One day, Alma
came up here with newspapers and showed me pictures of his body hanging off a
tree in the woods; it took weeks for his body to be discovered. As she
furiously spoke about the hell she hopes that monster is in, I sat frozen, my
ribcage tightening around my lungs, prohibiting air to enter my deflated organs;
my eyes burned but no tears came out…
Alma went on “He could have had info
that would bring those bastards to court at least.” …
I believe that’s what hell feels like – spiritual,
invisible flames burning through every atom of our immortal selves. Those
flames are so much more powerful than fire; I checked. And there is no respite
– no water, no ashes, nothing that can bring down the scorching. Alexander was
stupid to take it so lightly. The pathetic being was as stupid about death as
he was about life.
I’ve often
wondered if I should tell Alma
the truth; she longed for answers her whole life and perhaps it would have
given her some solace, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t lose her. Instead I prayed
for her every day, all the time; for her and all those like her. I prayed for
them more than I prayed for…
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