Waking Up
The following account may or may not be true. It wasn't related to me by anyone specifically, but I am sure I have heard it before. I only say this to make sure it is totally understood that I am not making this up, and if events didn't really happen like this, I am sure that they should, or would, if someone would only take a little initiative onto themselves for a change, and not lollygaging along like a bunch of tourists on a nude beach. I'm not sure, exactly how people would do something like this, but most people are inventive, anyway.
Very often, I have found, that one of the first things that happens to me in my normal day, is that I wake up. Mind you, this is not an astounding feat, but rather sets the scene for why this story is being told. On the day in question, I didn't. Wake up that is, not just 'didn't'. Most of you think you have had a day like this, and I'm not trying to belittle you the feeling, but you haven�t. I mean that not only did I not wake up, I didn't �wake up� in the euphemistic sense of the word. That is to say, I died in my sleep.
I suppose I should say that some of you have had that experience, but I sincerely doubt anyone who had is either reading this now, or able to communicate what exactly it is like, not waking up in such a manner. Therefore, in the rest of this explanation, we will just pretend that no one else has done this, because really they haven�t, but I don't want to be too offensive, at the outset anyway, or more people will stop reading now.
It started the way most nights go at my house, for me. I turned to the left to take a last drink for the night, and upon realizing that I had taken somewhere in the area of ten last drinks for the night, figured that perhaps one of the reasons I was unable to locate my glass, was that I was unconscious. Again, I am sure that many people have also shared this experience with me, however, not many actually are able to walk to bed, undress and tuck oneself into bed when in that very unconscious stupor. The fact that I was able to do so, and also aware enough to remember what being in an unconscious state feels like, should be enough to persuade some people that this was a very interesting night indeed.
When I didn�t wake up in the morning, I knew something was very wrong. I knew that part of my problem, if indeed not the whole of the thing, was the fact that I had a bit too much to drink the night before. This had, until recently, not been a very large deterrent to me, as it were, but the inescapable issue now presented to me with all the pomp and circumstance of a cat with a very dead rat was the fact that I was stone dead. I have to say, that this made my morning very inconvenient, and as the day went on, I found that my situation was damn near unbearable. First of all, I had my answering machine on, and for the first few hours, I amused myself by mentally laying odds against who would, and would not leave me a message. As the phone would bleat out rings in a plaintive whine, so much to say �I know you are there, but dead, but I wish you would really answer me, being that is my purpose and all�, I was forced to lay there, unwilling but unliving, and was therefore unable to escape the withering sarcasm that the rings eventually took on. Without a doubt, my phone was very mean, and could not ring long at all without being rather uncivilized about it. I resolved, as soon as I moved away from being dead, that I would go right out and buy a cordless phone. I wasn�t sure, but I had time to reason, in my state, that a cordless phone would be very much like a neutered dog: it would look the same, for the most part, but be much more docile, should I be unable to pay attention to it for long periods of time. While I was dead, for example, as I was now.
Having the entire day to examine my predicament, I was able to discern the following four things. One: the inability to roll over makes for a very unstimulating panorama of my pillow, half the wall in front of me, and a little bit of my ceiling, since I lay at a nearly right angle to the floor, on my left side. Two: My television set is covered in a very thick layer of dust, which I attribute to the plaster stucco ceiling I have in my room slowly flaking off. Three: Finally, being dead is quite boring, and altogether very much like being drunk, without the slurred speech, or speech of any kind for that matter, and finally, four: when your parents discover you in that way, they react by crying rather than by admonishing you for missing classes and being drunk late in the day. Altogether, it is an unpleasant experience and I don�t believe that anyone should be forced to undergo it more than once in a lifetime. My parents passed the time alternating between kneeling over my bed and consoling each other, and for my part, I stared at my television, wishing they would turn it on and perhaps put on a good movie for me to watch. This, alas, was not to be, and though I would liked to have seen the matrix on dvd again, the reason for my situation became very clear, very soon after 6:32 that afternoon.
Having been unable to talk, move, or otherwise make myself useful for the day, I was relieved when someone at last entered my room and spoke to me.
Dead eh? Fancy that. How do you think you managed to get that way, and why do you suppose that you are still here?
The voice that spoke was thick with an accent, but obviously English and happily, when I tried to answer, it seemed that my thoughts were enough, and this visitor did not require me to actually vocalize about my situation.
Well, I imagine that at some point last night, my heart stopped beating, and I have no idea why I am still here, obviously, having never died before, I am not sure how to go about succeeding at it, on my first go round.
The voice did not care for my sarcasm, I was sure, but it continued on in bored tones, thick still with that ungodly accent, untraceable, but unforgettable.
Well, regardless of how you got here, the main question I have at this point, is �why haven�t you left yet?� Perhaps you might be so kind as to fill in some blanks for me, and from there we will get you all sorted out?
Not that I was in any position to say no, at this point, but I figured it may also be interesting to note what kind of �blanks� this voice had for me, as yet disembodied, as the speaker hadn�t moved to my side of the bed yet.
Sure, I guess. I don�t really have anything pressing to do now that I cannot move, anyway. Go ahead.
I was sure I was going to get questions like �have you lived a good life?� or �do you think that all good people deserve happiness� or, hey, even �What did you think of them casting Scott Bakula as the captain on the new Startrek series?� But no, nothing so interesting.
Could I get your name, please?
Alex Messler I replied, in my head.
Date of birth, Mr. Messler?
December ninth, nineteen seventy nine I continued obligingly
I wonder, Mr. Messler, if I could ask you a series of questions about life, and your perceptions of it, and if you could respond by rating my statements on a scale of one to eight, where one is �I strongly agree with the statement� and eight is �I strongly disagree with the statement�?
Jesus Christ I replied I�m dead and you�re a telemarketer? What the hell kind of crappy afterlife is this?
Mr. Messler, I�m sorry, I am only doing my job. As it is, we�re running quite behind schedule, being that you died somewhere in the area of 3:24 am and it is now�the voice paused, during which time I am sure the cosmic telemarketer from beyond was checking his watch�6:32pm of that same day. I should have had your answers recorded and you sorted out on your way within the hour of your death, to give you an indication of how backlogged we currently are. You see, many people do not properly register any more with their local church or other religious affiliated agency and as such we cannot alwa�
I interrupted the voice mid-sentence somewhat impatiently
You mean to tell me that you had all day to try to get in touch with me, but could not find any other time than my supper hour?
The voice didn�t get the joke, and I wasn�t surprised. I could almost hear the voice blink rapidly a few times, before continuing.
Perhaps I am not being clear enough, Mr. Messler. You�re dead, quite dead, in fact. Not breathing, no pulse, brain-dead, to the rest of the world anyway, and we are not quite sure where you fit into the grand scheme of things. You�re not quite old enough to have done a great deal, and as a result, we don�t have nearly a complete file on you yet. My questions are designed to elicit the most likely results to your future actions, had you had any.
So what you�re saying is, I concluded, that you�re going to� send me somewhere� based on the answers I give you here?
Yes, essentially, the voice replied, that is the idea of this whole thing.
What then, voice, is stopping me from making stuff up? I had to ask, just to get an answer.
I�I beg your pardon? The voice stammered a little, and I detected a quick note of fear, if nothing else.
I said, what stops me from making stuff up, for your answers? What kind of questions are you going to ask me? Anything about being nice to animals, or reading bibles, or questioning the hatred and bigotry of some people in the world? Or wait, how about this one: �Do I think it is fair that people who are over the age of seventy are still allowed to win the lottery?�
The voice didn�t answer for a few moments, and then spoke very quietly, as if afraid there were other dead people in the room with me. Mr. Messler, I�m not sure if you have ever had a real death experience before, but I am the one asking the questions here, and if you will just answer me when I ask, I am sure that you will end up getting to wherever it is that you deserve to go, with a great more deal of speed than if you continue to be evasive like this with me.
I had to agree with that, at least. Alright, voice, you�re right. I�ve never done this before, and I guess you are the professional here, right?
The voice didn�t sound smug, exactly, but certainly was a great deal less unhappy sounding after that. The questions were very silly, as I recall, and continued for at least 10 minutes, which may or may not have been the goal of the interview process.
And now, Mr. Messler�the voice hesitated for a moment, as if to gather some strength, and I took the opportunity to jump back into the conversation
Voice, you address me quite formally. Can I know your name, so that we can continue in a friendlier way, please? The silence afterward was crushing, but soon it was again broken.
My name is Lee Brendon, Mr. Messler, and if I could ask you but one more quest...I again interrupted, more out of habit than actual interest in the conversation
It�s nice to meet you Mr. Brendon, I hope that I haven�t been too much trouble for you this evening. There was no good in being impolite, even if I was dead.
Trouble? No, no trouble. Normally, at least in the last few centuries, my department has not been very busy with the identification of problem cases, you see, like yours. Normally, we only got babies that died at birth, and they are very simple cases, really, they can�t answer your questions, and we just stamp their cases �Examined and suggested for reincarnation� and continue on, really, it wasn�t that difficult a job until just recently.
Happy that I had Mr. Brendon on a tangent for a while, at least for a diversion, I pressed the conversation a little.
Just recently, Mr. Brendon? What happened recently?
I could feel the hesitation beginning, but the voice of Mr. Brendon continued on.
Well, when I say recently, Mr. Messler, of course I mean that in a broader, more �life of the planet� kind of recent, not a �since last Monday� kind of recent, you�ll understand. I mentally nodded, and apparently the cue was picked up, or at least Mr. Brendon continued unabated. You are probably aware, yourself, of the trends towards faithlessness among the people of the world, as you are one of them. I don�t mean to be cruel about it, Mr. Messler, Mr. Brendon interrupted my objection to the word �faithless�. I mean that more and more people are not owing allegiance to any one faith or spiritual path. It makes it very difficult for the sorters, like me, to put people on their right path.. Why, just last week we accidentally reincarnated someone into the body of a man who had been living already, quite happily, for some fifty years. Needless to say, it was quite the scene at the office, let me tell you. There were reports to file, and someone had to create a plausible explanation for why this man was suddenly able to speak ancient Greek, while simultai�
I interrupted again, out of boredom and a little necessity
Then, Mr. Brendon, I suggest we should get back to your questions then, and hopefully we can have a talk afterwards, for a while, when you are not so backlogged.
The voice of Mr. Brendon was obviously a little put out by this suggestion. Apparently he had not had a willing audience for some time, and he was disappointed that his conversation was not interesting enough, in the end.
Certainly, Mr. Messler, I only have one question left, and I think you may have had time to think about it. The voice paused, I took it for a pregnant pause that would soon hold some meaning, and I was right.
How do you feel about people over seventy being allowed to win the lottery?
Hell, I discovered, was a very interesting place, once you got past the annoying parts. Meals were irregular, but consisted of very nearly raw meat, and greasy french-fries. The goal, I�d assumed, was to promote bad health and intestinal problems of a very foul sort. Occasionally, on the weekends, which lasted for one eighth of a second, we were allowed a magazine of our choice and a small drink of bad beer, which was, in and of itself, a good reason to be named Hell. The work weeks, however, were nearly a year long, minus the one eighth of a second weekend and the time it took a person to say something to the effect of �holy Christ, that was some awful beer�.
Primarily, it was as anyone who had ever told me about Hell had said. It was quite warm, but only unbearably so at night, when the watchers would dump large quantities of ice water over the glowing red coals far below us, and as the steam would rise up and cling to our bodies while we tried to sleep, a voice would intone from below, It�s not the heat, it�s the humidity every hour or so.
During the day, the people would shovel dirt and rock onto a large conveyor belt, which ringed the deep mining pit, circled several times around the rock pit that had been being dug for some millennia already, and finally deposited the debris and other garbage onto trucks, which hauled through enormous tunnels, belching black smoke and other detestable fumes into the air. The trucks unloaded the dirt and rock onto trains, which the made their way slowly downward, into the earth, in dark and dank tunnels, hollowed out for centuries by the workers in Hell, and finally emptied their cargo into hollow caves situated directly below our feet. The digging workers in this operation had it easy, as they could not dig faster than the replacement crews could pack it back into the earth. The replacement crew, a group of approximately half the size of the digging crew, worked with the dirt that was unloaded off the trains, and packed it back in so that the people above never really made any progress. At least, that was the theory. Unfortunately for the replacement teams, the digging crew was a much easier job than theirs, and had more people involved in it. Normally, the digging crew moved the ceiling down by a good three feet per day faster than the replacement crew could pack the rubble back in. All the blame was put, naturally, on the replacement crews, and it was their numbers who received the torture that Hell is legendary for. The only trick to Hell, however, is that every two work weeks, the replacement crew is intermingled with the digging crew, and a new replacement crew is selected from the pool of workers. The watchers, large horned beasts with mean dispositions and a penchant for both irony and cruelty tried their best to hand pick people that had been on the replacement crew the last few times, but even in their demonic power, couldn�t remember the name and face of every soul in Hell. But one particularly noticeable man had been on the replacement crew for at least fifty years, and no one in the dig team seemed to mind much.
I had done some ten work weeks in the pit, and was getting quite annoyed at my living conditions as well as the people I worked with. The next time a watcher happened by, I told him that I wanted to speak to his supervisor.
What�s that again?
You�re supervisor, Watcher Sagaroth. I�d like to speak to them please.
My� Supervisor, is it now? Alright, doomed one, you may speak with my supervisor. Come with me.
I followed obligingly enough, and not at all sure why people hadn�t tried this before. Watcher Sagaroth, a rather intelligent being, even by demon reckoning, walked with me dogging his steps for some miles, at least the distance covered by an uncomfortable sprinting pace in three hours, which was what I was doing, by comparison to his long strides.
Watcher Sagaroth, are we a good distance off where we are going, now?
Yes. I am taking you to the room of a thousand pains, where your flesh will be flogged off your body, until you are nothing but animated bones. Then, we will grind your bones into powder, and make it into the spices we use to flavor the meat we serve to the doomed at meals. All during this time, you will be painfully conscious of your fate, and unable to do anything but feel the pain as you writhe in agony. After this is done, and the other doomed souls have excreted you into the ground, your body will be gathered, in its microscopic components, by other doomed souls, and taken back to the room of a thousand pains, where you will be put back together, and can return to work in the digging pits.
Oh, I said.
Could you give me a rough estimate of how long it will take us to get there? I�m really getting a little winded here.
It will take an eternity, my doomed one, and I will be your guide on that journey, to see that you always run in step with my walking pace and that you never falter from your path, for it is my duty to do so, my job to see you reach your destination.
But, Watcher Sagaroth, if we�re walking forever, how will I ever reach the destination? I�ll never get to the �room of a thousand pains� if it takes forever to get there, will I?
Watcher Sagaroth was silent for some time, walking steadily onward.
Fine. He said, sullenly. We�re here. Are you happy now?
I was a little confused, we had simply stopped walking, and a room had materialized in the hall that we walked, deep in the bowels of Hell.
Thank you for coming with me, Watcher Sagaroth, but why couldn�t I see your superior like I asked?
Because, doomed one, Hell is a bureaucracy, and I hate paperwork. I�ll come back in half an eternity or so to pick you up and take you back to the pits. Play nice with Azaroth, he�s not a bad guy, for all his job allows him to be. Have a good time.
The Watcher chuckled, if you can call the sound of one hundred pounds of glass shattering simultaneously, chuckling, that is.
I walked into the room of a thousand pains, and turned to see Watcher Sagaroth standing at the door, waving to me, and motioning me to go deeper in, like a proud parent on the first day of school. Hell was certainly a place where you made your own fun, at least, as a Watcher, anyway.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, my new plaything has arrived at last� its been decades, if not longer, since anyone has asked to see a supervisor. My excrement examining workforce was in danger of losing their budget, really, so good of you to make it here today, Mister�. Messler, was it?
It was, I replied, but now, I�m not so sure. Worm-bait may be a better name, is it?
Good show, indeed, yes Mr. Messler, you are quite right, soon you will no longer be the person you think you are now, instead, after being ground and flayed and digested and excreted, we will put you back together again, and you will recall every moment of your torment. Then, you may get back to work amongst the others.
Sounds good to me, lets get started. Flogged first, was it?
Sounds� good to you? How can you expect this to be anything but supreme horror and incredible anguish?!?
Well, it�s a change of pace, certainly, and more over, I�m not so sure that a nice, comfortable trip through a digestive system isn�t just what I need to get this godforsaken kink out from between my shoulder blades, I have to say, digging for some fifty years is not good for a body, I fear I have repetitive motion injuries in my shoulders that I will be glad to be rid of, when you remake me. And, half an eternity or so of relative inactivity won�t be that bad. A little R&R after my digging days, you understand?
But we are going to flog the skin, from your bones! All of it, not just the parts on your arms or hands or anything. I�m talking bottom-of-your-feet and backs-of-your-legs here.
Yes, that was the impression that Watcher Sagaroth gave me.
And we�re going to be grinding up your bones, with a very slow turning wheat grinding stone, until you are a fine powder, which we then take and put int�
Into the spices that you use to flavor the meat that is served at meal times? Yes, I know, Watcher Sagaroth said that already, he said that you were a nice enough guy too, for what your job allows, so I figured I�d just get into the groove of it, and get it over with.
Sagaroth said that? That was very nice of him, I do try to be a nice enough coworker, you know? But with the death and blood and hatred all the time, I feel like I forget to say �thank you� to enough people, you know?
Oh, yes, quite, Azaroth, I can see the problem. You work with people that you think are trained in the same way you are, and it�s tough to maintain a working relationship but develop friendships as well, I�ve been there, I happen to have liked the people I worked with very much, in life. I don�t know how I would distance myself from them if ever I had to present a very evil face to the souls of the damned. I�m sure I�d want to crack jokes about last night�s trip downtown, or whatever it is that you do here, but I�d never be able to, right?
Oh, very true, yes, we�re not to fraternize at all with the doomed that come through here, no, we�d be in some serious trouble, let me tell you, just the other day I was talking to Karanok, he�s the watcher of things really nasty, you know him?
I shook my head, but motioned for Azaroth to continue anyway.
Well, anyway, he�s a right good watcher, when you get past the tendency for him to bring up the most vile and distracting things at the wrong moment, but anyway, I was talking to him just the other day, and having a grand old conversation, when we were interu�
A booming and loud, but shockingly subtle voice pierced the room, and cowed Azaroth into silence with great haste. The voice seemed to come from all over, which in a way, I would be forced to presume that it did.
AZAROTH!! Cease your prattling with the doomed and hurry up with your task of eternal torment! You�re not paid by the hour, you know!
Was that�? I asked Azaroth
Yes. The �supervisor�, all powerful dimwit, I swear, can�t even have thirty seconds of interesting conversation with Anyone anymore, you�d think that when the timeline stretches to heaven and back, he�d allow for a little chitchat, at least, you know?
Seems annoying, at the least, yeah.
You don�t know the half of it, really, you don�t. And I, because of �his majesty prince of darkness and other things equally frustrating� I can�t go into details. I mean, really, what would be the harm in us having a nice conversation while I have your intestines flayed out? It might even add some more cruel irony to the entire thing, right? But no, everything has to be his way or the highwa�
AZAROTH!!
Oh, ALRIGHT, already, no need to get all out of sorts about it.
Azaroth turned back to face me again, instead of talking to the walls, and gave me a brief wink, so fast I thought I might have imagined it. He began to fashion straps out of the flesh from the back of another person tied to the wall, flaying the skin off as he went, whistling a little tune as he worked. As his task neared completion, he glanced around furtively and picked me up quickly with one enormous red fist, and had me switched with the previously restrained faster than I could understand what was happening. As the screams began, he chuckled to himself, nervously. If the sound of a ten car pileup at seventy miles per hour can be described as a nervous chuckle, that is.
There� now, we can talk, quietly. It will be nice to have someone around that is a reasonable conversationalist, all the talk I hear lately is along the lines of �Oh, please, no, don�t, stop, oh, God, no, please� and quite frankly it�s getting on my nerves. It�s refreshing to see someone who breaks from tradition, at least for a while. I�m sure it will get old, and then I will flay you and grind you and feed you to others, but for now, I�d do with a spot of tea, how about yourself?
Certainly, I�d love some, Azaroth, thank you.
Oh, I�m not getting you any, I just wanted to tease you!
The demon, if nothing else, was cruel. I waited for him to return with his tea, but hanging face first against the wall, I found I couldn�t see much more than I could when I was laying safely dead in my bed at home. The smell of herbal green mint tea, my least favorite tea, brought me back to the present, and I waited for Azaroth to speak first.
I thought, the demon began in conspiratorial tones, that if I offered you tea that you really don�t care much for, that I wouldn�t be breaking any rules of Hell, or anything.
Herbal green mint tea is quite bad, I think, but certainly better than nothing, in a pinch.
Thank you Azaroth, I hate green mint tea, very much. The demon looked very pleased as he turned me around and untied my arms to allow me to drink from the very large cup of steaming tea I was presented with.
Now, where were we, before old doom and gloom interrupted?
You were talking about the timeline we have to be tortured stretching from hell to heaven and back.
Oh, right, yes, indeed. Well, it�s true you know. At a certain time in eternity, the souls of Hell are supposed to be rejudged, as it were, after they have gone through enough retribution and pain for their misdeeds in life. It�s really quite unfair, to us, down here, to get so many who are going to be here for so long.
I must have looked a little puzzled at this explanation, as the demon cleared his throat to explain better, if you could call the sound of fifty door to door salesmen saying �good morning� as clearing his throat.
You see, the supervisors only have a limited number of watchers to work with. As more people come into Hell, and fewer get rejudged, the watchers have to take on more and more portfolios to cover the spread. Like, me for example. I�m the Watcher of the room of a thousand pains, right?
I nodded my agreement.
Well, Sagaroth is one of the ten watchers of the digging pits. Then we have Karanok, he�s the Watcher of things really nasty, which isn�t a very strong portfolio on its own, which is why he�s also the Watcher of unpleasant bedtime reading, and the Watcher of old reruns that you�ve already seen.
I tried to communicate by facial expressions, over my cup of tea, that it seemed like quite a lot for one watcher to do. Apparently I was successful.
Yes, doomed one, that is quite a lot for one watcher to handle, as you might think. Each is roughly a full time position, and he�s expected to cover not one, or two, but three portfolios like that. I can�t imagine what I would do with another job as stressful as this one.
I blinked the wrong way, and Azaroth understood what I meant.
Oh, sure, it doesn�t look busy NOW, but wait and see if anyone else figures out that they can get out of digging forever if they come to the room of a thousand pains. And do you know how hard it is to design a thousand pains that the supervisor will actually approve of? Next to impossible, thank you.
I apologized very sincerely, I didn�t want animosity in this conversation to go any further, for obvious reasons.
That�s quite alright, Mr. Messler. Some more tea?
I hadn�t noticed that I�d emptied this cup, very large, and very bad, but it was better than nothing. I nodded quickly, as he had the teapot out of it�s macram�d cozy and pouring his own by this time.
That�s an interesting tea cozy you have there, Azaroth.
Oh, thank you for noticing, the demon said, as he slipped the pot back into it�s woolen sheath with some care. It was a gift, from one of my souls that was rejudged half a millennia ago. She was a very good knitter, and was always helping me out around here, in return for never flaying the skin from her bones, you understand, that kind of thing. Anyway, I moved her name to the top of the pile, long ago, for reevaluation, and the sorters reviewed her case, and found that they�d made a mistake. Really quite scandalous, for folks like us, if you follow my meaning.
I did, and I told him as much. I was curious about the sorters and the mistakes they�d made, but I wasn�t willing to press that issue right away.
Tell me, Azaroth, have you much job security? Your title sounds very impressive, and I can�t imagine a Hell without a room of a thousand pains, but with the situation as you said, do you think the supervisors will retain it, if it�s this quiet in here, all the time?
The demon hunched over his tea, almost reluctantly and looked up at me with a look that conveyed some ten thousand years of worry, that had only just now come to the surface of his face.
Downsizing, you mean� Yes, you are quite perceptive, Mr. Messler, I am� being phased out, as it were. Watcher Sagaroth, being that he doesn�t have many duties in the digging pits, is being transferred to my position here, and I am to be� The demon trailed off, and I let him be silent for some time. By my estimates, it was a good two weeks before I spoke again.
I�m sorry, Azaroth, you seem like someone who really enjoys their job. I didn�t know you were being� let go from the position, or I wouldn�t have asked.
That�s alright. I�ve known for about twelve thousand years now, I guess I should be used to it, really. You know you are the first into this room, for near on two hundred years? Not many people think to ask to see the supervisor, if they can help it. Somehow they think it�s going to be a very unpleasant experience. I am sure it would be, if anyone actually got to the point where they actually met him. I know I�d like to see it, someday before I leave.
I don�t mean to be so direct, Azaroth, but when do you leave?
The demon looked at me again, his eyes revealing a great sadness, mixed with the blood and fire that raged on in them.
Just as soon as I flay your skin, and grind your bones and put you back together, I punch out for the last time. You are my last torture, probably for the rest of time. It�s not a growth industry, you know.
Oh, Azaroth, I�m sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do to delay the inevitable for you. I am sure we won�t be able to talk this much longer without attracting the supervisor�s attention again, either, is that right?
If Azaroth had a watch, he would have glanced at it in an attempt to be casual, and he would have failed. But he didn�t have a watch, so he didn�t.
Yes, Mr. Messler, I suspect if I don�t start flaying the skin from you soon, the supervisor is not even going to give me a favorable reference. I am dreadfully sorry to have to cut this short, as I am sure you�re none too pleased about the whole thing either.
On the contrary, Azaroth, it was a very nice conversation, and I am glad to have spent the time with you, especially in light of what this last go-round means to you. You can start whenever you�d like, I won�t rush you.
I really was beginning to like this strange being, in a twisted sort of way. As he began to prepare the devices, I continued talking to him, still interested in the conversation.
So, Hell gives references to the watchers who are let go? And where do you apply to, after you leave this position?
Oh, yes, good references, actually. The last watcher that left got a very nice bit about working unsupervised for months at a time with 300 employee�s under their control, able to delegate tasks and maintain a grasp of the project as well, very complimentary stuff. And we watchers get sent back to live a lifetime on earth again, but we retain our memories of this place, and what we can do to avoid coming back as a doomed. Many a saint has first been a watcher. A couple of actors and actresses, a few politicians,
I raised my eyebrow at that last one, and Azaroth shrugged unknowingly.
Homesick?
Good point, Azaroth.
Yes, well, but most are just normal men and women who live a fairly happy, fairly benign existence, a few kids, some grandkids, and an intimate knowledge of the next thousand years of future to befall the earth. They work for appearances sake. It�s really not a bad deal, when you think of it, but I really don�t feel like I accomplished everything I set out to do here, really. I wanted a bit more time to really get into the soul of torture, you know? But I guess that�s nothing that can be helped right now, is it?
At that time, I really did want to help Azaroth, really. I just didn�t know how to set things right for him. Instead, I drew a deep breath, smiled slightly with sadness in my eyes, and shook my head.
Some men, and some demons, just aren�t destined to find their dreams, I guess, my friend. I am ready when you are, to be flayed and ground and fed to the doomed. I hope we get to talk while I am being put back together, at least a little.
Azaroth did something abnormal then, for a demon at least. He gave me a look that was both thankful and happy, then smiled.
Ah, Mr. Messler, I am sure that someday, we will be able to have a talk, and I will pour some very nice tea for you indeed.
He gave a little bow, mostly inclining his head, and then set to work. I screamed out once in agony, and he stopped, to hear what I was saying.
Take your time, Azaroth, it doesn�t hurt nearly as bad as everyone thinks it does.
Thank you, Mr. Messler, I�ll try to be as fast as my heart will let me go, my friend.
The demon labored for several more weeks, and just as I was reduced to nothing but walking bones, I called again for him to halt his work.
Yes, Mr. Messler?
Two things, Azaroth. One, you can call me Alex, if you�d like.
Thank you, Mr. Messler� I mean, Alex. What�s the second?
In all my agony, in this one beautiful moment, flayed clear to the bone and still feeling every lash of the whip, I looked at him and grinned, a toothful skeletal grin.
Do I look like I�m losing weight to you, Azaroth?
The laughter of a demon sounds unpleasant, often like the screams of a thousand women and children amplified to tones of absolute terror and hate. Often, the pit workers fall to their hands and knees when a demon nearby laughs outloud, and with glee.
Azaroth�s laughter sounded like bells, toning gently but loudly and with purpose. He, for that moment of laughter, wasn�t a demon.
No, Alex. You look like you�ve had your skin flayed off. But it was a nice thought.
I shrugged bone shoulders, and walked over to the grinding wheel. I grinned again, and told Azaroth that I�d see him before he left for good, I was sure.
Try not to miss me too much, Azaroth, if you can.
I won�t, Alex, I will see you again soon. I hope this doesn�t feel too unpleasant, really.
I nodded as he ground me up in his wheat grinder, and several hundred years later, I was just getting back together enough to be able to talk.
It took longer, Alex, but I instructed my doomed to find your head first, so that we could begin our conversation anew, and I could tell you about the past half millennia, if you�d like.
Sure, Azaroth, I�m glad we will have the chance to do so. What�s been happening these last few centuries?
The demon looked at me and smiled.
Absolutely nothing. Not a single interesting thing at all. And it�s driving the supervisor out of his mind. Since you didn�t come back, no other pit digger would dare even act up. They thought that you were still being tortured for your arrogance, and well, you are, but the point is that they aren�t even looking at the watchers the wrong way any more. Seems taking a doomed out of the midst of them and not seeing them ever again makes the rest much more docile, than actually returning them does. It�s funny, but the human imagination is still worse than anything that we could ever dream up for them to do. Who would have known?
I can see that being the case, Azaroth, I really can. So, have you gotten your references and the like all in order?
Yes, very much so, Alex, thank you for asking. I am surprised you remembered, being that it was five hundred years since we last talked, give or take a decade.
My dear Azaroth, thinking of what I was going to ask you when I got back together was all that kept my mind occupied for the time. It was nice of you to provide me with a conversation in my head when I was gone.
Oh, well, that�s good too. I�m glad that our talk wasn�t just you trying to put me off of torturing you, it�s in my job description, you know. Very hard to get around that, it is, as you might imagine.
Quite hard, I�d say, Azaroth, really.
We chatted, quite informally for the next eight centuries as his workers brought in my body in microscopic parts. They were flayed brutally if they brought even one fragment in error; somehow Azaroth could spot a single wrong piece in a pile of possible right pieces. I took shape so painstakingly slowly, with each piece starting the agony again, that I thought I would go mad, and would have, had Azaroth not chatted to me through the whole process. It was, all in all, a horrible experience, except for befriending the demon.
As the time of my completion grew close to hand, Azaroth began getting distant, knowing that he was soon leaving and that his work that he�d done since almost the beginning of history was coming to an end. Reentering the workforce for him, would be very difficult, I knew, especially with the changes in the world since he�d last seen it.
Azaroth?
Yes Alex?
You are going to be reborn with all your memories of this place, right? You will remember our talks, and you will remember me?
Yes, Alex, I will. Does that bother you?
No, Azaroth, in a way, it�s quite the opposite, it brings me comfort to know that I�ve been your friend for several thousand years. It�s nice, really, for me. Even in hell, I made a friend.
Yes, you did Alex. But I am afraid you will be seeing me again soon.
Oh, no, Azaroth, I�m sure you will lead a good life, I hope you won�t be sent to hell when you die. I�d just as soon remember you as a powerful demon than as a pit digger, if you know what I mean.
Oh, I do understand, but you won�t be seeing me here, not at all. I�ve put your name to the top of the pile for reincarnation. I expect that you will make good company for me on earth. I�ve arranged for you to actually wake up that day that you didn�t. You will remember everything, as it happened, but you will be back, on that morning, when you died. And then, finally, when you�re old and grey, with a wife, four children, ten grandchildren, and 3 great grandchildren, you will die again, and this time, you will know how to answer that damn question about old people and the lottery. And I, my good friend, will be right behind you. I�m sure that heaven could use a good bit of foul language and crude humor, and for that, we�ve had many centuries to practice with each other. And you, my good friend, look just about whole again. And that means, I must be off, but I will see you soon.
AZAROTH! You�re late again, demon. Hurry up.
Well, Azaroth sighed wistfully it�s been fun, and I will see you soon, Alex. Do try to hurry though. I�m going to be very bored waiting for you to wake up, I�m sure.
On that, Azaroth, I think you are going to be proven wrong. I think that I�ve slept enough, and will be awake when you come looking for me. At least� I hope so. It was quite the annoying day, lying staring at my television.
Television? Azaroth said questioningly with a raised eyebrow.
Oh, trust me, Azaroth, it is one of those human inventions that is so much worse than anything a demon could make. I�ll explain it all, in the morning.
