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A Prayer for Hell: Chapter #7: Tearless Eyes

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Author: Dennis Siluk

7. Tearless Eyes

Captured now in the mass, the heap of human souls, the spirit-flesh looked as if they were all dead corpuses; —the sky cold and dark, as if the sun was hidden, and spider-like root legs seemed to lace the orb above them that was called a sky, but was more likened to a mammoth cave: yes, the corpuses were alive-like brownish-green iron on dead skin, deadly alive, all horridly waiting for nothing to happen: she [she being: Ms Rice] tried to penetrate her freedom by moving within, into the bodies, the massive sardine like bodies all around her, trying to get beyond them but she simply got pushed back: pushed, and pushed, here and there, to and fro, every which way. What she didn't know was Agaliarept was peering through all the miles and miles of souls, piercing each one as his eyes penetrated the heap of bodies, like a bee hive, like an ant hill, the mound, the bodies stack one on top of the other, to where Ms Rice was—had she been mortal, would have been suffocated.

With this henchman looking mustache, the discoverer, the King of Hell, knower of all secrets, the title that was given to him, by none other that Satan himself, this Commander of Hell, commander of the 2nd legend in Hell, Grand General of Hades, looked at Opiel, the gatekeeper, and then his demonic assistants, Botis, the one who rowed the boat with Ms Rice, in it, to the pier, and he looked up on the gateway, where Gusoyn and Buer were, the ones that greeted the new Tenants, as he called them. Buer, was the one who portrayed to be Ms Rice's father, for again, Agaliarept, he knew all the secrets of the mind that did not trust in God, and with wit and cleverness he could take what could be stolen, but cleverness never dominates in the long run, but only leaves a man open to pitfall in his own character, so it has been said, but only said. And so like a soldier he kept his eye on his command, and she was part of it.

—Tall and short nude bodies, dead corpses if you will, dead spiritual corpses, in vivid, drab color: she stood without thinking. Her hair began to stir and stand upward, upon her head with terror: this was real; thus, shock and disbelieve had dissolved. There was no one to call on the phone for assistance. No one to come and rescue her; it was more than a novel of fiction. The book could not be closed, or even burned, nor could she turn the pages to jump ahead to see what was beyond this moment. Nor was God here, it wasn't a place God stayed; it even wasn't a place Satan liked to visit unless there was an extreme need.

"Nothing, nothing at all can be done," she murmured—and cried—but her body was tearless—; her eyes, no water could form under her eyelids just dryness. Again her scalp, her hair on her head stirred with an icy-cold terror, reality was hitting her. Her spine was cold as Ice: like dead roots frozen in the ground. She told herself: I can, I must refuse to be afraid—and fearful, but she was. She knew quite well there was no more to be done. It was ok, she told herself, ok to feel fear, simply do not admit it though, once it is digested you would vomit it back up, surely she thought, it would come back up, and up and out, and one would only die again, slowly, over and over and over.

As she stood there, not knowing the eyes of Agaliarept were piercing through the hoard of souls to her, right to her being, but she sensed it, or sensed something, for she felt everyone was simply waiting, waiting for her at the far-off end [right where Agaliarept was]. She told herself: there was no such thing as getting back to safety, but why then did she think bout it, this was Hell, and one does not have the right to such thoughts, so she told her spirit body.

Then unexpectedly the night got to be a trifle grayer, got a creeping fire-red and orange tint to it, with fire flies all about, everywhere the locusts were coming out to feast on the shadows within the night, the spirit forms that laid all about: more or less, she could feel them, see them, her sensitivity was their be it physical or psychological, the creatures were—if anything—were annoying, but that was their nature, their duty for existence. She came to the conclusion there was no sense in taking questions or notice of her feelings, it would only produce misgivings. It was best if possible to remain in a comatose state, if that was possible, really—really doable, it would be a blessing.

She had thought: why did I not want to go to Heaven? Perhaps it was where you worshiped the King all day, or part of the day, and that was too much to do. And here, you paid for your sins. In both cases the body didn't die. But she heard their was 72-kinds of death, could she not find one that was called: comatose, and never think again, be in some kind of frozen existence. Then she cursed that she was even created.

Yet she agreed with her thoughts, her only way of escaping this extraordinary clutter, her thoughts her whimsical thoughts they were her salvation she come to believe—: yet, a person ought to feel something, and her father came to mind: she had yet—and maybe never would forget the final look on her father's face, the look he gave to her—the look that put a morbid look on her face as he stood on the tower. And that man, that tall man, who really was he? Did it matter she asked herself, I mean really, really matter? Then she remembered something the man from the Old Folks Home that was said to her: something catchy: 'Know what is before your face and what is hidden from you will be revealed to you"; this man Jesus said it, so the counselor had said. Then her father's smirk came back to her, and she couldn't ever remember him smirking before, that is before this previous smirk: and a giant capricious smirk it was; never-ever could she remember him smirking, which was bewildering to her, yet so much had happened in so little of time possible he could had been brain washed to work with this underworld for privileges—although it wasn't like him. And her all pure foolishness came to mind—her resistance to everyone and everything, and all the things she said, but then who knows when and where foolishness will bite she mumbled to herself.

EzineArticles Expert Author Dennis Siluk

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