American Demos Vol. II, Deceptions

A man dies and has to face the Lord God.  "What did you do with the life I gave you?"  In an instant he relives every episode, all at once in a flash of horror.  All the pain he inflicted, all the death he made happen, all the misery both personal and general, caused because of his arrogance and blindness. He relives everything.  None of it really happened.  It was only in his guilty mind. He was really just a shy, rather unhappy individual, who did not enjoy life at all, always felt guilty for everything, and was not very good company.   

But now, he thinks he's the worst murderer in the world, worse than Mussolini, worse than Stalin.  He wants to face the souls of everyone he wronged or killed, thousands, millions of their descendants, all who suffered by his hand.

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A man dies and has to face the Lord God.  "What did you do with the life I gave you?"  In an instant he relives every episode, all at once in a flash of horror.  All the pain he inflicted, all the death he made happen, all the misery both personal and general, caused because of his arrogance and blindness. He relives everything.  None of it really happened.  It was only in his guilty mind. He was really just a shy, rather unhappy individual, who did not enjoy life at all, always felt guilty for everything, and was not very good company.   

But now, he thinks he's the worst murderer in the world, worse than Mussolini, worse than Stalin.  He wants to face the souls of everyone he wronged or killed, thousands, millions of their descendants, all who suffered by his hand.  Except he never really wronged anyone, except maybe his wife and children, by being so withdrawn in an attempt hide his extreme self loathing. 

You see, in his own mind he was a monster, a destroyer of worlds and people. He now wants to endure death, over and over again, the death of those he wronged, and their children and children's children.  He feels he need to do this thousands of times, millions of times, until he is done and can fall into the troubled slumber of despair.  Nothing can save him but the only one who ever loved him, whom he had mostly ignored or taken for granted, until she died of flu at the age of seven, and broke what tiny heart he had left.  After that he was a broken man.  But not a murderer.  Only, he, in his overblown guilt, thought of himself that way, and blamed himself for his daughter's death.   

     She is living in the most beautiful part of heaven, where all who die as children go.  Her entire family is there, but not her father.  He is in the Hell of his own making.  She loves him, misses him and wishes he would be with her.  She petitions the arch angel, St. Michael, who goes to St.  Joseph, then to Jesus, then finally to Mother Mary herself.  Mother Mary tells her that nothing can save him until he is forgiven by the kiss of one who has a pure heart.

      She goes to him expecting nothing.  He is in total blackness, a miserable, pathetic figure.  She has a contingent of fireflies around her, which lights up her path.  He shrinks from the light, then grovels in front of her.  She says, "come with me to heaven."  He is amused by the way she says it, and a glimmer of recognition sparks his heart for a split second. Then, he shrugs, "it would take seven eternities" for him to get there. Hell is his home; he "deserves to be there." 

     She gives him a kiss.  It rips into his brain like a bullet, explodes, bleeding black bile running out thick as lava setting fire to his clothes and burning his skin.  She vanishes, but comes back 40 days later, to see how he is.  This time, when he sees her he does not grovel, but asks her forgiveness.  When she kisses him again, the electricity from it attacks him as if he'd been struck by lightning.  Sparks bolt out of his hands, feet, and head, and he shakes and vibrates for the next 40 minutes.  He asks her for her blessing.  She kisses him again, and this time it feels more like a warm blanket enveloping him, and he begins to breath again, for the first time since entering Hell.  With each breath he feels a little more alive. 

He turns a small smile into a laugh, then tears, then a flood of emotion wells up and for a split second, he glimpses reality as it is.  He looks up and sees clouds parting, colors more vivid than eyes can take in, angel music everywhere.  He looks down and there, disguised as a black dog, is his own sadness, his own pain; the visions, ideals, and beliefs that he chained up and tortured with his sneering silence, until they too had become vile and lowdown.  The dog is whimpering, begging him to stay where he is.  Love is pulling him up.  He is still not ready for the light.  He has yet to learn what it is to be human.   

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