MARIEL

8~ Keep Writing ~

Snowflakes fluttered gently from the dark sky as Fr. Jerome drove his sedan down the icy, suburb road. Staring ahead, he saw that he was alone in the neighborhood as he drove ahead, unsure of his destination. Home, perhaps. The road ahead was bleak, and Fr. Jerome felt lonely driving in the godforsaken neighborhood with nothing but snowy trees, houses, and empty driveways. Though he felt alone, it was oddly calming. The windshield wipers moved slowly back and forth as the snowflakes fell and melted onto the glass. Further down the road, which began to curve upwards into a hill, a figure stood on the right side of the road.

Squinting, Fr. Jerome leaned forward. As the car approached, he saw that it was a man dressed in black slacks and a black, short-sleeved button down. The man stood facing forward, arms resting at his sides. As Fr. Jerome passed him, he saw a clerical collar on the man's neck. Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw the man's face and stomped the brakes. Quickly, he lowered the window.

"Fr. Paul?" He called.

The priest turned his head. His dark eyes looked empty. Slowly, he turned his head back and, once again, stared straight ahead.

Fr. Jerome followed the other priest's eyes. Immediately, he saw a bicyclist pedaling madly towards him with a sign in hand.

'The gate is open'.

Fr. Jerome attempted to swerve but collided with the bicyclist. He heard his tires squeal, heard a roar, and felt another vehicle impact the driver's side.

Everything went black, and then -

"Check his vitals, check his vitals! Hey, Father, stay with -"

In the dark, he was seated in a wheelchair. Dim, overhead lights snapped on and he sat there, staring down a long, dark hospital hallway with multiple room doors on the left. Slowly, the wheelchair began rolling forward. As he approached the first door to his left, it swung open to expose a dark room with an overhead spotlight illuminating a woman giving birth. The woman's hair was black. She threw her head back, legs spread, and let out a low-pitched scream.

The chair rolled past the room and he looked to the next room on the left. The door swung and he heard an infant screaming. As he looked into the room, he saw a priest scooping the baby from the bassinet and recognized him as Fr. Paul. With the baby in his arms, the priest started towards the door before Fr. Jerome passed it in his chair.

Looking ahead, he saw the third door open. He saw a doctor holding another baby, much smaller than the last, and silver instrument in his hand flickered against the light. Fr. Jerome saw the man make an incision in the baby's neck and insert something very small inside the folds of the skin before he could no longer see that room. The chair continued to roll down the hallway, approaching the wide, double doors that awaited him at the end. 'Medical Personnel ONLY'.

As the chair approached, a loud click sounded and the doors broke apart in the center as they swung inwards. He saw that it was the entrance to another hospital room, with a large, wooden towel organizer against the wall in the center of the room. It held a medium sized, flat-screen television, and the screen was black. It flickered as the chair wheeled towards the room and his eyes fixated on the screen as if he were waiting for something important to be revealed.

When he entered the room, the chair stopped before the entertainment center and the doors closed behind him with another click. Then -

"We're losing him, shock him again!"

He felt the air leave his lungs and his body jolted in the chair. Yet, he kept his eyes on the television screen. The screen flickered until it turned white and illuminated the room. Then, a soft, distant ringing sounded. He could not decipher if it was from the television speakers or something else. However, it steadily grew louder until he realized it was no longer a ringing sound, but a sound like blaring trumpets.

Then, the white screen faded into a series of images. The images moved quickly, flashing across his face, and his eyes remained open in an hypnotic gaze to keep up with the intensity of the moving pictures.

He saw large, bolted gate open. Then flames. Then, he saw a dark-skinned, suited man before a cheering crowd. Countless cases of frozen embryos. Marching armies. Thousands of individuals fighting with extraordinary physical skills. Churches burning. People vomiting. Bodies strewn. Massive explosions. A dismembered man dragged by a truck. A bright room and table of seated, established subjects. The room went black and then brightened again;the subjects were slumped bloodily in their chairs except for the standing shadow of a man with a long gun. He saw a blonde woman, dressed in red, mounted on the wires inside of a cage. Another suited man before a crowd with a microphone to his lips. A collapsing Ferris wheel. Rushing water. A man with a pulped face against the pavement. Then, Esther. He saw her, tearful, screaming face as someone dragged her backwards across the floor. He saw Mariel, hands outstretched, catching bullets. Then, a river of blood. And Phil. Phil placed his hands on a boy with a broken body. The boy walked. Then, a website, with a series of codes. And the images moved faster. And faster. And the trumpets grew louder.

A pressure grew inside of his head, getting stronger, as if his skull was getting crushed very slowly. The pain became more intense as the images came faster. More blood, more screams, more armies, more flames, more powerful people, and he saw himself on the screen, staring upwards with a gaping mouth. He watched as blood poured from his mouth, then as children ran about a neighborhood, sliding raw manuscripts inside of mailboxes. Two babies in a womb, fighting, strangling each other. One turned to look at him, and the little mouth opened as a voice from above said -

"Keep writing."

The screen went white again. And then black. And Fr. Jerome remained in that room, unaware of the desperate attempt outside of his limbo to keep him alive.