THe RooTS oF MY eViL PaRT 1...
(The figure stands in coldness, Though the summer night burns hot. Hers is the last house on Seventh St. Her bedroom window the third to the right. There are things no soul should have to witness. There are feelings no one should have to do with. Her name is Anna. The man she rides is named Phill. The figure in the yard is named Tim... and he has come to die.)
Tim>If only... I could make you see.
(He pulls the blade from his pocket. Tim goes to work on his wrists)
Tim>Owww... fuck that hurts!
(What... it did... the person who wrote "Suicide is painless" apperantly never tried it. It doesn't matter though. The blade cut deep and true. Soon darkness surounds him, ingulfs him. The curtain falls on another soul. Then the darkness gives to light. He sails alone on a silver ship across blue water, headed for white shores. A ivory palace looms in the distance. Finally he is home.)
El Guapo>Oh no you don't.
(Tim's peace is suddenly interupted as his body is lifted and pulled back through the tunnel. Light gives way to darkness, then darkness to, well more darkness. But not the abyssal blackness of death, but the veiw of the back of ones own eye lids. Slowly his eyes open and he rises from his sleep.)
Tim>What the fuck?
El Guapo>Where do you think you were going?
(Tims eyes slowly come into focus, a young man is sitting next to him. He looks strangely familiar.)
Tim>I know you... however I'm fairly certain your dead. But your sitting right in front of me so you can't be... or maybe I'm dead too.
El>Don't get ahead of yourself. Your not dead... anymore.
(Tim veiws his surroundings. It's almost sunrise. He pears behind him and sees that Anna's bedroom light is out. Suddenly he is reminded of why he was there. He looks down at his wrists. They apear to be untouched.)
Tim>Am I dreaming?
El> Fraid not pooki-bear... this is as real as it gets.
Tim>OH... sooo... your not dead.
El>Oh no... I'm quite dead.
(There is only so much the human brain can take. Adventually the centers that establish and mantain logic burn out. And everything becomes acceptable)
Tim>OOOOO.K.... Sooo... you look well for a dead person.
El>Really, thanks.
Tim>I did slit my wrists didn't I.
El>Yup
Tim>But now there fine?
El>Yup
Tim>Ofcourse.
El>It's sorta a long story... I'd be happy to explain it to you, but not here.
Tim>Why not here?
El>Because Anna will be getting up for work soon, and I'm going to need your undivided attension for what I'm about to tell you. I don't want you going all sissy boy on me once you see her.
Tim>Right... well were do you want to go.
El>You still have your apartment right?
(Tim stands up. Pauses suddenly. pierse once again at his wrists. It is at this moment that the logic center in his brain refired. It malfuctioned under the stress and spontaniouly combusted. Causing a small fire in his left cerybral cortex. Tims body fell lifeless for the second time in six hours. And for the second time in six hours, life suddenly reentered him)
El>This is going to be a long walk home.
Back at Tim's...
Tim>What's Hell like?
EL>It's not so bad... stuff to do, lots of interesting people. It's Purgatory that sucks. All somber and military.
Tim>Purgatory? So the Chatholics were right.
El>First of all it's spelled Catholic. Secondly... no, not even close. A whole shit load of stuff happened when Man was created. Human Souls are an extremely powerful sourse of energy. It became clear to both the forces of Heaven and Hell that if this energy fell into the hands of alien forces it could be very dangerous.
Tim>Alien? Like ET... I always knew he was evil. Stupid glowie finger of death.
El>I want you to stongly consider no longer using words.
(Tim nods and lowers his head)
El>Where the fuck was I... Ah... The physical universe was once flooded with demon. Then the Word came. Gave light to the universe and forced the demon horedes deep into the underworld. When the exiled angels fell from heaven, they traveled to the underworld and settled what would come to be known as Hell. To do so the Fallen displaced and enslaved Demon tribes.
Tim>What's the Word?
El>Excellent question. I'm not really sure. From what I could tell, the Word is sorta like the power of creation... the will of God.
Tim>You met God?!
El>hee... not quite. I went to hell remember. And I'm pretty sure it wouldn't of mattered if I had gone to heaven. I don't think God is the kind of thing you can walk up to and say what's up.
Tim>oh...
(Tim is brutally disapointed, he's been waiting quite sometime to question someone who's seen God... he's had a long running theory that God has a large purple mohawk... he just needs the proof.)
El>Anyhoo... from what they told me the underworld is still a very violtle demension. There was a time everyone thought humans were immortal. Then when the first ones started dieing, everything got turned upside down. These incredible powerful entities suddenly came flooding into the afterlife. The Demon hordes made a play to capitolize, they perverted the human power and used this sorce of energy to lay seige to the Antigon. The fortress of hell. But the fallen weren't about to lose a second home. They defeated the horde. But it was painfully clear that they couldn't hold off the forces of the old darkness for ever. Something had to be done to stop human souls from just wifting into hell. They had to control them. Heaven also had a vested intrest in what was going on in the underworld. The forces of light had sworn to protect the Words creation. Demons were feeding off the souls of good men and women. This had to stop. So the forces formed a sort of seize firer. Together the completely obliterated the Underworlds minions and forced them deep into the darker relms. It was at this time that a new order was formed. It was called Purgatory. A neutral point that sole purpose was to catch souls as the left there bodies. And make sure they ended up in the proper place.
Tim>and that's where you ended up?
El>Well first off I went straite to Hell.
Tim>For all the drugs and debotchery?
El>No... I did something much worse then all that puny shit. You remember my cousin Xandor.
Tim>Ofcourse...
El>Every since we were kids, we were involved in magic. It just came naturally for us. We were channeling spirits for gambling purposes about a year ago, when we were contacted by a spirit that called himself Emo^ke. He told us about the subtribes of the underworld. And that when he was alive he discovered that he could control them through powerful magics. He was working on a way to open some sort of rift. So he could travel to the underworld and become united with his army. He was convinced he could make himself a god in that world. But before he could work out exactley how to do this his life was cut off by a freak accident involving a penis pump and about fifty thousand watts of electricity. He gave us detailed instructions on how to recover his notes. The deal was, if we could take his place in the underworld that we would rally a horde together and free him from his term in the torture chambers of hell. He was very good at what he did. And his studies were very thurough. We mastered his techniques quickly. One night, I was... ummm... being close with a young lady. The final peices came together. I figured out the final incantations necessary to transport the two of us to the underworld, so we could take our places. While enroute to Xandor's, I become slightly distracted and flipped my Civic. Ending my life and any chance of becoming a god. When I got to hell, they told me that if I told everything about what the two of us were trying to do they'd show me mercy.
Tim>What did you do?
El>I sold Xandors ass cheap! Ofcourse... he may be my cousin but he's still a dick and he would've done the same to me. So hell sent me to purgatory. I made a deal for redemtion on the terms that I returned to Earth and cleaned up my mess. I had to stop Xandor from figuring out the remaining barriers between himself and his goal. But I was still dead. There's really not a whole lot one can do about that. I needed to find a living soul to do my foot work for me.
Tim>I thought I died.
El>Let me finish. A normal mortal would last all of five seconds against Xandor. Even though no one can return a soul to it's body when they are transplanted in the land of the dead, that breif period of travel between the worlds can be interrupted. And the soul returned. I was hanging around the river Styxx for what seemed like forever. When low and behold my old buddy Tim goes wondering off the mortal coil. Your perfect for this. Anyone else could easely be tempted by Xandor and his powers. But you... I knew you would stand by me.
Tim>So you just keep putting my soul back into my body. But how do you fix my wounds n'stuff.
El>Acient sorcery...
(This was... in accuallity, a lie. Acient Sorcery had nothing to do with it. El had hired a team of mystic elves. They pause time at the point that Tim's life force goes dark. And then put him back together. Useing mainly scotch tape and old chewing gum.)
Tim>So I can't die...
El>More like you can't stay dead.
Tim>Neat...
El>But don't make a habbit of it... those Elves getting fucking expensive.
Tim>HuH??
El>Oh... ummmm... Nothing... Why did you do that stupid thing to yourself anyways.
Tim>Anna...
El>Anna what?
Tim>I didn't want to deal with it anymore. I'm tired of being in love. Feeling that pain everday. She was already fucking some else.
El>Anna never stoped fucking other people... even when you were together... oh um... sorry. Hell makes a soul a little insensitive to the feelings of the living.
Tim>I always knew... I found ways to deal with it. But after she left me... I just couldn't keep it going. Expecially once you died... I was totally alone.
El> well if it's any small comfort, you've got me back. Atleast untill we've completed our mission. And, this may not mean much... but Anna did love you. She was just to fucked up in the head to be able to deal with it. That's why she put you through so much shit.
Tim>Really... do you think theres any chance that the two of us might...
El>Look Tim... there's an old saying in Hell about people who off themselves for chicks. It goes something like this... "Only a Pussy Shit eating Ass Fucker ends it over a Bitch!". I hope that old wisdom brings you some confort.
Tim>umm.. ya... feel better already.
El>And remember... If you gotta go... do it like Sid Viscious, and take the Bitch with you.
(This is really what El Guapo thinks is conforting. When he was seven his mom passed away. After the funeral he found his father crying in his room. El walked to his father, put his hand on his. And with the air of inocence that only a young child could muster, told his daddy "don't be sad... Mommy told me once that she was going to leave your loser ass for your brother anyways." El's father commited suicide shortly after.)