Hell and Back

by Jun the Writer


An explosion of color, vivid and exuberant and the sound of distant tremors, like thunder rolling in the distance. There’s laughter, unmistakable celebration and the distant horizon with the setting sun. Not a cloud in the air but he hears the soft murmur of thunder…

Thunder, and his mind is shot back…

He wakes up in a cold sweat, feeling cold and distant. He pauses for a moment and tries to remember, but the dreams are slowly fading and he wonders if there’s a point in remembering.

At night he refuses to dream. It would be an almost impossible thing for him to accomplish, but simply refusing to is enough for his mind to be barred from such dark vistas. He knows there’s something in his sleeping mind, something frightening that shouldn’t be known. It’s a secret all to himself, but he thinks sometimes it’s just him and no one else could care even if he told the world.

He carries on the days out of touch with the world. Everything is stale and bleak, grey…or had it always been grey? He thinks, finding reason and the mirrors seem to speak in behalf of him when he reaches into himself, into his mind; in the morning and in the evening, but when he’s with company he can’t, or won’t, find the words to say. The meaning is lost to him, only an unnerving silence that’s killing him slowly inside.
Thunder…

And then one day he begins remembering; fragments at first of that singular nightmarish vision – a cold metal tube and the colors of thunder, rolling in the distant horizon like a picturesque apocalypse. There was something sinister in the smile he gave. Something in his smile that told him, without words, that this was the end of the world. This was hell.

And he remembers. This was the end of the world, or it had been. This was the chapter afterwards, for those who did not participate in the initial fireworks that lit the world like a candle and destroyed almost everything. Water, that was the greatest necessity…and guns, lots of guns in this world of metal and thunder, where the greatest enemies were neither angels nor demons but man and what man had become. Hell was too picturesque a thing to accomplish and mankind had always been creative…
Gunshot, and his mind is shot back. The green-skinned man smiles a toothy grin at him as his vision blurs and he falls dead on the ground.

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