One Thousand Years
Genesage
" What Kind of God?"
(Chp 4:6)
The guard told him that was where all the “beheaded were headed.”
He laughed at his own joke slapping Thomas on the back as he escorted him to his cell. Escorted was polite as Tom was fondled and told he would be castrated long before he ever got close to the Pit. It wasn’t a surprise to Tom since all the way into the entrance of the prison was the “Walk of Shame”.
It was shameful what the prisoners were subjected to seeing. Forced to walk by metal stakes every few feet with heads, arms, legs, half torsos, full torsos, body parts, private parts, entrails, brains, all impaled on the spikes for “shock” and “awe” before reaching the “Prison of Decision.”
All who had not been enhanced made a stop at the Prisons. Prison of Decision where a person “Chose Life” or chose death and later, banishment to the “Valley of the Damned”.
“Chose Life” was scrawled in blood on the walls to his cell as he was to await his proclamation or execution.
"Get it, headed, beheaded, well don't lose your head over it, ha."
The Guard repeated over and over again as it obvious the guard was as insane as Thomas felt.
Being brought to the final few steps before entering the Prison, the guard had said;
“I want you to meet my mother”
Tom would never forget that. There with only half a torso, the upper half, was a brutally scarred woman leering at him. She had no lower half. Death at this stage of the Great Tribulation was gone so in some cruel twist of hate, the guard had chain sawed his mother in half. He stuck her on a spit.
He introduced every “Christian” or person with no “mark” to her.
Tom was shocked as the woman told him all this. He had done this to her because, according to the mother, when she found out the Guard had received the “Mark of Allegiance”, the Inoculations, she had said, “I will pray for you” and left him.
He had tracked her down, eventually finding her. When he did death had just been removed, so he cut her in half. As a reward, the guards leadership had placed him in charge of New Arrivals at this Prison of Decision.
He had brought his mother along….,
The guard was also Toms Torturer.
He would look at Tom then caress the back of his hand. Look at Tom then rub the forehead where the guard so proudly portrayed his mark. Tom was sure that the Mark the guard wore so proudly no doubt added to his instability. Walking away when he had locked Thomas up he cackled as he moved down the corridor,
"Mark you Win, Heads you lose."
And his high pitched laughter only confirmed the man was quite mad.
So many others screaming "for death", were all around him. Why did they wait till they got here? Or worse still the noises they were making at the end of their life. T
hey merely attempted sounding noises that were unintelligible. Even those who did not mutilate themselves but watched simply screamed in prison here in pain and agony.
Too much was too much and the soul of man had already been hardened to what was occurring. Yet those who had not given in yet, they still felt, they still feared, they still screamed.
Or was it some realized a meaning in their life that now that it was ending.
They somehow knew what forever in hell would mean. A gestalt of guiltiness and awareness that they were at fault for the state they were in. A resignation and a sheer terror of what one more day might mean.
He didn't know, nor did he care.
His wife had been carted away. Since she could not walk or crawl they simply dragged her away. The woman he had vowed to love forever in sickness and in health till death do them part, he now hated and despised with abject horror.
He could understand the reason but could not forgive the excuses. She had taken the coward's way out and he hated her for it. He could not bear to seek to understand the blame he knew subliminally was his own.
He had to lash out.
He had to hate. He needed to pick a scapegoat and let the Judas goat go free. Or did it? It seemed as if the whole world was turned upside down and sideways and everyone simply wailed and moaned.
Everyone was blaming someone till that game played it's last card. The last card and the one holding the hand was the only one left at that table. Last card played and it became a busted flush.
Who could you blame when no is left to play the game except you?
Thousands upon thousands all around the world were equally suffering. Thousands upon thousands all looking for someone to blame. Millions and all equally mad at one unifying influence that had seared their conscience raw.
God.
In his constant nightmare or reality, or was it really a memory? Tom just couldn't recall what they were waiting for…, Why was He still getting worse than falling from a frying pan into a fire?
How many levels of hell were there before there was no more hell below where you were already at?
How much worse could it get?
Better to die and get it over with. Maybe His wife was right.
Yet He lived. He lived and yes that was worse.
Why?
What kind of a God would do this to his own people?
Tom was convinced. It was NOT his kind of God.
No matter what happened he wouldn't bow down, receive any mark, take any gospel or listen to anyone anywhere at any time.
"Oh how deep the depths we see when we truly see we have been deceived."
Tom chanted.
It all came back as rage fueled again by another respite from despair.
That very fury of Tom's wrath that fed another minute, hour, day for Tom to survive.
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