A loud bang echoed through silent night. It was as though an asteroid crashed on mortal earth. I froze, helplessly basking as I watched the evening skies with sparkling stars turn dark blue night to crescent blood. This wasn’t a dream. This was hell materializing in real time.
I heard my name. “Paul Jones,” the voice thundered. The earth belched in response as though it was the tides of the sea.
The air froze to racks of frozen water. It blocked my nostrils, forming sheets of stagnant snow stream. I was struggling, helplessly suffocating.
I felt my body stiff as it rolled, struggling to stay alive, submerging in mud and water. My heart stopped.
“Paul Jones,” a female voice called sternly, her voice reverberating through the airwaves.
My eyes froze. I had lost consciousness. I felt my spirit compress into white vapor and slip through the opening of my nostril. It drifted in the blank emptiness of space. I struggled to place the moment.
“Today, your soul is required of thee,” she said, drawing nigh. As she did, I felt intense heat ooze from her words. It burnt as hot coal and reddened as infernal fire. It met with the freezing coats of snow and nothingness and married with it to torment my soul.
I felt what was left of me judder. This was my end. I was crossing from time to eternity and feeling every iota of torment shatter the holdings of my soul. Her voice machete against me, magnetizing me against it and spoiling my remains with fierce fire and harsh torment. As it did, the mourning of several souls started. They begged for help, wanting a way out of the torment. They swore any price to pay for a path to salvation. They screamed and cried and mourned and begged, yet, it was as though the more they cried, the more the pain they felt multiplied.
Suddenly, a forceful stream of light exploded. I felt the force push me backwards. For a moment the mourning and the cries ceased. Then a room materialized before me.
The moderately dressed room seemed familiar. It was dimly lit with thick brightly colored curtains on its windows. I tried to recall this place, probing as I staggered weary gaze across the room.
The door at the entrance made a click sound. This wasn’t a knock, this wasn’t as though a key tried to open the door from the outside.
I simmered into a corner as though I was in danger. I stayed, mute, watching, cautious, wondering. The door popped open. It had just been jacked.
Where I stayed I saw a tall slim figure, athletically built, gently but swiftly proceed into the room. He proceeded to the bed, smoothly advancing without generating any noise.
Now at the foot of the bed, he took a moment to study his prey. He smiled in amusement. He drew closer to the bed and raised the duvet to completely reveal what it partially hid.
I jerked where I stood. It now occurred to me.
“This is Serra’s room,” I whispered to myself. This is my daughter’s room, I thought, trying to understand the scene.
She hadn’t noticed the intruder. She still laid, lost in sleep, naked, carelessly scattered across the queen size.
The intruder pulled cuffs from his waist pocket. Momentarily studying his prey, he cuffed both her hands and legs to the bed frame.
He studied her state, hit her severally to drag her into reality, and then began making love to her.
She struggled, trying to set herself free, but she wouldn’t. She was pinned to the bed.
I screamed but couldn’t be heard. I rushed to save her, but ran through the rapist, the bed, my daughter and the walls of the room.
I could only cry, watching, screaming, struggling, but even after forty five minutes the torment hadn’t ended.
He stood, panting after he let go the essence of his manliness. He rose to lean over her.
He smiled.
He stood to go, but turned, abruptly, to face her, as though something occurred to him. He took out the keys and unlocked her, gesturing her to the bathroom. She refused, rather screaming, mourning and destroying whatever her hands engaged.
The bed was stained, for she was a virgin before now.
The rapist charged towards her, hitting her repeatedly. The force of the series of punch fell her backwards. He returned to her, as though wanting another round of sex.
Her hands were free, and without hesitating, she pulled off the mask, and almost immediately screamed in horror.
Instantly he rolled over from where he had fallen to, and pulled a revolver.
She screamed.
He didn’t wait to think it through.
Bang! He fired into her forehead and watched her die instantly.
He fell back swiftly. Reflex.
I also screamed. This wasn’t true. I refused to believe the reality.
I was the rapist. I had just raped and killed my daughter.
The room and everything in it slowly withered. I returned to the place of damnation with the voice choking me in a cocoon of her wrath.
“the wages of sin is death,” she spoke solemnly. “And you,” she continued, “you must die.”
As she spoke, the words, air and sound that materialized formed her face in the pregnant space. I looked at it and marveled. It was the face of Sara.
In her forehead was the hole drilled from the revolver. The tears that streamed down her chicks was blood and as it flowed it melted her away.
I juddered almost unexpectedly. My face too began withering. The vapor that was me vanished swiftly.
Again I heard, speaking solemnly with the voice of an angel. “Your soul is required of you.”
At this a gentle wind blew with warmth and pain ridden in its wings. It soon wiped away the vapor that was me, till I lost touch with my spirit, soul and existence.
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