Many times he had imagined this moment, this ending to be filled with either the weightlessness of being unburdened or being crushed under the weight of chains; never had he thought it would feel as though a thousand small pests would be biting into his flesh with their dagger like teeth. Pincers seemed to be everywhere, this stabbing pain that made him want to scream while throwing away the ferocious creatures, but his throat had the distinct feel of gravel in it. He wondered if, perhaps, this was that place people of faith uttered under their breaths, a soft tone used in hopes it did not call out such a judgment upon them: purgatory.
Was he drifting in the land of in between? How is it this realm so many feared felt so acutely similar to the world which he had just left? Was that truly worth fearing? In some ways he supposed it was. Look at him, escape horrors through death only to be beset by the haunting atrocities that had haunted him before. Wryly he had to acknowledge just how wonderfully his plan had worked to his advantage. Why could death not simply be a gift to him? A never ending streaming television of CNN or CSPAN would have been less painful than to think he would be haunted through out eternity with the specters of his deceased loves.
He had not even an inkling of desire to look around at the blindingly bright landscape still waiting beyond the limitations of the reddish glow of his eyelids for perusal. What would he see? Was it possible his children would be there? Would they be suffering as he was? Would any sentient being be so cruel?
The voices came to him, soft and murmuring while discussing him. There had been another time in his life when just such a thing had occurred… the scent of disinfectant reached his nostrils, his eyes flew open and looked upon the individuals around the bed he was inhabiting. The woman, Susan, was there, sitting next to him chewing on her bottom lip. Pale and disheveled she met his eyes and murmured for him to rest and told him how she would answer all his questions shortly.
He wanted to protest, to demand, his mouth opened and barely a squeak passed his lips. Painfully his knuckles screamed as he tried to clutch at the thick layer of blankets upon him, words reviling her kindness dying and drifting away before he could utter a single one floating again in the abyss of blackness.
Please come back on Tuesday when Christopher will wake up! [I really mean it this time!]