I walk among the living, the believing, the hopeful.
But I don’t know who I am or who I was or who I will be.
Purgatory is not a place, but a state of being, unremoved from the Earth. Spirits, demons, and angels all meandering about, coalescing into one blurred vision of Heaven and Hell, like a river existing with ravaging currents and peaceful still pools trapped in unheard places.
I think my name was Jim or maybe Scott. Those two names appear most in my mind, but who knows. Maybe my name isn’t as mundane as that. In this new existence I hastily christened myself Raider. Yes, it’s all I remember. Beyond that, it’s a haze. Myself, I was dying, lying in bed. There were people around me sobbing. Probably the few people who cared enough to see me expire. I don’t think I died, or at least I don’t remember it. No, I’m not dead. I just believe I exist in a different kind of way.
There was an elderly couple praying the rosary, a woman sobbing, and a photo of a child lying flat on my chest. I couldn’t see it from my position on the bed, but how did I see it? Oh yes, now I remember. Every now and then I would find myself floating near the hospital ceiling. I was in a hospital, that is for sure. I would look down upon my body and see the photo. It was a blonde, freckled face boy of about six in a baseball uniform, holding a bat he could barely lift off the ground.
Other times I would find myself under the bed, looking at their feet, my back and sides burning as if I was in an oven, the flesh bubbling, peeling, my nerves stinging from the escaping heat. I could see the waves rising from my body creating an indistinct vision of the surrounding floor.
My last memory of that room was of a large red snake crawling into my room. It didn’t slither, but lurched forward, bumping into the door, and crashing into the walls. Its motion was difficult and cumbersome, almost irritating to watch. It stopped near the side of my bed. I now saw why it had such difficulty moving around. In the middle of its body was a massive lump, bigger than what its skin could contain. The scales were stretched far apart, exposing a tight thin layer of suffering membrane.
The lump was moving, trying to escape. I could see the imprint of hands and feet, pushing against its serpentine prison. I heard a snap, and the serpent opened its large mouth, pushed out its forked green tongue, and started belching out the lump, gagging forth the person that was inside its stomach.
I saw a head come forth first, then the shoulders, and at last, the whole body spewed out onto the floor. It was a feminine body, but without flesh. Her clothing made of muscle, bone, and blood, but not at all symmetrical. There were muscles missing, some bones protruding at odd angles, and vital organs hanging in absurd places. The snake vomited a pouch of blood and saliva. The hellish afterbirth stunk of death and rotted meat. The snake laid down its head and died.
The female attempted to talk, struggling to formulate her first ever word. It sounded like both a groan and a howl. She was a frustrated toddler, trying to muster the correct words to convey from her hateful, torn mind.
As she walked, her lips trembled with effort. I heard her knees snap with each step. I wanted to move but I felt bolted to the bed. Finally, she spoke.
“What is your name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must have a name. No one born is without a name.”
“Raider,” I whispered. It was the first thing that popped in my head.
Her eyes were dark and deep. She felt soulless, a deep cavern of nothingness.
“Am I dead?”
“Not yet,” she answered. She lowered her head down towards my face and stared deep into my eyes. I felt lonely and despised. The closer she got, the more I felt it. She lifted her hand and stuck out her index finger. As she touched me on my forehead, she spoke, “you are unblessed.” Anxiety filled my soul, and I felt a warmth leave my body. I was immediately cold and shivering.
I woke up in a wheelchair with a nurse behind me talking with another nurse about her date the previous night.
“I tried. That’s all I can say. I don’t get the warm fuzzies from this guy. He’s boring.”
“You tried longer than you should have,” replied the other nurse.
I was short of breath and made a loud sighing sound as my lungs grabbed for air.
“Oh honey, we’re not talking about you,” the nurse behind me responded. She laid her hand on my forearm. It felt like hot, thick oil. I looked down and saw her skinless arm, muscles pumping erratically and independently, like a machine with a million moving parts.
The other nurse looked normal, with dark brown hair and a healthy layer of dark bronze skin. Did she not notice? Maybe the medicine had affected me. Surely, I had been heavily medicated. I looked up with instant regret. It was the woman born of a snake. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform, but other than that she still lacked the features of a normal human being. I tried to get up out of the wheelchair, but she pushed me back down.
“Time to go.” She wheeled me quickly to the elevator and shoved it inside, my legs bumping against the back panel. I heard her walk in and the doors shut. The lights went out and I heard a beep.
“Am I in Hell?”
“More like the lobby.”
She started massaging my shoulders. At first it was gentle and soothing, but in short time it graduated to violent squeezing. My neck was in pain, and I could feel a good amount of bodily fluid soaking into my shirt. There was a smell of cheap perfume and decaying roadkill.
“Raider. Raider Brown. That has a nice ring to it.”
Brown. That must’ve been my last name.
The elevator slammed down and bounced into place. The doors opened and light flooded the car.
I felt a shove on the chair, and I rolled out into the lobby. I grabbed the wheels, the rubber scalding my hands. My progress was halted. I pushed myself up and turned around. There standing in the elevator was the woman that was sobbing at my bedside. She was blonde with fair skin. I thought to myself, how can a woman with so many freckles be so beautiful?”
She pointed her finger directly at me.
“Murderer!”
The elevator doors slowly began to shut, the lights above flickering. The beautiful woman’s skin sloughed off her body and fell to the floor, peeling back like an unfolding orchid.
I walked outside, not believing it was real, hoping I was in a dream. The streets were crowded. I grabbed the first person walking by, almost expecting my hands to go through them.
“Hey man, what’s your deal?”
“I’m sorry.”
Alive, not a dream. It was reality, but a reality mixed with something else, something more sinister.
I am alive, but something is wrong. Some people move as if they were in an old film, jerking about in time, skipping as the needle on the record jumps. Others move gracefully, in line with the flow of reality, or at least the reality I was accustomed to experiencing. This world exists in a dimmed grey light. I exist with you, but in a different manner, under different rules. Every now and then I get in close proximity to some of the hurky jerkies, as I now like to call them. Their clothing is always stained with blood, their faces always without skin. No one else sees them but me. Well, that’s not true. I think there are others that see them, because their faces are lined with a familiar fear, the fear that they personally know one of these demons. They not only know them but are personally indebted to them. I now know my last name, and I feel I will gradually learn more, but only as much as the demoness will allow. I fear as soon as a I recover my memory, or even worse, learn my crime, its straight to Hell for me.
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