One Thousand Years
Genesage
" My Wife"
(Chp 4:4)
It wasn’t the torture that broke Toms’ mind.
It wasn’t segregation or separation. It wasn’t deprivation or starvation. Those you could fade into shock and live like a zombie. Bereft of emotion one could be soul less remaining impertinent to suffering, pain, anguish.
No, this was worse than those.
It started with the overwhelming onslaught of information. Too much input that inoculated the sensibility but overloaded the responsibility. Too much too quick too soon and there was no time to assimilate. The “flood” to his soul, his mind, what was left of his spirit.
It was the hopelessness of it all that finally “got to” Tom.
He just didn't care anymore.
The only thing he “cared” about now were the nightmares. They just wouldn't leave him alone anymore. They had reduced themselves in number. But every night at this time before darkness really fell, the nightmares hit again.
Nightmares he would always remember, never forget. Nightmares he couldn’t run from or flee. Nightmares replayed in his mind. The Nightmares were real and everyday each one branded his soul and seared his mind.
The ‘nightmares’ that were his reality.
First would come the whimpering. The cowering; the crying; sometimes a man; sometimes a woman.
Oh sure, they would be quoting one thing or another. Quoting a song or a scripture. Trying hard to brave, trying to dispel the pathos.
It never worked, never.
They were brave till the sound of hope was replaced with the tearing sounds. The shreddings. The abject realization of skinning a human being by pulling the outer layer from their body.
Epidermal Exorcism, the Screams matched the tearing sounds.
The choir of slaughter was accompanied by wails. Moans and long terror screams. A piercing scream, a moan, the whimpers, then the piercing scream again….and again….and again.
Over and over and over again, never a release, never a sudden accidental dying, just a long drawn out nightmare.
Daily, hourly, weekly, minute by minute, second by second, eternity was that time had ended and this was all that was left.
Dante’s Purgatory.
He really didn't know if it was a nightmare again or if in fact it was what he suspected. Recently the number of "nightmares" were reduced. Reduced because they were still killing Christians, Jews, people in general.
But the reduced "dreams" was more people not accepting torture. Choosing rather to live. Not choosing to see loved ones die, but accepting the marks. The “vaccinations”, innoculations.
Marks of Evil. Marks of condemnation and damnation. The one way ticket to hell.
The “Nightmare on Hell Street” became the “Tragedy of Heaven’s Gate” as The “Born Again”, became the “GenoMan, grafted into the New Mankind.
Genomen.
Thomas knew his nightmares and dreams were real. He just couldn't face life. Not like that and his mind had flipped.
No one could deal with the nightmare on Thomas street that had come real.
This was more than a movie. It was life. It was his life. It was his world. Since it was his story it had taken it's toll on his psyche.
He couldn't get up and leave the movie screen behind. Not when He was the main character. No intermission, no listing of credits, nothing ending except the final curtain of death.
But It hadn't ended there either. His time had not come yet.
Since the last Plagues and Curses had fallen there was really no light anymore and now no one was dying.
Death was not swallowed in victory it was simply taken away.
There was no death now because it had been removed by the author of life himself.
No one could die even if they wanted to.
No matter how hard they tried. It was impossible that they could live and yet the impossible was that they could not die.
The sheer ignominy of it all, when death would have been such a welcome release, and now it was missing in action. No one died. No one.
No matter the reason, no matter the cause, death was removed from the earth.
What kind of a God would put his people through this?
"Please Tom…,"
his wife had begged and pleaded,
"…please just kill me and get it over with."
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