Free A Short Stay in Hell by Steven L. Peck

Direites all watched
with gleeful cheers and laughter as she got smaller and smaller,
until as an infinitesimal dot she merged with the ever-present
vanishing point and winked out of my existence. My only joy was
gone.
    “I love you too,” I said to the empty air
below me. I was hit over the head with a bone and saw nothing but
blackness.
    ~~~
    WHEN I WOKE up, I noticed I had been moved
and was looking under one of the beds in a sleeping room. Then I
felt a sharp pain, and everything went black again. I woke up
again, noticed the same perspective I’d seen before, heard a
whistle of something swinging through the air like a baseball bat,
and darkness again. This continued for thirty-seven days, which for
me lasted only a few seconds.
    Thinking in bits and pieces over the course
of more than a month was new to me, but time and practice brought
increased efficiency of thought. I had about six seconds before I
was clubbed. About two of which was spent in orienting myself by
recalling where I was in the thinking process, then with the
remaining four I deliberated on my situation. Of course to me, the
month passed in only three minutes of consciousness, but during
that three minutes I hatched a plan and reached a point where I was
ready to execute it.
    Upon awakening, I rolled as quickly as I
could in the direction away from my invisible attacker. Then,
having secured some distance between me and my attacker, I rolled
and leapt to my feet, and turned quickly to face my assailant. He
was clubbing down with a large cow thighbone and was startled to
find me gone.
    I was not surprised to find myself in one of
the small rooms next to a bed, but here sat my assailant, rubbing
his eyes.
    “Well, well, well, you got away. At least I
beat Higgins’s record, but not even close to Barley’s.” The man
stood up and looked at me.
    “Want some coffee?”
    There were a few other people getting up, a
few going to the bathrooms, and some making their way out to the
kiosk. I suddenly noticed that near every bed was a crumpled body,
lying still, its head bashed in and fresh blood pooling on the
floor. I felt sick at the sight. What were these people doing?
    “Maybe some orange juice,” I said
suspiciously.
    At that the man shrugged and motioned for me
to go out to the kiosk.
    “Don’t try to get away,” he cautioned.
“You’re a slave.”
    “A slave?” I asked.
    “Indeed, you’ve been adopted by the
brotherhood. You will serve us, or you will be used as a morning
sacrifice – as you have for the past month. As the master teaches,
‘To murder a sinner in the morning is the start of a blessed
day.’”
    I was speechless.
    “There’s a chance to escape both these fates,
and that is to join us and undertake the oath. One of the teachers
will instruct you with the other Arisers this morning after
breakfast. Go grab something for breakfast.” And with that he
marched into the bathroom. I stood there, stunned.
    Death lay all around me, but those still
living seemed not to care. They stepped and maneuvered around the
many bodies like it was a normal morning. I walked out of the room
and came up to the kiosk and ordered an orange juice. Bodies were
everywhere. People were crumbled in the hallway. Fresh pools of
blood seeped under many of the twisted bodies. I saw one man being
beaten by several others. They beat him until he fell to the
ground, where they kicked him until he was dead. There seemed to be
no malice in their actions. It was as if they were almost bored,
going through a morning ritual that needed to be done, like
brushing their hair or ordering a meal from the kiosk.
    I walked over to the railing and peered over,
thinking of Rachel’s last jump, which for me had only been a few
minutes ago, but I knew in reality had been weeks ago. A wave of
sadness and loss spread over me just as a voice said,
    “Don’t think about jumping. We’ll catch you
before you get a foot on the railing. Then we’ll torture you in
ways you