To Hell and Back to The Blackness


Imagine, as I have, that you had died and was sentenced to wander the earth with no way to escape. Not even death was a permanent solution.

I frequently thought to myself “Am I trapped in a dream. Hooked up to machines supporting my life or did I die.” It is hard to explain or even believe unless you have experienced it for yourself.

I left after my weekly bowling league to meet a friend. On the way there I am in an accident that I believe had killed me. I am seen by a couple people I know walking into a pub that was miles away from where I was. Did I die and my spirit-self walk in to try to meet the friend still? Perhaps

I felt as if I had awoken the next morning. Whether I had or not is still debatable in my mind. As soon as I exited my car I had police questioning me whether I had an accident. Though I couldn’t honestly answer the questions. They fed me answers to their own questions enough to satisfy themselves. It was some of the worst interrogation I have ever seen. Repeatedly asking until they received an answer that wasn’t “I don’t know what happened.” Which was the honest answer.

I’ve encountered this before after an accident with head trauma. Police, or cops if you will, want answers. They tend to draw conclusions before questioning. If I was in an accident why wasn’t medical help sent for me?

To serve and to protect is their motto. Are police helping their image with this type of behavior? The cold looks they often give and their show of power with a gun hung at their hip.

It may be the fact that dealing with calls to actual crimes is the reason that they see everyone as a criminal. Each day they may feel as if their life is on the line. Which truthfully it is. There is a reason they have a weapon and wear a bulletproof vest.

Needless to say I call for a tow. My car has two flat tires. I get home and survey the damage. The costs to repair seem to outweigh the real value of the vehicle.

I sit in my home now feeling trapped. Days go by. I haven’t repaired my car due to a lack of funds. I still get in the car that shouldn’t be driven. I travel to the village where I had met my demise. I still wonder if it was real but I experienced it with a friend of mine and he says I was there.

On the way back home I crashed once more taking out both front tires my body taking a beating again. I contemplate how I am able to survive. Which is why I think I was dead to begin with.

Now I wonder if that was my motive. To die an accidental death. The weight of my burdens in my life felt as if they were crushing me. Death by most scientific standards was the end of life. Suicide is a conscious decision but this may have been a sub-conscious endeavor. The mind finding a way to end the thoughts of life’s problems which can’t seem to be solved.

I wake up and survey the damage and see that I am stuck miles from help. I begin my walk back. I am dazed. My back still hurting. How can I be dead if I still feel pain? Are these just the things I am feeling for real as I lie in my coma? It may be a way to entertain myself as the doctors and nurses make efforts to sustain my life.

A car passes by and asks if I need a ride. I accept the offer. Although he may be a killer he can’t be sure I’m not either. He drops me off at the end of the highway a few miles away. It reminded of a time more than 20 years ago when I was stranded test driving a car. A similar looking individual came to my aid.

The similarities pose these questions. Is this man my guardian angel of sorts? He may exist to help people like me as a way to answer a prayer for help. The other question being, is it all made up in my head? Am I pulling this man into my thoughts from a past thought? I may never know. I may have walked the entire way. Without any evidence to prove it happened, how can I be sure?

I walk to the only gas station open in town. I buy a coffee and walk out. I hear music in the distance. In circumstances like this, when you are trying to judge if anything is real, I wonder if this is a radio being played down the hall of my bed in ICU or from the man coming out of the gas station behind me.

I engage conversation with this man. Even though we are strangers we are able to interact without any problem. Our conversation runs the gamut of life. It included family, housing, jobs, and communities. He takes me where he is living now though I never go in I seem to make a friend even if we never see one another again.

The social networking of the new generation is making face to face communication a thing of the past. These random encounters seem to be the only acquaintances I have real interactions with. The more you get to know me the more I am disliked it seems. Which brings me to where I started at. Which was my death.

This contemplation of whether I am alive or dead has its roots embedded with the fact I had been in two accidents in two weeks. Am I the most unlucky man in the world or will I have to relive this death and the consequential pain that follows.

I look upon my reminders on my calendar. Three days from now I must be in a courtroom. This date has been looming in front of me but it was a day that was going to come eventually. The man upstairs will judge my actions in life. Whether a jury will seal my fate is yet to be known.

Where shall I go today to clear my mind? I decide to get some different scenery. I trek to the city named after a lake which others traveled great distances to enjoy in the past. They may have come to relax on the beach away from the large cities to the east. I wanted to relax but the beach was not for me on this day.

I arrive in the heart of the city. The mode of transport is by train. Even after the introduction of the automobile it remains a popular choice here. There has been lots of change throughout those years but the downtown is still a look into its own past. The brick buildings which replaced the original wood structures early in the last century remain in large numbers.

Today farmers are setting up in the park to sell their produce. The sidewalks are beginning to look as if they are now an extension of the businesses they are in front of filled with merchandise enticing passerby’s.

I walk around the farmers market and ask about their produce. The market isn’t open yet at this time and I soon realize nobody has time to answer my questions. I find it rude but I move on never wanting to return. Later I stop at a couple shops to see some what they may have. By this time the activity level on the street is picking up. The service I intend to receive is non existent. I forget about considering any shopping in this downtown.

I stop for a coffee at the local diner. It sits across from the barber shop I passed on my last journey through town. I remember it from the neon lights that were lit long after its last customer had left. I enjoy my coffee and bits of conversation. I notice my server is waiting tables and serving the counter. She tells me it is about to get busy. I am never one to enjoy a crowd. I may have given a larger tip than what is customary but I usually do. It seems to be my way to make up for existing.

It may be early to indulge myself with alcohol but I see a tavern open. I’ve been down this street on other occasions but I have never seen this building before. I walk in and a man at the bar exclaims “We’ve been waiting for you!”
Now I do not know this man and I’ve never been here before nor do I frequent taverns so I remark ” You must have been waiting for 39 years.” Whether anyone understands my comment I don’t know. I sit down and a couple of other customers walk in. The man next to me is rather annoying and aggravates the majority of people inside before he eventually leaves.

The man tending bar thinks I was friends with this crazy man. I explain “I’ve never seen him in my life.” I learn that he had been to the same places I had been only an hour before me. Looking back the hostility I was met with could have been from this man’s actions.

Now I’ve been told I was annoying on different occasions. I have to believe this was some kind of cruel test to show me how much of an ass I have made of myself in life. I did not want want to be near this offending individual. I begin to think he was some type of doppelgänger sent to teach me a lesson. If this was a mirror image of myself I wanted to shatter this mirror once and for all.

I want to change and conquer this feat. If I want to I can not stay here. I begin to think of the plans I had made 2 months prior to this day. I wanted to sell handwritten poems. To me the poems I have written are not as good as some may say. Now to sell them would be quite an endeavor. For who would want to buy something mediocre or something that has no meaning. If I cannot sell them I wonder if I’d be able to give them away. A gift maybe.

I walk from shop to shop. I want it to be unique. I want it to last. I ask and ask. To no avail. In front of one store away from all the hawking of goods is an open air cafe. I speak to a lady who is interested in my writing. She has no time now but we make a plan to meet the next day.

I walk around the block and see a cottage. It turns out it is not an actual cottage but a gathering place. I walk in and am seated. I pick up the menu and travel in time to two distinct times. I had been here before in two past lives. The last time I was here I died as I left. It wasn’t a physical death but mentally it had caused an avalanche of despair in which death may have been welcome. How it happened exactly is unknown to me but the way I had lived it was surely my fault.

I order my meal and try to forget the past. I go back to my thought of my gift. The gift that was too late to give anyway. I was told not to give another. That time had past. There was nothing there. No thought or feelings. Time can not be turned back or changed.

I leave the quaintness of the cottage. I may have expected a witch to throw me in the oven considering the fairy tale type of existence my life has been. Which makes me think of why anyone would want a fairy tale life to begin with. Rarely is it all good. Death and destruction lies around every corner.

There is an ice cream shop on the next corner here. I enter to buy an ice cream. I can’t help but see that there are signs for sale. They are signs about witches. I believe most women do believe they are witches. They do hold a special power inside themselves. I purchase them all. Perhaps a witch can cast a spell and bring me back as a prince. I ask the girl behind the counter to handwrite my poem to include in my bag of goodies. I add a little chocolate for good measure.

So in my own little fairy tale this would be a good little deed. Not in this grim world. It is taken as malice but I just don’t know this yet. I drop it off and leave. I don’t want to be seen by the witch.

I book a room for the night not wanting to return to my dreary home. It is already full of ghosts. Whether they are ghosts of my past or lost souls such as me. The day of clearing my mind has had an opposite effect.

I get to my room and try to lay down and sleep. My back feels as if it had been broken. The message from a week earlier begins to make sense it asked if I had been hit by a car. At the time I wasn’t aware but now it begins to make sense. The results of that day would unfold later in time.

I place a wake up call for the morning I don’t want to miss my appointment at the open air cafe. It may just turn this life of mine around or the very least bring me back to life.
I awake and look around. I am not at home. Where am I? Then it dawns on me. I’m in my hotel room. How odd it can be waking from a dream and not knowing what had happened only hours before.

A look at the clock it shows me that my wake up call never came through. Is this fate making the changes to our future? Plans are made in our minds then try as we might if it is not part of our destiny it will be rewritten.

I contemplate about the day before. I am disappointed with my idea for a gift. The effort was lacking. A haphazard throwing together of desperation to get it done. I take the time this day to make it right. Still not knowing the hatred I will be met with. I spend the rest of the afternoon completing my work even though the finished product would only be seen by some. I drop off this gift and instead of leaving it I knock on the door. A whirlwind of rage ensues at the idea anyone would want my presence known. I leave knowing even my attempts of kindness are works of evil.

To end this day I just want to go and sit down and perhaps write a little. I meet up with some friends down the road. As I sit a woman asks of a man nobody has seen in years. She tells me her story. She was told her son had been murdered and his body put in a warehouse. When the body was to be recovered it had vanished.

I try to calm this woman. She is a wreck and in my experience I cannot believe what most people say. She tells me her father was a Native American and he taught her how to slit her own throat and still live.

I knew that the spiritualists had special powers. Are these stories made up in her head? Is she telling me them as a way to escape the truth? They may just be the effects of drugs and alcohol. They truly are detrimental to your soul and being. She goes inside to talk this over with some others still hoping to find the man she came there for.

I leave this little shindig with either having found there are others like me walking as ghosts not ready to accept our fate or we just have the ability to not be seen unless we want to be seen or seen by another like us.

I go back to my room now with a bit of fear that the woman I had met is dead too because she had seen me sitting and I was as quiet as can be. I go to the second floor room. I check my window to make sure no one can get in. The window lock is broken. I have to stay up and guard my room from the evil that lurks outside.

I walk to the lobby and I hear the media that is being broadcast. A terror threat is issued due to an intercepted message from Al-Qaida. I say to myself and the night manager “Is this a threat or a propaganda campaign?”

Having prior knowledge of the ability to create fear or to deceive another with messages it is hard to decipher what is ever the truth. The intercepted message may never had been from Al-Qaida but meant to appear that way. The majority of this work is done by an elite group they are “Psy Warriors”.

I go back to my room and check my window once again. It is still closed. I turn on the television. I avoid the news. I send out a message of my own. I try to stay awake but somehow I do fall asleep. I wake up sitting on my couch. The window is now open and the sun blaring into the room.

“What has happened here? Did someone find my whereabouts? I told nobody where I was staying. Was my last message intercepted?” I say these things to myself but before I pack my belongings I actually fear someone had come into my room and killed me or tried to kill. How does one kill a ghost?

Now the real question is. How does one kill a “Ghost Warrior”?

I go back to where I was last night. I need to ask questions from the ones who were there. When I get there it is deserted as if it had been closed for years. I stand on the balcony wondering what has taken place. I must still be asleep or trapped inside of some bad conspiracy movie. The only thing I can think to do is start walking.

I remember I had a coupon from my hotel. It was for free beer nuggets at a great pizza restaurant. That sounds like a place to start my thought process over.

I get to the restaurant where I’m greeted quite warmly. My server shows me that his name is Damien. I realize that I must be here waiting to go to Hell. He brings me to a very special seating area. I order my food and notice the only people who see me as I walk around are children. They must have special abilities in seeing the dead who roam. It was here that it becomes clear I am not in the same world I once knew.

Here I sit where I have been consuming fuel. As I said it was here that I truly believe I am not of the world I once knew.

I leave not even finishing all of my bits of dough. I do what I know how to do and that is walk. I have work to finish before I am forced to leave. If leaving is even an option. I walk for miles. Cars fly by never taking notice.

I reach a hill. On top of this mound of soil there begins a sidewalk. If one were to be walking in the opposite direction it would be where it ends. Which ever case it may be, I ventured to the sidewalk. In the distance is a small tobacco store. That will be my short term destination.

I entered this shop. I ask for my usual. I purchase my cigarettes and then ask if they have water for sale. He directs me to the back of the building to a cooler and he says for me I can have one for free. I am a bit shocked by this act. I wasn’t looking for a handout. Was this man expecting my arrival? I accept it with a “Thank you, Thank you very much.”

I walk back to the sidewalk from which I came from. A few more miles and I will be at the next town. It is where I should be able to refuel. My phone has died long ago. I brought a backup form of communication this day. I need a wi-fi connection for it to work. I should find one far away over the hills.

Preparedness isn’t my strong suit. I should be ready at a moments notice. How is it that this little brain of mine can function so well at times and at other times be unable to remember yesterday?

With that last thought behind me it is here that the sidewalk ends for me. I must along the shoulder. If no one can see me they could still hit me. Should I dare take the risk? It is the shortest route so I do.

A couple minutes go by then a car comes within inches of me. Following right behind is a K-9 unit from the sheriff’s department lights flashing. I think to myself is he trying to kill me? Funny question coming from a spirit. As I walk past the German Shepherd caged within is barking at me like mad. I hate to think of the pain that would ensue if he were to escape.

I try to brush the experience off. I come to the site of my accident from weeks before. I think about the possibility that I would see my own dead body on the side of the road. Without a body to be seen people tend to believe a death has not occurred. If I find my body will I finally leave this earth no longer having to walk aimlessly? There is some hope in this aspect.

I look around but not in depth. I don’t want to except the fact. I want to stay even if it is to haunt for the rest of time.

A quote from Einstein echoes in my thoughts “Energy cannot be created or destroyed.” We are all a form of energy. We breathe air, eat food and drink. We convert all of this into energy. We are all energy. What about when we become pure energy? No vessel to hold us anymore. What would happen then?

There is a shopping center finally in front of my eyes. A familiar sign illuminates the darkening sky. It is the blue hue from my bank. Will my debit card still work or has it been canceled? The card opens the door. I push the buttons on the ATM but the transaction is denied. No stop for me at this oasis.

I continue on. There is activity all around me. Everyone is carrying on in their daily activities. With billions of people on the planet does just one person matter? To this soul I have to say that answer is “No”. It is all too easy to forget or never acknowledge one’s existence. They would have to do some great feat or deed to be considered in someone’s thoughts. Even the thoughts of myself do not meet these requirements.

One more hill stands in my way. I walk up the hill as thistle scrapes my skin. Pain still exists as I pass by a hotel. Other weary travels have come to rest. Where are they going on their journey? There is no room in my mind to add these thoughts. I was planning to work today but now I have no drive. No ambition. I want to just except my fate. I am not the warrior I thought I was.

I spot a safe haven nearby. The doors are open. The man inside is a generous man. He exists to bring joy to others. I have been here before. I failed in my quest to partner with him before. I had the initiative I just lacked the materials needed in building the foundation.

I enter and make a small request to use a phone. My legs do not want to carry me any longer. He agrees and points me in the direction of the beacon of communication.

Even though I could still walk I am about to break. What would happen if I was pure energy and mentally caved in on myself? Would I just turn into light or heat? Energy can’t be destroyed but it is constantly being converted. I can only imagine that I would become a beam of light hurled into space. Racing out into the unknown at the speed of light. What would I see if I did? As of now we look at the stars and we are always looking into the past. The stars and galaxies we see may have been destroyed millennia ago.

I pick up that phone to call for the help I need. It is even better that the man I call wants my help with a task that is too large for himself. I can conquer it I always do.

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About Bacon Pro

I am a writer, musician, poet, photographer, communications specialist, Psy Warrior, computer guru, ad representative, painter, mechanic, collector, painter and a father, .
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to To Hell and Back to The Blackness

  1. Pingback: To Hell And Back To The Blackness – Part 2 | Behind The Curtain

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