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Copyright Jerod Underwood Park 1997
All rights reserved
Flying. What an interesting sensation flight is. Except,
controlling the direction seems to be a difficult task at this
time. Ah, the white light seems to be completely engulfing me now.
Ah, look. Now, it's becoming clear. There I am. Just ly'n down on
the job. ly'n on that there bench. Painter's scurrying around me,
oblivious to my presents. Does this mean my next life is as a bum
sleeping on a bench while some paint festival is occurring all
around me? Or what?
"Well, can't just sleep around all day? Now, can I"
Thought {the guy} to himself. So, he sits up, just in time to
avoid being sat upon by one of the hooded painter's. Clothed in
white overalls and a hood. Carrying a bucket of paint in each
hand. Starring blankly into the steady blur of white coveralls
that just keep streaming by. He says nothing.
{The guy} starts talking. "Ya know, pal. They say that
death's suppose to be everything good, or bad. Where as the trip
I've been on don't give no glamour to any St. Peter. That's fer
sure. I mean I've gained love, lost it. Then, gained it
back. Only to find that the powers that be forbid it. Well, Hell's
bells to that. For I wasn't about to say goodbye to any love of
my life. I mean she was the best thing go'in fer me. So we ran
fer it. Took a leap fer the hills. Made fer the border. Only to
wind up in some sort of labyrinth. Only maze I'd ever seen made
of tagged, brick walls, though. Can't explain how walking out a
door could emerge between two walls with no door in sight. But,
there we were. Me and my beautiful bride. And Him. At least I
think it could'a been Him. Booming voice. Commanding words. No
form. Although, why'd He bother with two bit people like us is
beyond me. All I know is that I can't see sitting in some waiting
room, waiting for who knows what for however long it would have
taken. After all, I've got a life to live with my new wife. Ya
know, pal. After all, we got places ta go, people ta see, things
ta do. Can't just sit around in some waiting room all day. But,
anyway. So there we are. Me and my sweetheart, standing between
two walls of cement during a sunny day. Having instructions
barked at us by an un-seen being. So, I had to figure that we had
to blow that joint. ASAP. So, we take a journey down the cement
lined path, only to discover another path breaking off with the
same look as the first. So, we turn off onto this side path.
What's else we gonna do, anyway? Besides, it got away from that
yellin' voice we so wanted to depart from. But, anyway. There we
were, heading down this side street when suddenly, it wasn't a
street no more. In fact, pal, it wasn't even a city no more. In
one step, we went from walled in city to wide open countryside.
It was blaz'in incredible. One step. I mean one step."
"Ya see, us two love birds been hangin' steady fer
months. Just seemed the right thing to do. I mean marriage and
everythin'. Oh, did someone bet against us on that day. Just
a'fifteen minutes way from the church, did we bite the bullet. I
mean you'd think with a gleaming, white car, from my cousin's
lot, to boot, with a thousand tin's streamin' from its rear,
you'd think that bum of an idiot could'a looked before see'in
what he was gunn'in fer. Hey, we definitely had the right of way
at that plus section. But did he stop! Noooo!!! He just tapped
his barge right out inta the engine compartment and next thing
I'm knowin', we're gettin' a sky bird's view of our bodies, our
car, our futures, makin' future. Up in smoke. Just up in smoked.
Lucky bastard just walked away. Drunk, to boot. I mean if I ever
git my hand's on that son-of-a-brewery, is he gonna regret
hittin' {me}. I'm tellin' ya. There's nothing worse than losin'
yer life, and yer wife, on yer weddin' day over some sod's
brewskies. Before I know it, us two love bird's were really on
the wing. Shooting straight upwards like a couple of carnival
balloons who didn't know any better."
"I must've broken some golden rule or somethin', cause I
went back. Hey, the voice was tellin' me to. It kept singin'
'bout {stepp'in back}. Since my love had stepped beyond my reach
due to those private guards, and that singing voice inside my
head, I decided to retrace my steps back to somewhere where I
could collect my thoughts. Make sense of my situation. Come up
with a rescue plan. But, I must'of been bewitched by that song.
For I just kept wondering between all sorts of walls of all
different makes. Turn left here. Then a right there. I mean, I
was being guided. Guided right to her. She was a looker. I mean a
real saint. Just callin' ta me through that boarded fence. It was
strangely resemblance of the kind of fence that my next door
neighbor had. I mean, so badly in need of repair, there was no
Earthly explanation as to just what kept it standing. I put my
hand up against the top of the thing and it literally bent under
my weight. Collapsed is more the word fer it. Even though she had
the looks fer the woman of my dreams, she had other plans. I
mean, that thing had about as much love fer me as a hound does
fer a jack rabbit. She bit into me like I was lunch. Just stick a
fork in me, pal, cause' I was done. Although, I'm not sure how I
saw past the Exorcist-like face at the time. I guess it was just
blind love I was wish'in fer. Come to think of it, that thing had
the face of a real saint. A Saint Bernard. Then, it felt just
like dy'in again. No pain. I just simply rose out of my body and
observed as that carbon copy demon of a wife gorged herself on my
remains. And kept going until I woke up here, lying on this bench
with all you painter guys walkin' by. Then I sat up, you sat
down, and I started tellin' ya 'bout my life's...or rather
death's...story. Say, pal. Ya ever say anything? What's the story
here?" The painter turns to look at {the guy}. His pale, white
face clearly visible beneath the hood of the painter's coveralls.
His line of sight seemed to be looking right through {the guy}
and at something far off into the distance. The hooded figure
never uttered a sound. His face never gave an expression. He just
resumed looking forward at whatever was of interest. Though, {the
guy} couldn't make heads or tails about what that could have
possibly been. "Well, pal." said {the guy}, "You may not
be much fer talk'in. But ya sure make one excellent listener.
Must be the shrink of this place. Where...ever this place is
suppose to be. Ya know, pal. Life can be a very interr..." The
hooded figure gets up and merges back into the endless stream of
pale faced figures wearing hooded coveralls, carrying ladders and
pales of paint and all kinds of tools used for painting things
heading in all directions around {the guy}.
"Next thing I remember was..." (More to come.)
Click here to see the Sequence of the
game.
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Copyright Jerod Underwood Park 1997
All rights reserved