3

The path is wide—about ten yards—and it slopes and smoothly turns to the right. To our left is a perpendicular rock wall, and to our right, a fiery abyss. We curve widely around the distant fiery tornado, which never loses its strength. It may be eternal.

We walk barefoot on the sharp rocky surface. People around me (or souls, or whatever we are) cry in pain and hiss through clenched teeth. They mourn quietly, and no one even speaks; we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.

The sight of the suffering elders is heartbreaking. Yet two of them are apparently deserving of their fate. One is a pedophile, the other a Nazi… at least according to our leader. But what about the others? What about the young blonde? What about the barely fifteen-year-old boy?

And what about me?

I finally have a moment to sort out my thoughts. And so I now know who I am. And what I was doing just before my death (if this is death).

It was six in the morning, and I was driving on the highway. I was falling asleep. I knew it would be wise to stop. I remember telling myself I’d stretch a bit at the next rest stop.

Then I only remember the fiery ball. And the terrible crash.

Did I fall asleep at the wheel? Did I kill someone? That would explain why I’m here…

The devil walks in the lead, his tail twitching from side to side like he’s a happy cat. Every time our procession of elders begins to slow, he turns to us, and people hustle on again.

The first to break is our old Ian, who, I assume, had something to do with the Holocaust.

He charges with a scream to the edge of the abyss. He’s leaping clumsily, instead of running, but he’ll leap before the devil can stop him. A dull thud echoes, as if he’s hit his head on a glass plate. The old man falls on his ass, and blood gushes from his broken nose.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The devil laughs so hard he has to grab his knees.

“Not… yet… your… time,” he wheezes, wiping away tears of mirth with the back of his hand. A strange sense of humor indeed… Finally calming down, he indicates we’ll be continuing. But the throng of old men doesn’t budge.

“Really?” He puts his hands on his hips and looks sullen. “Rebellion?”

A rustling and clicking echoes behind us. As if the black rock had come alive. Spiders, centipedes, scorpions, and all manner of creatures, some of which I’m not even sure are earthly fauna, emerge from the holes. Thousands of overgrown insect monsters approach us in a black, bustling wave. The women are first to respond, this time pushing forward, and our big old pile of muscles, who had been hanging back a bit, catches up with us quickly. Ian is on his feet too.

The devil walks on without looking back, his tail swaying lazily over his muscular hips. His Crocs resonate regularly. How I envy him! We follow him, accompanied by the rustling of thousands of feet and the clicking of hundreds of mandibles.

And I once again have time for reflection.

Was I a good person in life?

I don’t know. But I know I wasn’t evil. Our children grew up to be decent young people. I never yelled at them, or at my dear Lucy, much less raised a hand against them. My affairs? There weren’t… that many, and Lucy never found out about them. And you can’t say I hurt my mistresses. They all knew what they were getting into—and that I would never leave my wife. Still, was this the sin that brought me here?

Or was it my occasional brawls? Or joining in a war where I never fired a shot?

When Lucy lay dying of leukemia, I stood by her to the end.

I never fully recovered from that. With every ounce of my being, I’d sought to be a source of strength for our teenagers. I feel like I succeeded, yet I still often considered suicide… but more academically than seriously. However, so many times when everybody was visiting Grandma for the weekend, I’d awaken with a hangover, finding an unlocked gun among the empty bottles.

Perhaps that’s why I took that mission in Afghanistan. Not to forget or earn money, but because I hoped I’d take a bullet there. The last ten years have felt like an endless nightmare.

Did it finally overcome me?

I’m surprised as I pause. I can’t seem to recall what I was doing just before the impact.

Did I kill myself on purpose? And did I take someone with me?

A jolt. Someone’s tripped over me. It’s the young blonde.

She almost falls, and I catch her. She looks at me with a vulnerable gaze. She breaks away and shoots a look at our leader.

I return to my thoughts. There’s one more reason why I might deserve biblical damnation.

I was baptized and attended church as a boy but never truly believed in God.