Afterlife

[Rahsash Geldich]

There are other worlds and planes here on earth. Not the ecosystem in a fishbowl, mind you, or the planes full of buisnssmen and women engrossed in the waves of the stock market falling with a tide but rather the places created.

 

If you were to stumble upon this particular plane, I'm sorry. The ones there are not always kind to visitors. And to say that they aren't playing with a full deck of cards is an understatement. Not only are the majority of the spades gone, but the few diamonds left are full of chew marks. There is also an ace through seven set of blue circles in there.

 

But suppose somehow you had still traipsed into this plane. Even more unfortunate is that you have to be dead to reach it.

 

There is a sign you see when you first arrive. All around you is black, save the winding dirt path that you see meandering in front of you. When you walk, it dissappears from behind you to create a literal one way path. The sign has what appears to be graffitti on it. The original had simply the word HELL inscribed in a thick black print. Someone has taken a black marker and drawn an arrow to an 'o'. You stare. A cobalt blue with spidery, evil villaness handwriting has written 'I live there'. Your eye follows a bright orange arrow to an "It's in France." Something tells you it actually isn't, perhaps the obsessively neat childish print. Next in a red is "I have a cottage there, please come visit." The way it reminds you of a mad-man's scrawl isn't encouraging int he least. The blue returns with the last tidbit. "I have a mansion, KEEP OUT!" You stare at the sign for a moment, then edge as far away as the path will allow you. Kansas may be too far out of reach, but you think you now have an awful lot in common with Alice.

[Rahsash Geldich]

The sign glows white as you continue to walk past it, looking back at it every now and then. The path continues to vanish as you follow it, but the sign still glows in the receding background of black. It is monotonous, winding, and you feel as if you aren't moving at all as you trudge onwards. The thought of stepping off the path into that black abyss is so unappealing that you almost lack the desire to stray at all. The minor bit of couriosity left is quickly held dangerously hostage by your self-preservation.

 

Then you hear the music. It is comming from a great distance and even from it, a dull bass throbbing is noticable. Squinting, you can almost make out a... something... not too far off. You sit down to rest a while, but you are not tired in the least and stand back up, dusting yourself off sheepishly and looking around, as if titters are comming unseen from the ink around you. The throb becomes a heartbeat and you wish you hadn't come up with the idea of grinning mouths, although the uneasy, observed feeling that usually accompanies is not present.

 

The thing turns out to be a gate, suspended between two posts that levitate a few inches off the circular cul-de-sack that the path spits you off into. When you walk closer to inspect the intricate appearing contraption, it vanishes without a trace, leaving you feeling a little more alone.

 

"Look stupid, paths aren't exactly alive, they aren't even friendly inanimate objects." The voice is yours, but the music has you on the edge, and looking at the gate, you begin to have a rather lively conversation with yourself.

 

"I don't like that music."

 

"You can't even hear it."

 

"No one asked you."

 

"Shut up, smart aelic." As if this plane has infected you, suddenly you're looking at a mirror image of you, only you don't remember ever wearing such an atrocious ensamble of red. Then again, yout hink, looking down, white isn't one of your favorites either.

 

"Cute." The sarcasm drips and falls with a dull plop that stirs up the dust around the gate, which you have determined to be two complex silver posts holding a rather unremarkable barred gate with seven interlocked rings at the top. The gate itself is of glass.

 

You stick your tongue out at yourself and walk a full circle around it, then turn and walk the other way to be sure.

 

The other you wiggles your fingers under it, and you watch, trying to ignore the growing sense of wrongness that swells as you realise the music is comming from the other side of the gate.

 

"But there is no other side!" Both yous protest. You sigh in unison and step together to face it.

 

You are one again. The self-preserving part of your sanity squishes the lonliness before it creates anything else. A shaky hand extends to open up the gate, and wraps itself around the bar. When you pull, it swings open noiselessly on a hingeless edge. Some part of you catalogues that you grabbed second from the edge, or perhaps the sixth from the other side...

 

There is no recognizable difference in the space between the posts, but you walk through as if running the gauntlet. Eyes closed tightly shut, you can't immediatly see the force that slams into you from the side and tackles you to the ground.

[Rahsash Geldich]

The Thing the tackled you is growling, and has two paws pressing painfullyintoyour shoulders. The half of you you tried to kill, rather unsucessfully, forces one of your eyes open. It's not a pretty view. Slightly yellowed teeth are grinning in a not-mirthful way into your face.

 

"Hey! You stupid piece of moth eaten fur! What did you drag in now?" The Thing is dragged off you effortlessly and thrown aside, although you know you couldn't have even managed a muscle spasm under its weight. It stands now a small distance off, whining and lying close to the ground. The lighting principles of the previous place, everything walking around as if they've been drawn on to a sheet of black paper and no background has been filled in. The music is More definable now, a female singer musically clashign with the heavy string and drum that accompanies it.

 

You finally manage to open up the other eye and look at your savior.

 

An extremely unhappy brunette with a cat-likened face is glaring at you. Off tap beats that you feel up your legs tell you a foot is impatient and crossed arms are never a good sign when first meeting a person.

 

You slowly raise yourself up and get to your feet, dusting yourself off out of habit.

 

"I... uh, um, hi?"

 

"How," she asks, displeasure saturating her voice, "Did you get into YOU ALL Hell?"