Suicidal in Heaven – A Journey of Choices

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XXXIX

After being turned into a human yo-yo and bubble gum, I realize I can’t drop my guard. Of course there’s no way of escaping the tortures and punishments of the demons of hell, but I think I can’t show I’m just a victim waiting to be tortured. I think if I keep my eyes open and keep moving I can increase my chances of safety, or as safe as a suicidal can be in hell.

So, I’m walking again, looking over my shoulder, not letting show the wonder I feel about the city. I also believe demons have a preference for the newly arrived, so I act as if it was nothing new to me. And walk, and walk, and walk. I walk so much I’m certain my feet are worn out, and it’s of no surprise when I look at them and see my muscles, all my skin simply ceased to exist. I ask myself how could I not have felt it, I think all the torture I was subjected to had made me more tolerant to pain. I enter a house with an wide open door, I’m sure it’s a trap, and rest.

I see my foot being restored and feel nothing. I’m certain I have developed a tolerance to pain, that’s why I don’t feel small pains anymore. Then I wonder if will I get used to the heat and stop thinking it’s the worst torture hell can offer. As I’m about to leave the house, the door shuts an everything becomes pitch black. No surprises there, I expected my place of rest to become another torture. I just stand there, waiting to be tortured in every possible way.

But nothing happens.

It’s hard to wait when you have no notion of time, the impossibility of telling if you waited too log or too little is torture. When I think too much time has passed, I try to open the door, it’s locked. I don’t understand what’s happening, ’till I get something in my peripheral vision. I turn around, give my back to the door, and see what’s in front of me. If I remember exactly how the house was, I’m facing a corridor with a coffee table and a door that leads to the kitchen. I don’t see any new movement, I just listen to the noise of the freezer self-cleaning. The sound of defrosting gives me an idea: use the light of the fridge to light the place.

I begin to move ahead, carefully. I know any moment I’ll feel the coffee table, that’s why I move slowly, I don’t want to hit my shinbone against it, or even worse, my pinky toe. I’m already about to be tortured by a demon, I don’t need to help him by any means of self-affliction, least of all one of the worst pains on the face of the two worlds. Even though walking slowly makes me take smaller steps, I begin to realize the coffee table is far away, I’m sure I’ve taken more than thirty steps and I’m positive that, when I could see it, it was less than five steps from the door.

I begin to feel afraid.

I walk a little faster, I just want to reach the coffee table. I stop worrying about a bump. I need to get to it, I need to know I’m still in the same place. I leave aside the possibility of having been transported to some unknown place and stay with what I understand it’s possible. Which is a mistake, since I’m in a place of impossible things. I begin to run, when I’m almost exhausted I feel the coffee table hit my shinbone. I fall and break the glass. The shattered glass pierces my body, one gets in my eye. And I scream. I feel the blood running from every wound and, what’s worse, I don’t feel myself regenerate.

The feeling of dread becomes indescribable, I think not even when I was dead, not even when I found out I was in hell, I felt something so scary.

I make myself get up. It’s much harder than I thought it would be. Some of the glass must have slipped so deep that it cuts muscles and nerves, I can’t move my left hand and feel my right foot numb. I begin to drag myself towards what I believe it’s the kitchen, I stop only when I see shadows in my peripheral vision. I look all around, but don’t see anything. When I start dragging myself again, I’m completely lost, I don’t know where’s the kitchen, where’s the door, or the rest of the house, for that matter. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, force myself up and begin to walk amok. I had never guessed anything right in my life, and I was rooting for that moment to be the exception that proves the rule.

I was dizzy from the bleeding, soon I’d have no strength to move. I needed to get to the kitchen fast. The house made noises, regular house noises, but in that context, it was frightening. The only noise that didn’t fright me was the sound of defrosting, ’cause it was the sound I was using as guide for my salvation. It couldn’t be frightening, for it was my hope. I let my ears guide me, dragging myself slower and slower. I just stayed on my feet because, if I was to lay down, I’d be as good as defeated, and I wasn’t afraid that a demon would come and torture me, at that moment I was afraid of dying. Being in that dark house, with things popping in my peripheral vision, blood dripping from several wounds, I was afraid of dying. A fear I had never felt when I was alive, but that, after dead, was terrifying. The truth is I couldn’t remember I was dead, at that moment I was sure I was alive and that if I didn’t get to the kitchen I’d die, and I didn’t want to die.

Suddenly I hit a wall and fell down. I almost gave in, but my will to live was stronger. Using the wall that had made me fall as support, I got up and began to feel up the place desperately. The hole that lead to the kitchen was somewhere nearby, I needed to believe it. But the truth is I knew what had happened, I had taken the wrong direction. Again, my guess had been wrong, I was lost in the living room of a dark house in hell. And to make matters worse, I was dying. Not wanting to die injected a dose of adrenaline in my body. It took the pain away, no pain, I could run. Not even my tingling foot was able to stop my fast moves. I looked for the way out, I explored the place with my hands desperately. I found what I was looking for just before I gave up, the lack of something to grab on to made me fall.

The fall hurt me, the adrenaline rush was over and I laughed hysterically.

The laughter made me cry, and the cry made the hope of saving myself disappear. It took a long time for me to recover, it was easier to leave the shadows in my peripheral vision with me. Or even bleed to death. But something inside me made me keep fighting. I turned on my stomach, I dragged myself like a soldier through the mud. The sound of defrosting was closer now. I could hear it as if it was next to me. That’s why I dragged myself, I needed to get to my salvation. I can’t tell for how many km I dragged myself, I just know that, when I got to the fridge, my body was skinless. The pain was unbearable, death was the only option that made sense at that moment. If I hadn’t bumped my head into something that was clearly a refrigerator, I would have given up.

Gathering strength I didn’t know I still had inside, I got up. I felt the frozen handle on my hand, pulled it and almost fell down. It would have been better if I did. When the light was on, I saw it pure and simply wasn’t ice that was breaking inside of it. I saw myself in a piece of ice, every new crack after the break was a part of me separated from my body. My soul was watching my body being destroyed. That was too much, I couldn’t fight, all I could do was close my eyes and let myself fall. The fall was in slow motion, and as I fell I heard the laughter of the shadows. First I hit my back, then my head. I gave myself to the unknown darkness.

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