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Purgatory - Public submission - turn 2

 
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[Syl]
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 19, 2008 3:30 pm    Post subject: Purgatory - Public submission - turn 2 Reply with quote

Have at it. Deadline Aug. 31st.
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"It is not the literal past that rules us, save, possibly, in a biological sense. It is images of the past. Each new historical era mirrors itself in the picture and active mythology of its past or of a past borrowed from other cultures. It tests its sense of identity, of regress or new achievement against that past.”
-George Steiner


Last edited by [Syl] on Wed Sep 10, 2008 2:09 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Alek
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 25, 2008 1:29 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

"Those of you who remain fall into two categories: Those who have achieved a certain level of understanding, of self-awareness; and those who have not lost hope that you will achieve that level. Those in the latter group are, of course, correct. All of us will come to greater wisdom than we currently possess. All we need is time, which we couldn't possibly have more of. We have all the time in existence. I will teach you all I know, and we will all learn all we can.

"Many gave up already, and left Gont. They do not understand that there can be no failures. If you do not give up, all setbacks are temporary here. Any amount of time any need to learn any specific concept is available to them. Let's see if we can get them back, so they can try again. All they need to succeed, all any of us need, is to not lose hope. Do not quit, and you will succeed! Let them know that they are welcome back any time they choose, and that they will find what they seek."


Signs appeared on the trees of Gont and the surrounding woods:
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Love can be found in Gont. Come join us. We have all the time we could ever need to learn about our True Selves. Come learn with us.

What, you have something better to do? Laughing

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When your life is filled with Love, ...uh... it's a pretty neat thing.
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PostPosted: Thu Aug 28, 2008 7:24 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Iblis gazed almost uncertain at the three figures...then resolve firming, raised his hand and gestured at each of them in turn…

MizaruIwazaruBekarazu.”

Each nodded as he spoke its new name.

“Eyeless, Mouthless, and Handless…a shapeless chaos conceived in the imagination of the vain. Ye shall not fear Him, nor bow down to Him, nor adore Him.”

They nodded again, accepting the charge, although certain the meaning had been twisted somehow, and Iblis smiled, once more well pleased.

“You shall be my Heralds…I send you forth first into the void to discover what you can, and bring to me those who would share my vision.”

Turning from them, he beheld his domain begin to raise its twisted spires toward the churning sky, even as a strange whisper seemed to move across it, forming the dark clouds for a moment into streaming runnels as it passed...
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Now because You have led me astray, I shall surely sit in ambush for them on Your straight path.
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Metatron
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 29, 2008 4:42 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Through time, through hell, Metatron moved, his three companions silent behind him. He did not have to look back to know they were there. Then, the hissing song, hissing and whispering strange words and phrases filling his head. Words of hope so strange in this place as if there was hope in oblivion. No doubt the light the song sang of was not the same light Metatron had come from. That Light was forever shining and was the very definition of hope. No song could ever convey its purity.

Never had Metatron imagined that this place would have developed so complex in its strangeness. Pondering this thought and marveling at the uniqueness of the creation of hell, Metatron practically stepped into danger. Hearing the low, warning growl, Metatron stopped in his tracks, seeing brief movement of hooded brown eyes beneath what appeared to be a broken and burnt tree limb. Metatron peered into the darkness of the hovel and saw a mottled fur and sharp teeth. Pausing a moment, he realized that this creature growled not in anger, but in fear. The creature was afraid and yet could not escape.

“Be not afraid, little one. I am not here to harm you but to help you.” He beckoned to the creature. The growling turned to whimpering and out of the hovel, a dog tentatively and haltingly stepped toward Metatron.

Metatron’s heart broke for this creature. It was not dead but still living. A living creature in hell! It must have been trapped and brought here. The red scars and dried blood matting the fur showed that the poor dog had been beaten and tortured. Metatron was greatly angered for this abuse of The One’s creation. Demons would not stop until they ruined everything. Even casting them out of Creation did no good. They infected the very universe!

Fearfully, the dog approached the him. Metatron gently cooed and the dog came closer, not quite trusting yet but sensing that the angel would do it no harm. On closer inspection, Metatron could see it was a female. “Good girl,” he encouraged. Head down and the stub where a tail had once been began to wag, still unsure and afraid. Metatron drew from his meager power and produced a chunk of raw meat to entice the dog. Gently, the dog took it from his hand and greedily swallowed it.

Slowly, Metatron raised himself to his full height and the dog peered up at him. "Come" he said simply and the dog followed, keeping her distance. Metatron noticed that she kept looked behind him. She must be seeing his companions but she did not fear them. Her reaction to them supported his belief that they were empty and placed there for his use. What to use them for, he did not yet know but they seemed content to follow him, stopping when he stopped, moving when he moved. His companions were strange and he had yet to truly ponder their existence.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 31, 2008 7:18 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Niggle stared at the three before her. So far, these Ones had remained silent. She began to despair of learning anything from them, and prepared to take flight again.

Then, from among the trees lining the clearing, a gentle breeze began to blow. Upon the breeze were words. Puzzling words, strange and enticing. Niggle listened and tried to retain them, to ponder upon later.

She turned back to the hooded Ones. They remained as they had been, but the one without hands still motioned towards her. Her hunger growing with each passing moment, Niggle made the decision to immerse herself into the Will presented before her for a little while longer, and slowly approached the beckoning One, hoping the cook pot contained what she craved...
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To surrender Dreams, this may be madness, to seek treasure where there is only trash?
Too much sanity may be madness! But maddest of all is to see life as it is, and not how it should be!
~ Cervantes
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nameless
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PostPosted: Mon Sep 01, 2008 9:02 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The Nameless encountered three figures upon their path, but each was motionless. Each reminded the other of what they lacked, be it hearing or sight or speech. In time, it was the Nameless who understood this more perfectly; the air itself had a straining brightness, a hum prevailed in all thoughts, and there was little hope that another would speak Gesnalan.

The figures were reminders, and remainders of the design of this path. The Nameless met them in kind and slept motionless, a body-length distant before setting out again.

The statues lost their distinction with his departure, but provided a suitable obstacle between the Nameless and the pool left behind.
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lazlo deacon
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PostPosted: Sun Sep 07, 2008 8:47 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I lived in an empty building on Post Street. It was an old brick building with 5 floors and a storefront. The last company in the building was a taxi supply service called Black Dog Cab. I don’t know what they supplied. They moved out a month before I moved in and for a while I could still hear the front door buzzer through my back wall. They didn’t put up a sign when they left and the cabbies still hung around outside like someone would come to the door eventually. I think they just liked to stop under the two trees out front on the curb. It was shady in a city that doesn’t have a lot of trees. Eventually they got the idea and stopped ringing the bell. The night drivers still stop there and have a smoke because it’s a quiet part of the block and a good place to have a quick brown bagged beer and a word with another denizen of the third shift. Sometimes I walk up to the front and listen to their conversations. Mostly they talk about their routes, what hooker took her panties off in their backseats, who was having a short night, or who was pitching in the playoffs. If they start to talk about their wives and kids or barbeques, I go back to my apartment in the back.

I was 40 when I died in that apartment. My wife and kid had been dead for 2 years. I tried to chase them into the hereafter but their hereafter wasn’t where I wound up. That’s probably the most I can say about my life. I tried.

When I was 37 I had a job at a small insurance company investigating claims. I was slated to take over a nice desk position running a couple of other investigators that would have kept my wife in nice shoes and my kid in the parochial school. I had a flat in a nice 4 flat Victorian in a decent part of the city and a 4 door sedan in the public garage down the street. When I spent long hours on a case my wife didn’t mind if I woke her up when I came in. Everything was pretty cozy. But things could always be cozier. With just a little more money in the bank, I could move us out to a nice bedroom community down the coast and the kid could have an actual yard to play in. That’s what I thought anyway. That’s when I heard the devil in my ear for the first time.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t the first time. Maybe I’d helped scam on a claim or two when I could get a little off the top for myself. And maybe the wife didn’t know about it but liked it fine when I came home with flowers and some chocolate or some lacy thing she’d look pretty in. Probably best not to start justifying at this point in the game. I did enough of that while I was alive. When the devil in my ear said “you should have better, Lazlo,” I listened. I wasn’t sure where that train of thought was going but I decided to board and see. What I got was my ticket punched. What I got was my wife and kid dead. No real way to justify that.

It was an insurance scam that should’ve worked but didn’t. If you want a new house burn the old one and make it look like an accident. Just make sure your wife and kid aren’t home when you do it.

It didn’t really matter that when I realized they were where they weren’t supposed to be I tried to get them out. It didn’t matter that I suffered burns over most of my body trying to save them. When I started coming out of the morphine-induced haze on the burn unit at General, nothing mattered but the pain and trying to relieve it. They gave me a button to push and told me I would heal but I knew they were lying. I knew hell was just around the corner for me. I stared at them through the fog and pushed the button. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. When it didn’t I started to scream. They came quick and made it work again just to stop me screaming. When they finally released me 2 months later, the papers covered my journey from the front door to the car service my old boss had provided. There was a picture of Hazel helping me into the back seat. Two years later I died. That’s just the beginning of the story.

I’m still in the same apartment. The building is still empty. Hazel took care of that before I got out of the hospital. My estate owns it. Hazel is the executor. The papers made me out a hero. My old company paid out on the claims while dead skin was being scraped off my arms and back with an S.O.S pad. Hazel bought this building with part of the pay out and put some furniture in the apartment in the back. Two rooms and a bathroom. A Murphy bed, a table and a couple of chairs, two lamps and some dishes. There was also a bottle of some decent bourbon and a carton of cigarettes on the kitchen table when I landed there that first night. I sat at the table and drank the bottle and took my pills and went to bed. I spent the rest of my pathetic existence in a haze of alcohol, pills, and when the doctor refused to refill the prescription again, street pills and, in the end, heroin.

I died on a Wednesday afternoon, sitting in a chair by the open kitchen door, listening to the jackdaws arguing at the concrete birdbath in the overgrown yard outside. I put my head on the table and stared through the dirty leaded panes and watched the sun motes dancing through the light pouring down between the buildings. I closed my eyes and felt myself let go, like after a good push. Then it was dark for a long time.

When I opened my eyes again the courtyard was grey. I could hear wind rustling the overgrowth outside and music. I pushed my head off the table expecting the familiar cramping nausea of withdrawal but it didn’t come. Blinking, I tested first my neck muscles and then my hands. There was no soreness where I should have been aching. I felt stone cold sober for the first time since the fire and I didn’t like it. There was a half empty bottle on the table and I drank it to absolutely no effect.

“That’s not going to work for you anymore, Lazlo,” the devil in my ear said. Well, he wasn’t actually in my ear anymore. He was in my courtyard.
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