into perspective, I at least tried to. I had probably only covered about six or seven meters with the odd backward glance when my vehicle erupted loudly into a flaming ball of destruction and shrapnel. The shock wave picked me up and slammed me into something unforgiving.
I lay like a rag doll, both ears immediately on strike. A faint high pitched zinging sound in my brain. Sluggishly my mind tried to assimilate the ferociously burning vehicle with me laying all crumpled up on the sidewalk.
I couldn’t for the life of me move a finger. As the edges of my vision turned dark, a black face appeared and shone a bright light into them. Lips moving. Asking questions? The world gave a sickly turn and the darkness enveloped me completely.
Chapter 6
Oh, that I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death…
The closer the intense and dazzling light came the less I heard the wailing screams and anguish about me. The closer it got the further away the evil, menacing creatures withdrew.
Hope flared now in a continuous wave as I made out the figure of a man wearing what looked like a white Roman cloak. Sleeveless and pure. Wrapped loosely around one shoulder, it was tightened by what looked like a sash around the waist where it slightly flared out and was allowed to move freely and without restraint about his legs. Part of the cloak was draped over the man’s left arm and seemed to flutter slightly in an unseen and heard breeze.
The man approached me and stood before me with a look of such love and sorrow that I could not stop the tears that coursed down my cheeks. Of a sudden the thirst and hunger had receded, my body stopped its frightful shivering and my lungs gasped at the wondrous fragrant air that rushed in. I staggered and clutched at the black glassy wall as the simple pleasure of being able to breathe without constraint rushed over me. All the while the man stood and watched silently as I struggled to comprehend that which stood before me.
“Who … what?”
“Stephan van Heerdan.” The man said softly. Compassion and regret shining through his eyes. “Once, not so long ago, you knew me, you called me by name and promised me many things. You spoke to me and sought my counsel. I listened and gave it. Though most often than not, you decided to follow your own.”
Frowning I studied this man before me from head to toe. I sought his council? I knew him?
“What happened Stephan? Are you so far down the path that you have forgotten me?” he asked as a crooked smile crossed his lips.
My eyes travelled down from his face to his shrouded chest. Down, past where his hips would be and jerked to a standstill as I saw a freshly made wound in his right wrist the size of a very thick crayon. With dread my eyes suddenly darted to his left hand and then to his bare feet. Each had a raw, painful hole through them. Blood slowly seeped past bone, torn tendons and flesh to drip on the rough rocky ground. Where it fell, slight puffs of white smoke flared up to dissipate before it could reach ankle height.
“Understanding Stephan, can be a magical thing,” the man said. “Often its path is convoluted. Often it’s too late.” He nodded at me in sorrow, “For you, my son, its arrival is just in time.”
Horror and understanding surged through me as I sank to my knees in abject terror. I had forgotten my path. I had pressed onwards with my own dreams and future laid out before me. The upheaval and flow of life’s happenings affecting each and every decision I made. Never once believing that the fairy tales of my childhood could be so real. I cried. I cried for the time I had wasted. For the wrong I did the many lives I took. I cried because here before me was what I had been looking for since I was taught about Him in Sunday school so long, long ago. My knees went soft and I sat down on the rocky floor staring up at Him.
“I was wrong.” I said through my tears. I looked up but could not meet His eyes.
“Yes, Stephan my son. You were wrong.” The man crouched down before me and took my limp hand in His. “Being wrong is not the beginning and the end of everything.” He smiled. His love shone and brightened the surroundings. “Being wrong is only the beginning of the path each must tread alone on their way to understanding what is real and what is worth keeping. Being wrong leads to the ability to perceive and explain the meaning or nature of one’s faults. With being wrong my son, comes acceptance that change is inevitable. That change and a fresh outlook can mean so much not only to that individual but also to those he or she may chance to meet.” The man turned his head and the loving smile seemed to fall away as He stared into the evil night. “Being wrong Stephan, only stays wrong when you do not accept the truth of what is placed freely before you for the taking.”
Once more His eyes fell on me and I squirmed in fear for I knew Him. I knew His name. I knew even though He did not mention it. He didn’t have to!
“Come Stephan,” He said kindly as he pulled me to my feet. “It is time my son, time to know that change is also free.”
Getting to my feet, I stared into the evil dark night as well. “Please. Don’t send me back there.” I begged.
“Not unless you wish to return,” He said with a calm smile. “Come. Your journey, like all journeys starts with the first step. Difficult though it may seem, the reward is greater than can be expected.”
I gladly accepted His hand in mine and walked beside Him. Not once did I look back.
Not once!
Chapter 7
“There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved.” 1130Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjRqfTAag6P
― Charles Morgan
“Well hallo there. You’re back with us I see.” A voice said.
Trying to open my eyes seemed infinitely difficult.
“Here drink this,” the voice said again as I sucked on the straw placed into my mouth.
“Wow. You’re thirsty all right. Want some more?”
“Please,” I rasped. My throat burned from the dryness. It felt so damn raw.
“Here you go. No wait…” a female laughter. I tried once more to open my eyes. “…slowly or you may choke.”
At last I opened my eyes to stare uncomprehendingly at a white uniformed female holding an empty glass and grinning at me.
“Nice to see you making a recovery Mr. Brown. It says on your passport in the side draw of the bedside dresser that you are Mr. Brown” She smiled once more at me.
“Just in time for lunch by the way. I will notify the desk that you are awake at last.” She started leaving and I opened my mouth to say something but the rawness of my throat stopped me in my tracks. She turned back, “Is there something I can get you? More water perhaps?”
“How…where am I?” I swallowed nearly fifty times trying to moisten my throat. It burnt like hell.
“Oh you poor dear,” she tut tutted, moving to the end of the bed and picked up a clipboard that hung there from a hook. “Let me see, uh huh. Uh huh. Oh. I remember now. You were one of the poor people caught up in that nasty car explosion 5 days ago.”
“Five days? I have been here five days? In a coma?”
“Let me get you some more water and I will see if I can bring you up to speed.” She went over to the far side of my room and refilled the glass with pure liquid gold. Involuntarily I licked my dry lips as my eyes refused to leave that life giving substance.
She handed it to me and I struggled mightily not to down it in one go.
“Let me see now, I remember five or six emergency cases being rushed into ER that day. You Mr. Brown were one of two that had the minimum trauma.” She shook her head slightly, “The only item of note here…” she nodded at the clipboard. “…is that you had a bump the size of a golf ball just off the right side of the Temporal Lobe.”
”I can’t remember much of what happened,”
“Oh. Not to worry now, the worst is over and you have made…”
“The worst is over?” I butted in with a frown while licking at the few droplets on the side of the glass. Will I ever get rid of this thirst?
Her laughter was clear and echoed inside the hospital room. “Why of course you wouldn’t know would you?” it was her turn to frown slightly. “When you arrived you had just started going into Cardiac Arrest for the first time. That’s when your heart stops. A heart attack in laymen’s terms.” She stepped closer and went to refill the glass. “Three hours in the CCU and 7 heart attacks later, the staffs were taking side bets on the 8th one but you luckily pulled through.” Another short laugh. “Since then you have been asleep. Not in any coma but just asleep.”
“Did I die at any time?” I asked curious at the answer I may receive.
“Well yes. If you want to look at it that way. Seven times in three hours I believe. A record. But we have some very professional doctors on board and they really know what they are doing”
“Im trying to understand your line of questioning Mr. Brown. Should I bring the …?”
I smiled at her. “No need Nurse. You have given me all the answers I would ever need. My thanks to you and the medical staff for keeping me alive. I appreciate it more than you could ever imagine.”
With a happy grin on her face she nodded and sauntered out the door.
Seven heart attacks in a period of 3 hours. Could a hard object hitting the side of your head cause a heart attack? Seven of them?
I died seven times in three hours? Was I in Hell for only three hours?
It couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t be.
Right?1130Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2CpH3bowxu
The end
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