The Afterlife

Intro:

My dry, sore hands are trembling and my bottom lip is quivering. I feel helpless, as a terror which is quite beyond description, sears my insides. I cannot stop shaking, possibly from fear, but at this point I am no longer even sure. I am sweating profusely; thus I assume that I am hot, yet I feel no heat. The air that surrounds me is perfectly still, even eerily still. I can hear and see absolutely nothing. I am not forcibly bound, so much as I can tell, but I am frightfully incapable of movement. It’s as though there is no aspect of my being, which I previously controlled, that I can control in this instance. Terrified, I wish that I could cry, but it seems at the moment that I have been rendered physically incapable. I have attempted to cry out on several occasions, yet my voice has failed me on each attempt. Every moment that passes further cements the futility of struggle, and within moments I am resigned to my fate. Acceptance does not abate fear, but slightly calms the nerves. A lesser man would pray, pray long and hard, and in this infinite moment admit he had lost freewill and controlled nothing. I, however, simply relaxed and declined to concern myself with something that is clearly beyond my control.

Part One

The last tangible memory in Damien's demented mind was a very clear memory of the orphanage. The screaming and pleading voices swam malicious circles in his deviant brain and he could remember the excitement all that blood had provided him. Distinctly he could recall the sounds of a bone snapping or flesh and muscle stretching and tearing. He certainly could remember the damn near indescribable feeling of having his cock embedded deep in a day's worth of glorious pussy (both young and old.) He could remember the metallic taste of radiant red blood beautifully flowing from various wounds and its intoxicating odor. He could, of course, remember the feeling of ending the life of another. Yet, for all he was worth, he could not figure out how he came upon this bitter and unforgiving darkness. Was the world around him on pause? Or was time actually passing by in his new reality?
Damien began to feel a very faint tingle in the tips of his extremities, the numbness slowly was subsiding, and soon he became aware of his own heartbeat and breathing. It was as if he could feel a presence surging through him, it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He imagined his soul was slowly returning to his body, restoring life to his inert carcass. He felt quite relieved, assuming that this meant he was returning to life as he knew it.
In an instant, a brilliant light blinded him and he quickly closed his eyes. Damien had become so accustomed to the darkness that it felt as though his eyes were two flaming marshmallows in a roaring summer fire. He cried out in agony, realizing his vocal chords were once again cooperating with him.
Damien kept his head pointed at what he assumed was the ground and slowly eased his eyelids open. To his surprise, he found the ground at his feet to be black as the darkest ebon sky. Perplexing, as it was, the light had surrounded him, yet left his immediate vicinity completely void of light.
Damien was, at once, filled with a modest sense of terror. He had seen some crazy, fucked-up shit throughout his life, but this was beyond even his grasp. Though his mind recalled hundreds of Hollywood films which all seemed to discourage "going into the light," for the first time in his life he couldn't stand being in the dark. Again he was overcome with a disturbing sense of loneliness. He wanted to beg the fates why he was doomed, in life and wherever the hell he now was, to be always so goddamned alone. He took one cautious step forward, then allowed himself to enter the light ignoring the agonizing fear, which seared the walls of his chest cavity.

Part Two

For a moment Damien thought he felt the sensation of falling, or perhaps even just weightlessness, but the sensation quickly passed. He felt numb and briefly paralyzed; yet both of those sensations passed as well. This was all beginning to become too much for the psychotic control freak, without some semblance of reality and his feet on the ground; Damien was about to just snap. Certainly Damien was not a man known to experience any sort of regret, but he now found himself seriously doubting the wisdom behind his decision to step into the light.
Suddenly a voice behind him bellowed through the blinding pure light. A voice so raw with angst and rife with evil it sent shivers straight down his spine and almost made his knees give out on him.
"What is nine feet tall, has feathers and a beak, speaks over two hundred languages, and is watching a psychotic killer piss in his Levi's?" boomed the mysterious voice. It was almost as though the voice was so loud it shook Damien to the core of his soul, his spine vibrated with the inflections.
Damien was petrified, yet he was amazed by two very disturbing facts. First, as soon as he had heard the voice he had, in fact, pissed himself. Second, last he could recall he was wearing a pair of Levi's and it felt like he still was. Standing in his piss-pants, Damien was nearly paralyzed by fear, and yet all he could think was the shame of his regrettable appearance. Self-loathing was rampant in him, now, like cancer, but he managed to gather his bearings well enough to force out a reply.
"How the fuck should I know?" Damien responded.
His voice was so hoarse, he knew it had cracked, but he was doing his best to sound as tough and mean as he possibly could. He was scared, generously coated in urine, and in no mood for some fucking riddle from…
"Look for yourself then," the voice shot back nonchalantly.
Amazingly he now found himself in what he presumed was a castle, but had he been here in this room all along? Was this even reality? Doubtful, he began to scan the room with his eyes, still ignoring his apprehension and weak knees.
The room he found himself in was enormous in size, circular; he estimated some couple hundred feet in diameter. The architecture was most assuredly gothic, with very ornate columns along the walls and spread out in various places across the floor. Between each of the columns rested very elaborate stone statues of various demon-like figures. Forty or fifty statues surrounded the room, each very much different from the other, with only one common feature. Each of the statues was adorned with a set of horns.
Several dozen torches set along the walls lit the room ablaze with their fiery glow, bouncing and dancing, throwing shadows oddly across the landscape of the room. Ahead of Damien lay a staircase, it stretched long across the room yet rose only perhaps a dozen feet, which effortlessly lead up to the most amazing sight in the room.
Before Damien sat nothing short of a spectacle, the throne of all thrones. Sparkling of glorious gold so very immaculately shaped and structured. The beautiful throne seemed to cradle its inhabitant, yet anyone else sitting in the throne surely would have appeared to be engulfed in its twelve-foot frame. The armrests were adorned with the heads of two serpents. Shiny red eyes, impossibly red with a flaming cautionary glow, shone exquisitely in the torchlight, tactfully set into the golden frame of the serpent head. This was not just a throne, but a symbol translated: “DO NOT FUCK WITH ME YOU ARE MY BITCH!” Damien was not much for respect, but such an unbelievable sight really commands it.
Damien's mind froze as he studied the throne's inhabitant a little closer. He truly could not believe his eyes and the presence of the horns didn't make the fact any easier to accept.

Part Three

Despite all logic and reason, Damien clearly was staring at nothing more than a nine-foot chicken, of all things, with a pair of horns sprouting from its cranium. Damien managed to hold back the laughter, which was aching to escape his mouth, surely he had been pathetic to be afraid of a giant chicken. How bad could Big Bird with horns possibly be?
Instantly Damien fell to his knees as obscene pain surged through his body. His hands and teeth clenched, his rectum puckered tight enough to make diamonds from coal, and then each of his muscle groups seemed to simultaneously fail. Having been overcome by an excruciating pain, which shot throughout his body, his failed rectal muscle released a truly impressive spew; capping off a rough couple minutes for the Levi’s. Even his goddamn ass hairs hurt and he cried out in agony.
The chicken merely smiled at him and laughed out loud.
"The correct answer in NOT a nine foot chicken!" it commanded.
The chicken deftly changed form into an exact duplicate of Damien himself, with the lone exception of the horns, which remained.
Damien remained on his knees writhing in agony; his face contorted in a way, which he imagined, was not unlike the looks on the faces of any of his victims. Despite his agony, though, he always dedicated his total attention to the thing, which spoke.
"Perhaps you’d like to think of me as Lucifer, or perhaps the devil? However, I happen to prefer Satan, thus I suggest you refer to me as such on any and all future occasions. I know everything about you little Damien, every thought and feeling. I know your pain, your weakness, your fragile mental state, I know about your self-loathing and your self-pity, I know about your hate and your anger, and most importantly I know you must do what you do so you can cope and push away some of the pain. . I know you even better than you know yourself, and therefore you should be very afraid of me.
As the devil's final words dissipated, so did the terrible pain in Damien. He fell flat on his face, attempting to regain his breath, composure, and some semblance of control over his body. The floor was ice cold against his skin and he shivered quite against his will.

Part Four

Several moments would pass before Damien would reach his feet, but the devil was more than content to sit by and watch him struggle. When he finally regained his feet he again composed himself to speak as well as he could manage.
"Would it be unwelcome for me to request an explanation as to why I am here and where exactly I am?"
"Certainly not," replied the devil "relax and I'll tell you."
"First off, obviously you are very much dead. This is not Hell, or whatever the latest religious craze has the pathetic minions of American culture believing, this is my personal palace in the afterlife. There is no God and there is no Jesus Christ. Certainly there is no Heaven or Hell and certainly there are no angels or demons lurking about. There is only your own personalized domain in the afterlife. A reality of your own creation which you are to reside in and modify at your leisure. You want bitches and fire? Bitches and fire you shall have, it’s just that simple. Heaven and Hell as you know them do not exist, you’re dead, and there is no punishment for free thinking and self-appeasing behavior.
I have brought you here and come before you as “Satan.” I am not actually Satan, Satan does not exist, obviously. As best as I can explain it to you I am the personification of evil. I’m sure you know about the yin and the yang, the positive and negative, the harmonious balance of reality which keeps everything equal and even and right and what not. I am the negative, all the hate, anger, and pain in the universe.
Damien was absolutely enthralled in the story he was hearing, but could not stop himself from interrupting.
"But if I'm dead, why am I in your afterlife and not my own?"
Again the horrific and agonizing pain, Damien collapsed to his knees and attempted to brace himself. As quickly as it came, though, the pain disappeared.
"Shut the fuck up when I grace your ears with my speaking, I was just getting there. Anyway, despite the fact that the Bible is a worthless collection of bullshit masquerading as the key to life and suckering billions of ignorant people into supporting the lavish lifestyle of the pope and those around him, the battle of good and evil is very real. Evil in the traditional human sense, I use the word "evil" only to help you understand."
Damien nodded his head, as if to say "thanks," but didn't dare to interrupt again.
"The fact is, equilibrium is not the goal, nor should it be. The dark must outweigh the light, there is no other way, and since the dawn of time the search goes on for a minion to send back to the world of the living to cause a little chaos. Trouble is that minions are a little difficult to come by these days. Sure, there are a couple million killers out there, but no one's heart is in it anymore. Anyone even close to being minion-worthy ends up repenting or whatever. Who needs that shit? Blind-faith is not only for pansies, but also for hopelessly ignorant and utterly worthless sheep who have nothing better to do than follow the fucking herd without even stopping to consider why they're wives knees always hurt or their young boys can't even bear the pain of sitting down. These are not the warriors that are needed; this cause is too important. You’ve been chosen because, unlike repentant half-ass murderers, you are true."
Again Damien held back a laugh, this force was beginning to sound like a televangelist or preacher, but again he dare not interrupt.
“Luckily, though, you are quite different my good friend Damien. Not only was your heart and soul poured into your arousingly artistic murders, but you also died never having fallen prey to the evil cancer that is the blindfold of religion. Besides, after the beer bottle incident with the hobo near the woods infatuation grew with your gracefully flawless style."
Damien allowed a wry smile to sweep briefly across his lips, remembering the fun of the vagrant by the woods. Truly the evil had taste, that had also been one of his proudest kills.
"So your purpose here is quite simple. You’re invited here as a guest and presented to you is the opportunity of being a minion and traveling back to the realm of Earth to do some more damage. The chance to wreak havoc like none other and tip the scales in the favor of evil. It is believed that you truly are a creation of pure fucking evil, and this is your opportunity to give a little something back to the force that drives you.”
“You, of course, always have the option to merely proceed to your own afterlife. The choice is yours, if a choice is even necessary.”
"If I choose to return to my world," Damien started "will I need to know what to do and who to kill?"
"I will be like the voice inside your head, guiding you and providing you with assistance. Together, I seriously doubt anyone or anything could stop us."
"Can I have a moment to think?" asked Damien.
"Have as long as you want, once you decide I'll know and send you on your way."
Darkness swiftly surrounded Damien as he was plunged back to where he started. He was no longer afraid, but perhaps he should’ve been. Fighting as a soldier for the evil army in some fairy tale battle of good vs. evil for some sort of control over the universe or reality or whatever. Had he truly lost his mind? Whoever heard of such fantastic stories and how could meager little Damien be at the center? No aspect of this tale could be understood, but carnal desires are exquisitely simple.

NEXT
BACK
HOME

Email: lowestform@yahoo.com