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Awakening By Georgia Woodward A chillness washes over me. I reach for warmth. My hand reaches not the familiar blanket I so often enwrap myself in, and the haziness within my head starts to fade as the piercing cold cuts through with its sharp edge. I force my glazed-over eyes to open and arrest my sweet slumber. My dim surroundings are unfamiliar and bewildering. Where am I? �Mother?� I speak just above a whisper. Something feels macabre. For some irrational reason I feel uncomfortable to speak at all. Heavy silence seems to pervade every fiber of my cool flesh. My heart slowly begins to hammer with increased strength. The torment on my frail chest seems unbearable. I must rise! I sit bolt upright clutching my breast. I cannot breathe. My eyes choose to deceive me still with a waking dream. A candle�s soft glow vaguely reveals my threatening confinement. My sudden movement causes the candle�s flame to flicker and cast wicked shadows of myself across the stone wall. I am a monster with horrific proportions, my head seeming to outsize the rest of my torso. And my nose seems to protrude as a sharp blade slicing through the heavy darkness that surrounds. I turn my head to ascertain the rest of my surroundings, but the weak luminescence is not enough to overcome the murkiness of my den. I seem suspended in cryptic gloom. My stunned mind refuses to register my actual involvement in this scenario. I am only a spectator seeing through another�s eyes. I am, though, finally forced to look to my immediate enclosure. I am afraid to look down. To look so closely at my own immediate confinement is to awaken from this horrific dream into horrific reality. Do I wish to awaken and further my suffering? Perhaps I am only dreaming within a dream, and I must look to end my internal torture. No! I refuse to believe. It cannot be true. I try to scream, but I cannot exhale. As my eyes regrettably and slowly glance downward, a coffin, I find serves as my eternal bed. But how? How can this be? I am not dead! How can the living invade the quarters of the dead? I do not belong here. I am not here! Alas, my other senses disclose a fact much different than my mind wishes to believe. I am in the house of the dead. I have been mistaken somehow for a corpse. I no longer exist in the rest of the world. I am no more. I look at my hands. I stare at the droplets sliding down the backs of them. I become mesmerized. I cannot come to terms with death! I am but in the bloom of youth. My red blood still surges strong through my veins. The rhythm of my heart still plays true and strong. And yet, I am here. If I am not dead, then I soon will be. And as the oppressiveness of that thought challenges my soul, my other senses seem to become aroused. Not a single sound invades this sanctimonious abode. The only sounds heard are the ones I myself create. It is now that my sobs finally become audible to my ears. I hear myself gasping for stale pungent air as my lungs exhale noisy rasps of weeping. The reverberations of my shrieks echo throughout the chamber nearly deafening my ears. I become quiet, deathly quiet. I wait for silence to calm me from my discovery. I had been sick, quite sick from diphtheria. The last I remember is drinking some water and falling into a fitful rest. The rest is blank. I recall no last moment of life, of dying. Surely, some time passed before they threw me away into this melancholy place of eternal repose. Or� had they been more stricken with the fear of catching the sickness than of cherishing my last breath of life? I am lost. A deep enveloping loneliness begins gnawing. The twisting emotion throws me into convulsive fits of weeping and screaming once again. I no longer worry to wake the dead. I feel too distant, too far from reality to disturb anyone. I am alone, so very alone. Pain-filled cramps begin to make war with my limbs. My exasperated sobbing has left me exhausted. I must get up. My body alerts me through pain that I am yet alive. And I must respond to it. I must get up to stretch out my frame. So, with agony I lift my cumbrous limbs out of my sarcophagus and onto the frigid floor below. The searing cold shoots straight up my entire being. I am momentarily locked in place with one bare foot touching ground and the other still resting in my death box. My long white gauze-like gown entangles me further as I fight to free myself of its strangling grasp. Finally, as my frustration mounts, my leg finally breaks free and I am standing in the heart of horror. My sudden movements had almost caused the candle�s flame to die. I stand deathly still waiting for it to regain its composure. Finally, nothing short of a miracle, the flame grows strong once more to illuminate my dismal prison. I tiptoe over to the candle; for without it, I lose my sight. I would then become victim to all the unseen creatures of the night. That, for the moment, I wish not to consider. I cannot fathom the terror that will seize my body when that inevitable time arrives. With the candleholder within my fingertips, the heat forces some of the lethargy out of my hands. A small glimmer of comfort begins to encircle my heart, for it is so forlorn and hungry for comfort that the flame�s kiss of warmth seems like love reaching out to hold and cherish me. When this moment briefly passes over my soul, a sense of calm seems to cover me for the first time since realizing my dreary situation. And now, for the first time, I see my enclosure with all the appropriateness I could wish. And as I guard the flame from any breeze I might create upon walking, I search for the exit from this cold damp hell. I step tentatively towards the wall nearest me, for with every step, the iciness of the stone floor reawakens my senses making me nauseous. I finally decide to use the overflow of my gown to somewhat shield my feet from the painful chill. Finally, I begin to fastidiously tiptoe towards the wall closest to me. Upon closer examination, I see the outlines of a door. The downward shift of my gaze reveals the doorknob. I immediately begin the frantic struggle to escape. It does not budge. I pull with fanatical frustration. Still, no progress. I begin screaming, �Anyone�Please!� My emotions run amok, and I am once again sobbing uncontrollably. I know that if no sounds are heard from without, then no sounds are heard from within. I am without help. I am my only company. I am my only solace. At length, I am finally in control of my faculties and decide that perhaps another exit exists. I must seek it out. And so I trudge onward to explore the rest of my dismal dungeon. As I walk to the far side of the room, I notice several large niches in the wall. I step closer to reveal the bones of my relatives within them, but none of it seems real. I see, and yet I do not see. I know these bones were once animate, but I cannot imagine life within them. Who was this person? How long have they been dead? As my vision broadens outward, I see dusty plaques below the niches. I gently rub the grime and ash away from one to reveal one of the proprietors� names, Susana Caldera. A short epitaph below reads, �Herein lies a beauty whose flower shall never lose its bloom in the spiritual world. 1739-1755.� Only ten years have passed! She seems a century dead by the look of her bones, I must say. Is this my future? Shall my bones become dry and fleshless as hers have? I look away immediately in horror as my face becomes twisted in agony. I surrender to my emotions yet another time. How weak I am! How will I get out of here? Am I to die in a torturous drawn out way? Shall I die without dignity? Shall I die alone in the dust of my ancestors? The smell of death even hovers over me. I am dead in every sense of the word except my body has not yet surrendered. I am still thinking, moving, �feeling. I know the terror of dying. I am within its hateful hands. Does it derive enjoyment from my suffering? Is death itself not enough? Must I die so painfully? I ultimately break free from my shock-induced trance when the faint echo of laughter draws my ears toward an entryway on the opposite side of the room. I become transfixed in dread once more. Has the Devil come to claim my soul? What have I to fear? Am I not already dead? What worse could come to me now? Despite these reassurances, the hair on my body stands erect. Sweat begins to bead across my forehead. Goosebumps spread across my body like wildfire. I hope for total darkness to conceal my presence, but I am still too afraid of the unseen. I wish, at least, to see the face of my adversary before the confrontation, � or do I? If not for my exited breathing to give me away, I would guess the sound of my furiously pumping heart to do so. But what does all that matter when the candle�s glow is the most obvious unveiling of my presence. Despite all this, I keep insanely quiet. I want confirmation of what I think I hear. Did I really hear it? Is my mind already playing tricks on me? Am I in need of companionship so terribly that my mind conjures up a demon or Lucifer himself to provide? My teary eyes strain to look deeper into the corridor. The blackness does not subside on its own. I must walk closer to shed the light of my now fluttering candle to peer into its secrets. The continuous fading of my candle�s flame finally provides the sufficient prodding to make me walk into the bleak passage. One step at a time and I will surely arrive there, but my steps are molasses slow. I still have not convinced the whole of me that this is a wise course of action. Onward, I carefully step in order not to trip over my gown. I am almost there, and still nothing can be seen except unadorned marble walls. The corridor seems lengthy, too lengthy. Where does it lead? Do mausoleums have back doors, hidden exits in the rear? I finally reach the passage�s end, my heart beating so loudly that I could not possibly hear an intruder anyway. At length, I finally compel myself to take the last step to enter the brooding void. As I do so, I hold my breath thinking to end my torment of not knowing in whose presence I now reside. There, in the center of the far wall, a stained glass window exists. For the moment I lose my fear and stride up towards the work of art to admire its magnificence. A wondrous paradise is depicted, and it encompasses the entire segmented surface. Trees bordering an azure stream provide shade for the marvelous flowers below. Streams of sunlight pour through the apertures of the foliage resembling heaven�s light streaming down through the sky�s clouds. A stair-stepped miniature waterfall brings sustenance to the forest�s inhabitants. The thicket surrounding the river buzzes with varied life. And upon closer inspection, an angelic creature within the waterfall seems to stare directly at me. If I gaze more intently though, I seem to lose him. I relax, and he reappears. I lean over to touch this aspect of the painting. I want it to be real. I want to walk towards it, enter it. But as my fingers make contact, the image disappears. I continue though, caressing the smooth glass. This heavenly work of art�s surreal quality seems to keep the picture just out of focus. It seems so lifelike and yet so inaccessible. It is as if an invisible boundary exists barring the way. A deep, unreal longing starts to develop within me. Just then, the flame of my candle wavers. I gape at what I already know to be too true. My precious time is ending. I have only minutes left. So sad that I have just discovered the only beauty within this abysmal, wretched dwelling. Perhaps� I will be in paradise once the harbinger of death arrives. Perhaps I should urge him. Perhaps I should taunt him. I turn on my heels to survey the rest of the chamber before I lose my only illumination. No escape reveals itself to my eyes. This room seems to have served only as a contemplation space for those that wish to mourn the deceased. And before another thought was to enter my mind, the candle�s flame flickers one last time and finally dies. I am in utter blackness. I stand as a statue, feeling alarm penetrating my entire physique. I am paralyzed with dread, dread of the unseen. I suspect now my sinister host might resurface. Where might he loom? Indistinguishable whispers start to rush past my ears. I cross my arms in a futile gesture. What defense do I possibly have against my adversary? The whispers increase in volume but remain garbled, insane murmurings of things I cannot imagine. I cannot grasp their meaning. Are they words, or simply unintelligible sounds? They grow louder still. I cannot bear it. I thought the darkness was already beyond black, and yet I swear my eyes see stygian shapes twisting and contorting in grotesque parodies of human form. Wraiths have invaded my tomb. I cannot endure this madness. A scream escapes from the lowest depth of my soul. Searing cold once again envelops me. The wicked images begin to encircle me, the hypnotic swaying of their repulsiveness boosting the adrenaline within my veins putting me in a paralytic state of mind. I cannot possibly deal with these conditions. A familiar evil laugh erupts behind me, but instead of a faint echo, it is deafeningly real and immediate. Within an instant, I stoop to the floor in fetal position, my eyes shut so tightly in order to slow down the flow of terror. It is impossible. My body shudders and convulsive screaming spews forth in continuous streams to shut out the intensifying demonic sounds. I begin to notice the barest of caresses as if the clothing of my evil audience begs to touch me and yet restrains itself waiting for a sign. Fear keeps me from reaching out to test the solidity of the figures dancing about me. Do I still believe all this a fixation of my nocturnal psychosis? They must be savoring, relishing the moment of devouring my body, my soul. And as my adrenaline climbs to its peak, I finally lash out with my feeble strength as an inhuman sound erupts from my mouth. My ears at first do not recognize the sound as my own, but somehow the power, the strength behind its volume gives me the courage to at least try to defend myself instead begging for their mercy. My arms wildly flail about without any direction or heed. My fingertips seem to come just short of touching my victim. My seething anger bubbles forth, my nails, ready to tear into demon flesh, curve themselves into claws. My lips curl into a snarl revealing razor sharp teeth ready to rip asunder what flesh they may come upon. Saliva drips down my chin in anticipation of the butchery. Whether it be theirs, or mine I do not know. My only thoughts are of self-preservation. I make a bold leap across the chamber in the hopes of making contact with at least one daunting figure. My eyes, blinded with fury, refuse to allow the heinous grins upon their hideous countenances to repel my attack. And as my own roar drowns out the ungodly reverberation of the evil spawn, I lunge forth with a ferocious intensity. Every vestige of strength I command to impart injury upon thy enemy until my heart beats no more. And as I sail across the room I land deep into the writhing pit of demons. I feel their rough hands seizing my limbs rendering them useless. My anger again spews forth with the horrid screams of terror and insanity deafening my ears. I am pinned down waiting for the deathblow. What intimations are flooding their corrupt minds? I cannot bear the anticipation. Kill me! Unexpectedly, an abrupt cessation of the demon spawn�s uproar occurs, and my own screaming stops in response. Then, my eyes reluctantly open to investigate the happening. Immediately, I notice an unearthly shaft of radiance emanating from the stained glass. It noticeably becomes an abhorrence to the wicked creatures, for they shy away from the heavenly illumination and seek the solace of corners furthest removed. They unhand me in the process no longer molesting me. And finally, a beautiful angel unmasked in complete radiance materializes and commences speech with another spiritual creature. This one, though, shrouded in blackness is loathsome. His distorted features are maniacal and twisted, and his vile face remains posed in a grimace of displeasure. Horn-like growths appear on the top of his head and his fiery red eyes, a hint of an evil pure and unbounded, stare with discontentment towards the seraph. His folded arms, too, remain a gesture of unwelcomeness towards the creature. �Leave at once. Your amusements are over,� claims the handsome creature. His own gaze holding an impressive amount of authority over the situation. Perfection suffusing every inch of his being. A powerful chest, a commanding air, and hypnotic eyes all command my complete attention. �Now? After only a moment of pleasure. Surely, you do not expect me to have reached any kind of satisfaction?� utters the grotesque demon with a hiss so unearthly and sinister as to make my entire body tremble most markedly allowing my sanity to once more creep back in. �I care not about your loathsome, pathetic attempts at debased gratification.� �And I care not about your agenda.� �Be gone, and take your heinous spawn with you. This is a place of rest. I will not have you disturb and molest those that are living or dead.� And without another word spoken, the heavenly spirit creature inhales and blows a forceful gust of wind towards the most evil one and his spawn. Almost immediately, the dread disappears. The dreary fog lifts, and I feel at ease. The creature turns towards me now. His gaze, so uplifting and powerful, it infuses me with a strength I never had before. �Sweet child, take your rest. You no longer need to fear the dark. Let it encompass you and comfort you in your final days.� �I do not understand. Are you not here to rescue me?� �No, child. I cannot alter the turn of events that have brought you here. I am only to guard you from the unearthly wickedness. A long sleep awaits you. Upon your awakening, you will find yourself in paradise. You must have faith in your Heavenly Father. Pray to him for comfort. He will carry you through your suffering. You need only to pray and have faith. I must take my leave now but know that I watch over you.� And within the next instant, he is gone. I am once again immersed in loneliness, but the darkness does not seem as penetrating. In fact, enough light remains for me to make my way back to the coffin. Once there, I immediately begin praying to God to console me, to give me strength. I spend the remainder of my days in physical pain, but I am able to bear it. The cramps, the swelling, all seem to dissipate eventually. As countless hours pass, I seek the solace of blithe memories of a life once lived. After some days though, my body begins to shake uncontrollably. I wrestle my way out of the coffin thinking the unuse of my muscles has brought the spasms on. A crippling weakness then overcomes me. My body sinks to the floor like a lifeless doll. Even the icy floor cannot exite my body enough to spur me on with any adrenaline strength. I somehow though manage to find the energy to crawl toward where my memory tells me the door should be. Upon reaching my destination, I press my cheek against its coolness and fresh tears begin to stream down my face, though not as furiously as once before. Every tear tears away the last fragile threads of my life. The moisture within me is almost gone. My body, beyond dehydrated, even leaves my mouth locked with a binding dryness. I curl up in a fetal position once again just as I had in my mother�s womb. My life has come full circle. And it is here that the last of my strength ebbs away, the last my memory recalls. And it is here that I ultimately find the deepest slumber, the deepest peace I ever knew.

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	Awakening By Georgia Woodward A chillness washes over me. I reach for warmth. My hand reaches not the familiar blanket I so often enwrap myself in, and the haziness within my head starts to fade as the piercing cold cuts through with its sharp edge. I force my glazed-over eyes to open and arrest my sweet slumber. My dim surroundings are unfamiliar and bewildering. Where am I? �Mother?� I speak just above a whisper. Something feels macabre. For some irrational reason I feel uncomfortable to speak at all. Heavy silence seems to pervade every fiber of my cool flesh. My heart slowly begins to hammer with increased strength. The torment on my frail chest seems unbearable. I must rise! I sit bolt upright clutching my breast. I cannot breathe. My eyes choose to deceive me still with a waking dream. A candle�s soft glow vaguely reveals my threatening confinement. My sudden movement causes the candle�s flame to flicker and cast wicked shadows of myself across the stone wall. I am a monster with horrific proportions, my head seeming to outsize the rest of my torso. And my nose seems to protrude as a sharp blade slicing through the heavy darkness that surrounds. I turn my head to ascertain the rest of my surroundings, but the weak luminescence is not enough to overcome the murkiness of my den. I seem suspended in cryptic gloom. My stunned mind refuses to register my actual involvement in this scenario. I am only a spectator seeing through another�s eyes. I am, though, finally forced to look to my immediate enclosure. I am afraid to look down. To look so closely at my own immediate confinement is to awaken from this horrific dream into horrific reality. Do I wish to awaken and further my suffering? Perhaps I am only dreaming within a dream, and I must look to end my internal torture. No! I refuse to believe. It cannot be true. I try to scream, but I cannot exhale. As my eyes regrettably and slowly glance downward, a coffin, I find serves as my eternal bed. But how? How can this be? I am not dead! How can the living invade the quarters of the dead? I do not belong here. I am not here! Alas, my other senses disclose a fact much different than my mind wishes to believe. I am in the house of the dead. I have been mistaken somehow for a corpse. I no longer exist in the rest of the world. I am no more. I look at my hands. I stare at the droplets sliding down the backs of them. I become mesmerized. I cannot come to terms with death! I am but in the bloom of youth. My red blood still surges strong through my veins. The rhythm of my heart still plays true and strong. And yet, I am here. If I am not dead, then I soon will be. And as the oppressiveness of that thought challenges my soul, my other senses seem to become aroused. Not a single sound invades this sanctimonious abode. The only sounds heard are the ones I myself create. It is now that my sobs finally become audible to my ears. I hear myself gasping for stale pungent air as my lungs exhale noisy rasps of weeping. The reverberations of my shrieks echo throughout the chamber nearly deafening my ears. I become quiet, deathly quiet. I wait for silence to calm me from my discovery. I had been sick, quite sick from diphtheria. The last I remember is drinking some water and falling into a fitful rest. The rest is blank. I recall no last moment of life, of dying. Surely, some time passed before they threw me away into this melancholy place of eternal repose. Or� had they been more stricken with the fear of catching the sickness than of cherishing my last breath of life? I am lost. A deep enveloping loneliness begins gnawing. The twisting emotion throws me into convulsive fits of weeping and screaming once again. I no longer worry to wake the dead. I feel too distant, too far from reality to disturb anyone. I am alone, so very alone. Pain-filled cramps begin to make war with my limbs. My exasperated sobbing has left me exhausted. I must get up. My body alerts me through pain that I am yet alive. And I must respond to it. I must get up to stretch out my frame. So, with agony I lift my cumbrous limbs out of my sarcophagus and onto the frigid floor below. The searing cold shoots straight up my entire being. I am momentarily locked in place with one bare foot touching ground and the other still resting in my death box. My long white gauze-like gown entangles me further as I fight to free myself of its strangling grasp. Finally, as my frustration mounts, my leg finally breaks free and I am standing in the heart of horror. My sudden movements had almost caused the candle�s flame to die. I stand deathly still waiting for it to regain its composure. Finally, nothing short of a miracle, the flame grows strong once more to illuminate my dismal prison. I tiptoe over to the candle; for without it, I lose my sight. I would then become victim to all the unseen creatures of the night. That, for the moment, I wish not to consider. I cannot fathom the terror that will seize my body when that inevitable time arrives. With the candleholder within my fingertips, the heat forces some of the lethargy out of my hands. A small glimmer of comfort begins to encircle my heart, for it is so forlorn and hungry for comfort that the flame�s kiss of warmth seems like love reaching out to hold and cherish me. When this moment briefly passes over my soul, a sense of calm seems to cover me for the first time since realizing my dreary situation. And now, for the first time, I see my enclosure with all the appropriateness I could wish. And as I guard the flame from any breeze I might create upon walking, I search for the exit from this cold damp hell. I step tentatively towards the wall nearest me, for with every step, the iciness of the stone floor reawakens my senses making me nauseous. I finally decide to use the overflow of my gown to somewhat shield my feet from the painful chill. Finally, I begin to fastidiously tiptoe towards the wall closest to me. Upon closer examination, I see the outlines of a door. The downward shift of my gaze reveals the doorknob. I immediately begin the frantic struggle to escape. It does not budge. I pull with fanatical frustration. Still, no progress. I begin screaming, �Anyone�Please!� My emotions run amok, and I am once again sobbing uncontrollably. I know that if no sounds are heard from without, then no sounds are heard from within. I am without help. I am my only company. I am my only solace. At length, I am finally in control of my faculties and decide that perhaps another exit exists. I must seek it out. And so I trudge onward to explore the rest of my dismal dungeon. As I walk to the far side of the room, I notice several large niches in the wall. I step closer to reveal the bones of my relatives within them, but none of it seems real. I see, and yet I do not see. I know these bones were once animate, but I cannot imagine life within them. Who was this person? How long have they been dead? As my vision broadens outward, I see dusty plaques below the niches. I gently rub the grime and ash away from one to reveal one of the proprietors� names, Susana Caldera. A short epitaph below reads, �Herein lies a beauty whose flower shall never lose its bloom in the spiritual world. 1739-1755.� Only ten years have passed! She seems a century dead by the look of her bones, I must say. Is this my future? Shall my bones become dry and fleshless as hers have? I look away immediately in horror as my face becomes twisted in agony. I surrender to my emotions yet another time. How weak I am! How will I get out of here? Am I to die in a torturous drawn out way? Shall I die without dignity? Shall I die alone in the dust of my ancestors? The smell of death even hovers over me. I am dead in every sense of the word except my body has not yet surrendered. I am still thinking, moving, �feeling. I know the terror of dying. I am within its hateful hands. Does it derive enjoyment from my suffering? Is death itself not enough? Must I die so painfully? I ultimately break free from my shock-induced trance when the faint echo of laughter draws my ears toward an entryway on the opposite side of the room. I become transfixed in dread once more. Has the Devil come to claim my soul? What have I to fear? Am I not already dead? What worse could come to me now? Despite these reassurances, the hair on my body stands erect. Sweat begins to bead across my forehead. Goosebumps spread across my body like wildfire. I hope for total darkness to conceal my presence, but I am still too afraid of the unseen. I wish, at least, to see the face of my adversary before the confrontation, � or do I? If not for my exited breathing to give me away, I would guess the sound of my furiously pumping heart to do so. But what does all that matter when the candle�s glow is the most obvious unveiling of my presence. Despite all this, I keep insanely quiet. I want confirmation of what I think I hear. Did I really hear it? Is my mind already playing tricks on me? Am I in need of companionship so terribly that my mind conjures up a demon or Lucifer himself to provide? My teary eyes strain to look deeper into the corridor. The blackness does not subside on its own. I must walk closer to shed the light of my now fluttering candle to peer into its secrets. The continuous fading of my candle�s flame finally provides the sufficient prodding to make me walk into the bleak passage. One step at a time and I will surely arrive there, but my steps are molasses slow. I still have not convinced the whole of me that this is a wise course of action. Onward, I carefully step in order not to trip over my gown. I am almost there, and still nothing can be seen except unadorned marble walls. The corridor seems lengthy, too lengthy. Where does it lead? Do mausoleums have back doors, hidden exits in the rear? I finally reach the passage�s end, my heart beating so loudly that I could not possibly hear an intruder anyway. At length, I finally compel myself to take the last step to enter the brooding void. As I do so, I hold my breath thinking to end my torment of not knowing in whose presence I now reside. There, in the center of the far wall, a stained glass window exists. For the moment I lose my fear and stride up towards the work of art to admire its magnificence. A wondrous paradise is depicted, and it encompasses the entire segmented surface. Trees bordering an azure stream provide shade for the marvelous flowers below. Streams of sunlight pour through the apertures of the foliage resembling heaven�s light streaming down through the sky�s clouds. A stair-stepped miniature waterfall brings sustenance to the forest�s inhabitants. The thicket surrounding the river buzzes with varied life. And upon closer inspection, an angelic creature within the waterfall seems to stare directly at me. If I gaze more intently though, I seem to lose him. I relax, and he reappears. I lean over to touch this aspect of the painting. I want it to be real. I want to walk towards it, enter it. But as my fingers make contact, the image disappears. I continue though, caressing the smooth glass. This heavenly work of art�s surreal quality seems to keep the picture just out of focus. It seems so lifelike and yet so inaccessible. It is as if an invisible boundary exists barring the way. A deep, unreal longing starts to develop within me. Just then, the flame of my candle wavers. I gape at what I already know to be too true. My precious time is ending. I have only minutes left. So sad that I have just discovered the only beauty within this abysmal, wretched dwelling. Perhaps� I will be in paradise once the harbinger of death arrives. Perhaps I should urge him. Perhaps I should taunt him. I turn on my heels to survey the rest of the chamber before I lose my only illumination. No escape reveals itself to my eyes. This room seems to have served only as a contemplation space for those that wish to mourn the deceased. And before another thought was to enter my mind, the candle�s flame flickers one last time and finally dies. I am in utter blackness. I stand as a statue, feeling alarm penetrating my entire physique. I am paralyzed with dread, dread of the unseen. I suspect now my sinister host might resurface. Where might he loom? Indistinguishable whispers start to rush past my ears. I cross my arms in a futile gesture. What defense do I possibly have against my adversary? The whispers increase in volume but remain garbled, insane murmurings of things I cannot imagine. I cannot grasp their meaning. Are they words, or simply unintelligible sounds? They grow louder still. I cannot bear it. I thought the darkness was already beyond black, and yet I swear my eyes see stygian shapes twisting and contorting in grotesque parodies of human form. Wraiths have invaded my tomb. I cannot endure this madness. A scream escapes from the lowest depth of my soul. Searing cold once again envelops me. The wicked images begin to encircle me, the hypnotic swaying of their repulsiveness boosting the adrenaline within my veins putting me in a paralytic state of mind. I cannot possibly deal with these conditions. A familiar evil laugh erupts behind me, but instead of a faint echo, it is deafeningly real and immediate. Within an instant, I stoop to the floor in fetal position, my eyes shut so tightly in order to slow down the flow of terror. It is impossible. My body shudders and convulsive screaming spews forth in continuous streams to shut out the intensifying demonic sounds. I begin to notice the barest of caresses as if the clothing of my evil audience begs to touch me and yet restrains itself waiting for a sign. Fear keeps me from reaching out to test the solidity of the figures dancing about me. Do I still believe all this a fixation of my nocturnal psychosis? They must be savoring, relishing the moment of devouring my body, my soul. And as my adrenaline climbs to its peak, I finally lash out with my feeble strength as an inhuman sound erupts from my mouth. My ears at first do not recognize the sound as my own, but somehow the power, the strength behind its volume gives me the courage to at least try to defend myself instead begging for their mercy. My arms wildly flail about without any direction or heed. My fingertips seem to come just short of touching my victim. My seething anger bubbles forth, my nails, ready to tear into demon flesh, curve themselves into claws. My lips curl into a snarl revealing razor sharp teeth ready to rip asunder what flesh they may come upon. Saliva drips down my chin in anticipation of the butchery. Whether it be theirs, or mine I do not know. My only thoughts are of self-preservation. I make a bold leap across the chamber in the hopes of making contact with at least one daunting figure. My eyes, blinded with fury, refuse to allow the heinous grins upon their hideous countenances to repel my attack. And as my own roar drowns out the ungodly reverberation of the evil spawn, I lunge forth with a ferocious intensity. Every vestige of strength I command to impart injury upon thy enemy until my heart beats no more. And as I sail across the room I land deep into the writhing pit of demons. I feel their rough hands seizing my limbs rendering them useless. My anger again spews forth with the horrid screams of terror and insanity deafening my ears. I am pinned down waiting for the deathblow. What intimations are flooding their corrupt minds? I cannot bear the anticipation. Kill me! Unexpectedly, an abrupt cessation of the demon spawn�s uproar occurs, and my own screaming stops in response. Then, my eyes reluctantly open to investigate the happening. Immediately, I notice an unearthly shaft of radiance emanating from the stained glass. It noticeably becomes an abhorrence to the wicked creatures, for they shy away from the heavenly illumination and seek the solace of corners furthest removed. They unhand me in the process no longer molesting me. And finally, a beautiful angel unmasked in complete radiance materializes and commences speech with another spiritual creature. This one, though, shrouded in blackness is loathsome. His distorted features are maniacal and twisted, and his vile face remains posed in a grimace of displeasure. Horn-like growths appear on the top of his head and his fiery red eyes, a hint of an evil pure and unbounded, stare with discontentment towards the seraph. His folded arms, too, remain a gesture of unwelcomeness towards the creature. �Leave at once. Your amusements are over,� claims the handsome creature. His own gaze holding an impressive amount of authority over the situation. Perfection suffusing every inch of his being. A powerful chest, a commanding air, and hypnotic eyes all command my complete attention. �Now? After only a moment of pleasure. Surely, you do not expect me to have reached any kind of satisfaction?� utters the grotesque demon with a hiss so unearthly and sinister as to make my entire body tremble most markedly allowing my sanity to once more creep back in. �I care not about your loathsome, pathetic attempts at debased gratification.� �And I care not about your agenda.� �Be gone, and take your heinous spawn with you. This is a place of rest. I will not have you disturb and molest those that are living or dead.� And without another word spoken, the heavenly spirit creature inhales and blows a forceful gust of wind towards the most evil one and his spawn. Almost immediately, the dread disappears. The dreary fog lifts, and I feel at ease. The creature turns towards me now. His gaze, so uplifting and powerful, it infuses me with a strength I never had before. �Sweet child, take your rest. You no longer need to fear the dark. Let it encompass you and comfort you in your final days.� �I do not understand. Are you not here to rescue me?� �No, child. I cannot alter the turn of events that have brought you here. I am only to guard you from the unearthly wickedness. A long sleep awaits you. Upon your awakening, you will find yourself in paradise. You must have faith in your Heavenly Father. Pray to him for comfort. He will carry you through your suffering. You need only to pray and have faith. I must take my leave now but know that I watch over you.� And within the next instant, he is gone. I am once again immersed in loneliness, but the darkness does not seem as penetrating. In fact, enough light remains for me to make my way back to the coffin. Once there, I immediately begin praying to God to console me, to give me strength. I spend the remainder of my days in physical pain, but I am able to bear it. The cramps, the swelling, all seem to dissipate eventually. As countless hours pass, I seek the solace of blithe memories of a life once lived. After some days though, my body begins to shake uncontrollably. I wrestle my way out of the coffin thinking the unuse of my muscles has brought the spasms on. A crippling weakness then overcomes me. My body sinks to the floor like a lifeless doll. Even the icy floor cannot exite my body enough to spur me on with any adrenaline strength. I somehow though manage to find the energy to crawl toward where my memory tells me the door should be. Upon reaching my destination, I press my cheek against its coolness and fresh tears begin to stream down my face, though not as furiously as once before. Every tear tears away the last fragile threads of my life. The moisture within me is almost gone. My body, beyond dehydrated, even leaves my mouth locked with a binding dryness. I curl up in a fetal position once again just as I had in my mother�s womb. My life has come full circle. And it is here that the last of my strength ebbs away, the last my memory recalls. And it is here that I ultimately find the deepest slumber, the deepest peace I ever knew.