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Arts and Entertainment > A Prayer, for Hell [Interlude;The Dungeons & Chapter #5: Agaliarept]
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Article rating : 0.00, 0 votes. Author : Dennis Siluk
As she walked about a little ways, she heard moans and cries, and simply just noises down in one of the street cellars—or possibly it could be mistaken for a street gutter of sorts, it had bars on, down deep, deep in one of the callers by a side street that lead out into the mass of people, but not quite out into it, just before it, it was but a few feet from the mass, but yet prior to the mass, as it was an area of torture she noticed as she knelt down to the rock hard payment, looked between the bars. Potential she conjured this was a chamber of hell, as was the mass of people beyond the gates.
The King of Hades
[The Second Death]
Oh those faces I’ve seen:
Tracks of tears
Ribs bending
Nose, slim, thin
Thin as a needle
Shoulders sharp
Hands like stone
Fingers and feet
Like old tobacco
I seen the:
Great, young and wise—
Two deaths seen
Heaped together
In Hades regime
Old smoke residue
You are no better than the
Beggar or the fool here…
#1040 4/2004
The Dungeons and Torture
As she, Ms Rice looked down, down into the cellar, between the bars there was a man standing in a birdcage type apparatus, in a notorious way—her mind shifted to and fro, was this purgatory? This area of Hell, was it purgatory? She asked again. Who was this man who walked by her, The King of Hades? Perhaps, he walked like he was an evil sprit of sorts. Many questions came into her mind. Some of the several people she could see in this torture chamber, there fingers were being squeezed, and knuckles also, to a high degree of pain. She was learning a spirit form could have pain just as well as a physical form. One man was on a bedstead, feet hands neck clamped tight onto the wooden plank (his neck, wrists and ankles brushed, discolored, held secure to the bed by wooden clamps); thus, your were subject to rules, and judgments and leaders like any other place. There was no such thing as death, only dying, and perhaps down here, one could die and die and die and die forever.
Another person was suspended by one arm over a horizontal bar, the other arm passed down under both legs, thumbs under the knees the whole weight of his body was under his armpit of the arm that passed over
the bar and onto the toes which were allowed to touch the surface. Ms Rice wanted to cry but she held it, what had they done on earth she thought. What could they do to her, whatever it was; they’d do it she presupposed, if they could. For the moment, she simply needed to placate her nerves, for some reason this place wanted her to know they were in charge, but why not just do what they could to her. Why show me, spit at me, just do it, was her thoughts.
Said Ms Rice to herself, out loud looking at these sufferings:
“I have got my desire in death, a heart twisted indeed I had, covered with iron, I was, was I not,” she shook her head, her heart becoming a little softer, yet she wanted her father: farewell she said to everything good, every good thing she ever had, and started walking about again.
5.
The Tall Man
[Agaliarept]
Un-halted, Ms Rice was the talk of the gate-guards, as she walked forward looking about, prodigiously, as if she owned the place one might say: as if to be thinking: how often does one die, let me digest this: for it did happen quite sudden and did it happen, and stubborn was her make up, the mystery of afterlife now is at hand—she accomplished, like the dinosaurs, and the Inca’s and the Maya’s and all the ancient civilizations that what went before her: Greece and Rome and those to come, America yes America will one day be simply a bygone Atlantis. As she forcefully looked up in the sky, forcefully because the air is thin, carbon dioxide in the air, dropping the amount of oxygen, just enough to make it annoying, she admitted, death does have its on character especially on this side of the realm
—next, she sees a side street to the left, so she turned her body, shifting it slowly, to walk on it, hesitantly, for it was a strange and new environment, but willingly and ultimately found herself in a plaza type area with in a few minutes. There she found for the second time in sight that tall clothed man in a black hideous gown as if it was as old as time, and he himself looked a bit youthful in comparison, youthful only in the respect of being in his late forties, yet he looked from a strange time period. Her second glance made her aware of his face and his look of impatience if not of importance of some kind with that John L. Sullivan mustache. She was long in response to his stare, and then he said,
“…you will stay here forever—but after time, you will find quiet, possibly quiet, and peace.”
She continued to stare, she wasn’t looking for quiet, not yet at least—she was looking for her father: it almost seemed like he knew something of it, of her quest, maybe an intuition she had of him, but something showed in his mannerism of her needy subject.
“So then,” she said, airily inquiring, “can you tell me where my father might be, should I give you his name…?”
“Ah!” said he, in an aesthetic tone, “…arrangements, you want me to make arrangements for you to find your father, this is what you want—correct?”
For a moment the tall man just stood gazing at her,
“Do you not care to ask me for my name, it is Odagled—make note of it please, if you’d care to know, that is,” said the tall man again, now with a dog-face look, “what think you,” he asked in a crying voice.
“I want to see my father,” she replied with discontent having to repeat her request, “what more can I say, you already seem to know this.”
“My O my,” volunteered the tall man with a playful and doubtful voice; then added, “I think he desires not to be known, that is—as you say, in plain English, he doesn’t care to see you.”
With seemingly unimportance, she angrily replied:
“So you say, but I don’t believe you.”
At once this tall man with the name: Odagled, described her father to her—to a T, then pointed to the fifteen-billion people that were gathered around the corner, as she stepped up to the corner where he had been standing, where she could not see around it before, her heart fell to her knees, the mass of people were like an infestation of a giant ant city—a heedful locust, everyone bushing, talking, yelling, screaming, doing, looking, looking, staring, fighting masses upon masses.
Said he with a smile,
“If you get entangled into that mass, you will lose your sense of direction, for possibly a few hundred years, and when you find yourself out of it, you will seek quiet; it is pointless to go beyond this corner; you may never find it again. And beyond the masses are the fires and the freezers of hell—that is to say, beyond the mountains. This dear lady is the best you’re going to get. But should you want to go farther, be that of your own free will, but you will never return through the fifteen-billion who remain here, beyond the gates. You see, you are only at the gates of hell, not beyond them.”
6.
Hell by Request
And so the powers of darkness
Through her death—
Summoned her to the gates
At her request—
And so it was,
And come to be:
Hell—her forever temple:
A memorable tragedy
#1041 2/2004
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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