Falling out of purgatory
As evening set in, dark orange skies and the scorching heat subsiding, Jake looked out the window and then into the eyes of his child. The baby boy was a year old. He was crawling on his belly at this time, babbling a few words, laughing and crying a lot. Cried more than laughed. It was overwhelmingly difficult. This difficulty engaged the hand brake on the already rotten relationship between Jake and his wife. There was nothing left. There was no money. The Jaeger-LeCoultre and Omega watches felt underserved and wretched. House items were already being sold. First, the television, then the home theatre system, and the expensive sofa-which everyone loved. The world was still colourful no doubt, but this time it was a different colour, a dark shade of purple, an almost bloody black. The day’s activities went on as usual. That night when Jake went to bed, his heart aching, his soul crushed to thin crumpled sheets of reused A4 sheets that his baby had scribbled on, his ego non-existent. As he fell into a deep sleep he was sinking deep into his bed, and he felt the weight push him lower through his bed, past the floor, past the apartments below him, and the car park underneath them. He was pushed vertically downward through a kilometre of sand, and then harder sandstone. He felt the pain start to slowly subside. His heart felt lighter, and the air he was breathing felt fresh, and cool, it smelled of flowers and trees and cow dung. Jake liked feeling cold, however, the room he was in was cold in a way that made him uncomfortable.
Of course, Jake did not remember this dreaded journey, but as he opened his eyes, he found himself in a tiny tiny room, with bright bright lights. The ones that drove him crazy. He stood up and looked around. There were food packets of some sort which looked like soup with meat, and packets of cooked rice which could be microwaved instantly.
