Continued from Part II, here.
So, I’m dead. And that’s not the surprising part.
No, it’s more surprising that Death has shown up to claim my soul. Literally. I’m apparently not off to Heaven or Hell, but following him.
If I don’t seem too upset about this, well, it’s because I’m not. I had reasons for doing what I did in life, but they seem kind of flimsy, now. If I had to go up and face judgment in front of God and all his angels, I’m pretty sure I can guess the inevitable outcome.
So tailing around after a seven-foot skeleton in a black robe and carrying a scythe doesn’t seem quite as bad as facing eternal torture in the fires of Hell. Continue reading
Continued from Part I, here.
The tiny, single little speck of everything, everything that contrasted against the overwhelming blackness of oblivion, wavered for a moment. I waited for it to go out, or maybe just shift into the Hell where I was pretty certain that I’d end up, despite my last words.
It didn’t do so, however. I clung to it, not quite ready to disappear into nonexistence quite yet. It flickered, twitched – and then, incredibly, started to swell…
It kept on swelling, growing larger, until it challenged the sea of black nonexistence in which it floated. It grew larger until it dominated that emptiness, consumed it and occupied it with itself. I felt like I was trapped against a wall by a force, impossible to resist as it grew larger and larger, pushing me to flatness between the wall of nothing behind me and the bubble of everything in front of me… Continue reading
“An’ now, here’s the poor sumbitch himself, ready to face justice fer his crimes!”
I heard someone shout something, but the bag over my head muffled the words. I felt a palm impact sharply with my back, knocking me forward. My foot hit the wooden step in front of me, and I staggered, nearly pitching forward.
Thankfully, the hand behind me grabbed the back of my collar, kept me from toppling down. Good thing, too, since they’d bound my hands. No chance of escape, not this time. I was pretty much well and truly screwed. Wouldn’t be walking away from this one. Continue reading
He started at the sight of her, leaning casually back against the wall of the station platform. He recovered, but his foot missed a step, catching against the rough wooden boards of the station’s floor, and he had to move quickly to turn his stumble into a quick two-step.
When he looked back up, he saw her smirking. “Startled?” she asked, her voice slightly raspy.
He shrugged. “Wasn’t expecting anyone else. This train’s usually all but deserted.” Continue reading
I sat up with a gasp, my hands flying to my chest where, only moments ago, I’d felt that stunningly painful impact. I patted down my uniform, searching for the huge, bloody wound that I’d glimpsed before falling back, everything fading to black…
It wasn’t there.
My brain couldn’t quite seem to understand. But I’d been shot; I remembered it – the blow, like a punch to the chest from a boxer, knocking me back off of the front of the trench and down into its depths. I’d hit the ground hard, my limbs pointing in all directions, but somehow didn’t feel the impact. I didn’t feel anything, really; I tried to pick myself up, but my legs and arms didn’t want to move. I couldn’t even feel the rain hitting my open palms, dripping off of my fingers. I’d just lain there, staring up at the sky, blackness creeping in from the edges of my vision…
WELL, COME ALONG, THEN. THERE ISN’T TIME FOR DAWDLING. Continue reading