8 June 2012
He was dead when he woke up, barely alive when he went to sleep. He had said in prayer that evening, ".....the lord my soul to keep."
Here now though, in Purgatory, with not a cloud in sight. No angels playing trumpets, no st.Peter, no bright light.
Here in this barren wasteland, neither taint of Heaven or Hell. The preachers faith was shaken, for where he was, he could not tell.
It was empty, he felt lonely, devoid of everything but thought. A place for him to purge his sins, for the misery in life he had brought.
In life he was a wicked man, perverse of action and mind. Preaching the way of the gospel, practicing nothing if the kind.
The cloth had been his 'good guy' badge. His morals 'couldn't' be wrong. Supported by the arms of the church, for his sermons had always been strong.
He had always spoken of devotion, to his congregation, his flock. Spoken of love and purity, he had been his communities 'rock'.
No one knew about the children, who had suffered such in his care. Silenced through fear of retribution, their suffering went unshared.
He hadn't expected anything, thought death was really the end. But this was different entirely, neither ascent or descend.
Neither fire and flame and brimstone. Neither peaceful whirling mist. No loved ones there to greet him, to no loved ones was he missed.
He did not believe in the devil, and he did not believe in god. His faith was his diversion, his perversion 'suited' the job.
In the absence of time, there is only the moment. No concept of future or past. An endless moment of pleasure or pain, that can eternally last.
To the preachers isolation, came a hunger, then a thirst. Now the moment of damnation, never fading, growing worse.
No hunger in life, this man had known, neither had he tasted such dry lips. Not a morsel around was to be found, neither food nor water to sip.
From frustration to starvation, came dehydration to the curse. In this moment, still the moment, ever growing, ever worse.
For the preacher was not wanted, in either Heaven or in Hell. Instead condemned forever, to in Purgatory dwell.
His torment lasts forever, in his moment, lost to time. Always wanting, never finding, are his footsteps, for his crime.
Endless hunger, endless thirsting, endless suffering and pain. For him no resurrection, he forever tastes his shame.
So he wanders, going nowhere, in a realm without night or day. Dying in an endless moment, for the innocence he betrayed.
Purgatory • Opuss № I