Death Wish

Holy Hell, It's Chapter 1

I suppose I can say I've experienced death quite a few times in my life. That doesn't really make sense, though, does it? Isn't there somewhere you go afterwards--some sort of heaven or hell or purgatory? Isn't there an afterlife?

The answer to all of those questions is no.

In fact, a death isn't just an experience. It's not just a state of being. Death itself is a place . . . another entire realm that living human beings can't get into without help.

~ ~ ~

In 2013, my brother and I went for a drive. He always called shotgun, so when the headlights of another car came screaming towards us, statistics showed he could have easily survived the unfortunate crash that followed. But he didn't.

I did.

You can imagine the guilt that plagued me, as I had been the driver at the time. I'd accidentally killed the only other human being in this world that I could truly talk to. So now that he's gone . . . I have to go pull him from Death.

Hello, I'm Gerard. This is my long ass version of telling you that I like to fight shit.

~ ~ ~

As mentioned before, getting into the Death realm is impossible for a living human being unless you have help. Luckily, I do have help.

I stand on the corner of 92 Dow Street, three a.m. Hands in my black suit pant pockets, I look up and down the dimly lit roads.

Only a few of the street lights are actually still on and functioning. Just as I turn my head away from them, another one fizzes out and dies. Then another. And another.

Finally, the only remaining light fixture above me starts to sputter and flash. I look up and the light busts as a flickering portal opens right beside it.

A voice echoes from inside the whirring contraption. "Damn stubborn thing . . ."

I grin and shield my head from the bulb shards raining down. Once the last chip of glass breaks against the concrete, I hang my arms back down and blow my raven hair out of my face to see up into the portal. I peer into it as it's slowly stretched wider by two tattooed hands. My help has finally shown up.

And his name is Frank.

A patched up, smug punk sticks himself out of the struggling heliotrope portal. He keeps his limbs spread out on all possible sides of the thing to keep it open; his muscles visibly shake from the straining. "Sorry I'm late," He smiles enough to squint his blank eyes, "Opening this is no easy business."

I smirk and stretch my hand up to him. Frank takes an arm away from supporting the portal to reach down and grab me before pulling me up and inside.

The second his other hand leaves the side of the violaceous portal to grab me more firmly, it snaps closed and leaves the pitch black roads of Belleville behind.