I Dreamt of Heaven

There's a smell to death, and I'm not talking about the stench of rotting fat and escaping gasses. It's the smell of death's presence. It changes the air molecules to make them sour — they slice your nose as you inhale, and they grate against your skin as you walk through its cloud. The effect lingers. The more bodies, the more intense it is, like a heatmap of last breaths.

There wasn't a pure atom in the basement — it was suffocating.

I was sitting against the wall, my dead eyes pointed to the sky and my dropped chin pointed to earth's core. My hands were blue and my face was pale. My legs were twisted in such an uncomfortable way, but there was nothing I could do. Literally. I couldn't even breath because there was no breath to circulate, and my blood could no longer flow because most of it was on the wall, so it seemed that I would be uncomfortable for eternity. But what's new?

Even when I used to lay in the most comfortable position on a bed of clouds and fat puppies, it would only take an hour before I was forced to move again. Comfort is only a distant hope, after all, occasionally swooping down to give us a kiss on the cheek, only to fly away again. It offered a good chase at least.

But now... now it's gone and it's never coming back. I can see it's wings flap and flap but its image only shrinks. Goodbye, little bird.

And so my legs will stay.

I don't even know who these people are next to me, beyond being an "undesirable", of course. I always thought it would be my wife or children, hell, even a neighbor in their place. But who are they? I don't know them. I've never seen them in my life, except maybe a passing glance or so, and yet, here they are. No one would ever want to imagine their coffin being shared with strangers. It's not fitting, I'll tell you that.

And who pulled the trigger? I didn't recognize any of them either! When a man is put in such a position as I, isn't the smallest, most bare minimum honor you could give him, is to at least let him see a familiar face before the black veil is draped? Even a simple photograph would suffice. Does their cruelty know no bounds?

And what a disgusting day for it to happen. A clear, warm week ahead without a cloud on the radar, yet they chose the only stormy day as "the day". The rapping of the rain against the basement window was incredibly distracting, and all I had to do was stand still! I can't imagine the ruckus for the men with the job.

But alas! It goes how it goes, just as it always does. Nothing new, nothing new...

When my consciousness expired, there was a very bright light, just as you're told that you would see. It was like I was tied to the nose of a rushing train that was exiting a tunnel. I wasn't scared. I was intrigued, I suppose, but weary. It didn't seem like the light was growing as you'd expect, but it was still clear that we were bound to collide; and so we did.

I then entered a still ocean, hovering over it as if I was sitting on top of a floating rug. I looked around and there was nothing that rose above the floor of shimmering water — completely level. I waited for some sort of figure to appear, an angel or guide, but no one came. I was alone.

There was a thick white fog, more of a cream color actually, and it was smothering everything, especially the horizon. The sky was the same color. I suppose it was more of a calm mist than a fog if that makes sense.

I stayed above the water, simply watching the mist, and I found myself entirely at peace — there was no tension or wonder — it felt right. Natural. Ethereal.

Then the day succumbed to a wicked night.

Everything was dark and ugly, but something in me knew everything was there just as it was earlier. The water danced in an invisible moonlight, and due to the darkness, it was no longer water but an eerie liquid. For the first time, I became aware of the possibility that the liquid might touch me and it was terrifying — I couldn't say why. It's the same experience as seeing a familiar item in your bedroom turn into a demon when the lights go off. You know what it is and what it isn't, but you have nothing to prove it. And so it was a demon.

I found myself on the run again but the reigns were still out of my control. I soared through the dark mist to a sort of cave with a light echoing from its depths, yet this light was only an illuminance in its vibrancy and not color — it was blacker than anything else in sight. You could shine the most intense beam of real-world light into the cave's exhaust and the darkness would devour every ounce of it. There was no overshadowing it's power.

I was slurped into this cave like blood down a drain, and when I woke, I was surrounded by four... things. They were human in their shape and size, but their faces and direct appearance were revolting. Like bloody brain matter paired with the sensation of swallowing a razor blade. It's impossible to convey their grotesqueness.

And they were in pain. They were suffering... whatever they were.

I was lying flat on the cave floor looking at them all standing over me; they were studying me in teary-eyed horror just as I studied them. They were afraid and sad and grossed out. I was a brutal crime scene and they were an innocent child.

Their spirits yearned for an opportunity of hesitation while their bodies functioned autonomously. They lifted me up like I was in a stretcher, then they carried me through the cave, mostly keeping their vision to their path of travel, but occasionally sneaking a glance against their will at whatever I was to them.

They placed me on a cold table and backed off, fighting themselves to sever the tie between their eyes and me. Then they were gone.

All I could see was a wet cave ceiling.

I knew a figure was next to me. I closed my eyes. It rolled its feet as it moved along my left side doing seemingly nothing other than being present and busy. I don't know if it wanted me to open my eyes. It dared me to but I would never.

The ringing of complete silence was giving me the feeling of a terrible migraine. I couldn't relax because the figure was there, so I stayed alert and ready as if there were some sort of instructions to be heard or questions to be asked, but there were none. No sound, no feel, only dread. Something was coming, something was going to happen, it was racing to me, but there was nothing outside of the expectation of it to tell me. The figure paced.

I didn't know what the figure looked like and I would never dare to satisfy that curiosity. It wanted me to see it so that it could punish me, like a bully hovering in your peripheral vision waiting for you to make eye contact so it could warrant abuse. But the figure... what abuse was in its arsenal?

I was inflating with the shivers of dread, the heat of its vibrations cooking me like a bowl of popcorn.

The figure was by my feet — my unprotected, naked feet. It wasn't doing anything yet, but of course it was getting ready for something. Something big. I never realized how soft and sensitive the skin on my feet was until then.

I expected the Lord to be here, but He wasn’t…. What are the rules if the rules I lived by didn't work?

I don't even know if I had skin or a body or anything other than my perception, I would never open my eyes to see. If my skin was still attached, it must've shaken itself loose by now — trembles of this magnitude would bring down even the strongest city. It's on my right side now, what's it doing there? Why there? My left side is empty, exposed, naked.

There's fidgeting behind me. Metallic clinking — shuffling. But it's delicate and gentle. There's no rush to it, like an assassin taking his time to thread on a suppressor. His mind is in the clouds and his hand is on the gun, how could one smile in a time such as that? The figure isn't smiling, though, I'm sure. It's all business for it, nothing more.

A freezing chill tickles my scalp near where the figure is hovering. What is it doing? Wait... it left. There's no door to close, but some sort of barrier is now between it and me. It's gone, but I can still feel it moving through the cave as if I have a map of its layout. I'm alone.

My eyes will stay shut — I've decided it. I'm not risking it, not for anything. It'll come back. The figure, it'll come back without a doubt. It's getting something for me, I know it, but what? Or is that it? Is it done, or will there be more? Has it even started yet? What is it?

I don't know anything but I know enough to not be ignorant. There's something coming. It's on its way.

But why am I here? What is "here"? Does everyone go here?

Oh!

It's back. The figure is back.