As the good Lord sent another round of rainfall belching out of the clouds, people in all walks, with the anticipation of dread in their footfall walked wearily towards the rusted over chapel to give their good fortunes for the promise of eternal glory. The bus screeched in it’s tracks, falling apart at the seams, bus driver looks content with dying at the closest instant. The local junkie mutters to himself sermons and regrets until he gets another stab on the grimy, infected pipe. The kids step over used needles and ignore the pungent stench of marijuana, cursing at one another and kicking bottles and smashing glass across the curb. A squirrel had been crushed, judging by the entrails in a line across the road, maggots and flies swarmed to the glorious sight, feasting while the poor soul inside decayed.
Funeralopolis: the place where law subsides and morale goes to perish as if it just a smear upon the wind, lives drop like flies out the sky, and they are forgotten in a vast universe of hate and unease. Fog was sure as the sun rises, and in that dire mist, was always a predator lurking and scavenging the scent of innocence. Grave tales of all that is grim unfolds in these blood-ridden streets, while the gutters vomit perverse fantasies and blasphemies; trickling down the spillways and pooling inside the minds of the residents.
It was at noon the man awoke, cold sweat dripping from his head, pillow soaking, and bed reeking of piss and the stench of brown inside an old pipe. A miracle or a curse that he has once again risen from his comatose state, vomit on the floor and metallic blood trickling from his gums, he was about to walk the streets again. His old pal he called ‘santa’ came baring gifts, these weren’t no toys though, he collected his presents and went back to his lair, the cycle repeats once over, “some life” he thinks to himself.
The town a few blocks east was abandoned and rumoured by the locals to be one of the seven gates to hell, screams heard at night translated through the whispers of children in hushed tones, torches held to their face in the rising campfire light, Lord knows what that ghastly town hides, could be the devil himself or worse, it was their duty to discover this secret.
A party went out in the night and crept passed the bridge and traversed to the rustic gates that bore the grounds with a path winding in the dirt roads towards the chapel, dilapidated and crumbled from the inside, laying like a wreckage of old, rubble and debris pooled the floor, memories came flooding back as the junkhead took a swig of whisky while burning another foil, the eyes on that thing, glowing a hellish amber like the sunset on the wretched universe, the smell of rot, it filled the air when he reminisced, as if the thing was there in his room, and the claws, how they were sharper than a thousand blades, they cut and sliced into his skin, he remembers the agony as they drained the fear out of his soul.
There was a girl that me and the junkhead knew named Diane, she used to kick about with us back in the day, she weren’t no stranger to whippings by her cruel dad and his iconic whip, we all ran for the hills when he growled and barked like a rabid mutt for Diane to “get your stupid ass back in” she always hated this place yet knew deep inside she would die here, she wasn’t wrong.
The party was reduced to two as they left that demented church, they all ran in fear for themselves, not noticing that Diane was nowhere to be found. Junkhead knew what happened to her though, it was written on his face, pale as a sheet, white as snow, I have never seen fear on a boy like that before or since then, he never spoke a word to me after that night’s events, nor to his folks, they sent him off to the funny farm, this was the seventies so it weren’t art therapy, it was more like electro shock, beatings and pedophiles
I went to see him a few years later, he told me it was as if he had just reached lucidity after being trapped in an eternal nightmare, trapped in an endless void of a land raptured in darkness and the deafening eeriness of silence, he was only aware of his existence by the feeling of his feet touching the ground, every step was pain beyond belief as shards of glass etched their way into his feet, he attempted to scream, yet no sound would exfoliate, after a while he regained the gift of sight, then he wished he could be a blind man once again, the sights he percieved were beyond the mechanisations of the most twisted of minds and cruelest man’s fantasies, he retched from the horror and recoiled from the fiery depths he saw before him, screams resounded through the eternal night and he awoke in a sanitised room with padding along the walls and that familiar stench of rot flooded his senses once again.
He has long since expired his time there and is out on the streets simply existing, not living and nowhere near thriving, you may have seen him begging you for money, you may have spat on him, and he would have stabbed you, your body left in a dark alleyway somewhere and in the morning people step over you like a swatted bug.
The trees along the shores violently swung to and fro, another grim winter’s morning like many others that came before it, rain drenched the soil and flowers just starting their lives were ripped out of their roots as the earth that morns them were swept into a puddle in the street.
A blaze of a fiery red emerged from the clouds, and all the rays of the glorious sun disappeared at once, swallowed by the great reckoning, was it judgement day finally, had he risen to put us sinners in our place below the Earth, a great cacophony of harsh noise filled the air and swallowed the gentle whispers of the townsfolk, a man like a crazed animal skipped along the quarters whistling a merry tune as the sky collapsed.
These were the visions the junkhead summoned while on another bender, he sought to preach to us the meaningless of life and how we are but a speck on the greater universe, and our self-righteousness would wither away if God so chose his decision for annihilation. He beckoned us forth to his dingy little crack den and relinquished his mind of these cosmic horrors.
After he finished another round of existential rambling he nipped to the loo, me being a nosy bugger, I figured I’d have a mosey round and see what was written in that journal he carries about with him, these were the contents; ‘God is dead and we all killed him through our blasphemies and perversions, soon he will rise from eternal hell fire to drag us down there with him, we shall lie for six days like that wretched angel before we descend deeper into a place where light does not reach and darkness shrouds all that exists; total annihilation, I have seen the light and I never desire to gaze upon it once more’.
It’d been a few days since my last encounter with that old nutcase, but recent events have brought back to mind them scrambled poems that tell of our imminent demise, repeating in my head and resounding like a piercing screech through my skull, some long forgotten artifact of knowledge that we were not supposed to discover, a few days of this and I was ready to self-admit to the asylum.
The days were looking more grim than usual, (and that’s saying something) people are all parading about like loonies holding up signs, shrines to the end times, it seems the junkheads speeches were not just the ramblings of a lunatic, his prophecies are all coming in spades, slowly but surely, we all watched the sky that day as blood descended from the heavens and a thousand or so pigeons dropped to their demise, these scientists are stumbling over themselves to explain it, there is no logic or reason to eternal damnation, it just is inevitable.
In the next couple of weeks things went from horrific to terrifying as a hand could be seen reaching out from the sky, it eclipsed the sun, the clouds disappeared from view, and the bony slender fingers reached further down into the Earth, people were frozen in absolute fear, people repented and prayed for their souls to be saved and held bibles and crucifixes, pledging their life to the good Lord, an instant passed, the hand vanished, people stood screaming and repenting all the more, some practiced self-flaggelation in the following days, parading down the street and lashing their back with whips, screaming and pleading with God to save their souls.
I watched with indifference as civilized people devolved into barbarians, scientists turned to fanatics, and violence erupted in every city, blood-soaked battles between Christians and Muslims, people were found hanging from their necks, hands ravished in a hue of blue and eyes sunken and bloodshot, carved within their nude torso were words: sinner, homosexual, blasphemist.
Collective insanity flooded the minds of all the people, fear had made man forget his social etiquette and morals, a race to survive the imminent rapture or hopes of a more kindly judgement from the almighty.
I became fearful for the junkhead, he had withdrew himself from all social settings, none of us had heard a word from him, I emerged at his chamber and gently tapped at the frame of his dank apartment, with little surprise at no answer, I grabbed my key he had gave me and entered, the sight I percieved before me will never leave me for my belonging days. Blood and entrails were strewn about the room, written on the walls were the following: I have seen the light, I can’t look away, he compels me’
I entered the bathroom against my better judgement for I had several ghastly ideas at what could lie beyond the visage. Those notions will never compare to the chaos of gore that had flopped on the floor, mutilations, deep and agonizingly brutal, unrecognisable features on the face, I could make out an expression of despair and desperate pain, I left the scene immediately, vomiting out everything I had eaten in the past few weeks, adding to the display of glorious suffering.
The great eye in the sky came a little after the violent discovery of my late friend. Shrivelled and menacing it watched our every step, a great cackling could be heard, the angels played a resounding tune of horror upon their holy trumpets, sights glazed the sky, biblical stories of the trials and tribulations of ancient men and truths never uncovered before displayed by that great monstrosity in the sky, centuries of hardships and suffering were contained within its unfolding scrolls and finally; the long and winding road to hellfire, followed by bone chilling screams contained within this realm, flames rose and swallowed the great eye and it was no more, peace returned to the heavens and hues of blue once more emerged, likely another warning of our power tripping messiah that our defeat is at his hands, if he so claps too hard, we will all be damned to the fiery depths below our very feet.
All logic and reason was abandoned in this land, no natural sciences could satisfy an answer, everyone swarmed Into churches, till they were crammed like sardines under its arches, the priest grew evermore agitated and frantic as he spoke his sermons, a grave dread of doom filled the atmosphere and reduced the townsfolk to trembling wrecks.
New leaders started popping up, conmen promising their followers salvation and rescue from the doomed planet they inhabit, they will have to end their lives on judgement day, and they will float up to heaven to be with the almighty, they must live the remainder of their lives in purity, this meant they had to give themselves to him, give their savings to him, for after all they won’t need it where they’re going.
A moment, just a spec of lucidity and realization dawned upon the folks as they travelled through the blood-ridden streets and stepped over the corpses gathered in the meadows and alleyways, passing by the nooses bearing strange fruits, and the serpents whispering into their ears, remorse and guilt plagued them and one by one and hand in hand, a hundred or so accepted their fates and gave their souls to god, they lifted their daggers and shred their necks, staring into the sunset which bore that great eye once again, weeping as the moonlight shed it’s rays upon their wounds and reflected the gore before them, stumbling to their knees in a final gesture of prayer till their soul was no more, one hundred kindred spirits twinkling in the stars and glistening In the night sky, hope is with them that they are indulging in all of the precious nectars God has to offer.
Broadcasts from the few remaining televisions flickered in the shop window and echoed resounding down the winding alleyways of funeralopolis, they spoke of the final days, a scroll found in the sea which, when unraveled revealed to them that our time was very nearly through, the moment to choose between sin and purity was upon us, and me, having been enlightened by the junkheads rambling, knew better than to live the rest of my life in fear of the almighty, for I know that eternal damnation awaits us all, I pledged to indulge myself in the forbidden fruits that remained in this world, to do things I never dreamt of doing, to see the sunset of this wretch and I shall grit my teeth and go flailing and resisting, biting the hand that feeds until it bleeds and screams blue murder, this is my promise, I shall not leave without a brawl, one of us will die, and it won’t be me.
That great thing in the sky winked at me and I could feel that cold grin burning into the back of my head, I screamed at the sky and I shot my revolver at the clouds, nothing but a cackle emerged, a reminder of how pathetic my life is, I grimaced and spat at the thing, hopeless as I was, I kept my wits and my courage and cursed him, damned him back to hell.
Now the only thing we can do to keep ourselves from entering that gaping hole of insanity is to bask in the glory of a dying sun as it sheds it’s final rays upon this shattered world, free to enact our deepest desires by starlight with little consequence hanging over our heads, civilisations turn to barbarians when given the opportunity, perversions lay deep within the veins of human nature, when all morals are shred and people have no faith to cling to, they will reveal their evils, to rape and kill all that is pure, it is only one doomsday away.
After fighting off a rabid mob of heathens in blood-soaked apparel, I entered my chamber once more to reflect on the events of the day, cold and emotionless, I didn’t much care to exact my good will on the surroundings, I cast down on my sofa and collected myself, if I must die, it will be on my own terms, I hope this letter finds kind hands, or doesn’t I really am not bothered.