Judgement of the damned

A contented man of good grace and a superior swagger was walking along a crisp country path; one of the few which led into the village of Little Brottington. The sun shone a dazzling gold upon the glistening moisture on Alistair's eyes and the trees were solitary statues, withered and grey-haired. They lined the path in perfect symmetry, almost wrapping their branches over him as he walked. He felt happy; he felt as though he would be nothing more than a cheerful man on that day. He would only have to walk through a few more fields and he would be at his destination; the cafe on the corner of the town square. He loved the cafe like a harmonious winter's day. It was truly the best place to be on that cumbersome period between the morning and work. He cherished everything about it, the good natured banter between other families, and the benign, elegant waitresses. As he still walked onwards he saw the lush, green grass, still the slightest trickle of dew coating its surface, like a slimy protective skin. He sniffed the atmosphere, now turning to droplets on his nostrils and the faintest slither of honeysuckle and pollen wafted through his nose, warming his senses, numbing his mind. He treaded his feet rapidly, an express train, as he knew he was close. He could tell from the peaceful sound of the teeming livelihood of other people beautifully intermingled with the chirping of blackbirds which swooped in and out of the village gate.

Alastair tucked into his favourite; a caramel slice. It was extremely delicious and the burst of sugar and delight that came with it agitated his limbs, a godly army, crusading its way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He had indeed tasted perfection. This lifted his mood considerably and he felt his cushiony chair sooth him, tranquil, inspiriting, purifying. There was no need for formalities as he knew everyone by sight and it was as though he had jumped into a warm embrace. However it took a while, amidst the wonderful atmosphere, before Alastair was conscious of anything wrong. No more did the blackbirds chirp or the people play. The sky faded with the presence of black, crimson clouds; mournful, whispering epitaphs, a glance of what horror was to come. The rain, which thronged the air dismally patted on the coffee shop window. Was it rain? An unmistakable, unusual darkness fell upon the village and worse still, the dim bulb of sunless light, the very last bit of solitude, died with a lingering wisp of smoke left behind. It did not stir any longer, not a breath of life prevailed. Perhaps most disturbing of all, he now heard the crackling ferocity of fire, horrifically intermingled with the soft moaning of freshly burnt corpses.

Boom! A titanic tremor woefully rattled Alistair’s bones and stirred his mind, unbearable, disorientating. The earth was trembling in terrible pain. Shrieking and terrible cries pierced the dusky sky. Alistair, stunned temporarily, turned a pasty face, milky white, twisted with fear, to the window of the cafe. It was all so sudden, he thought, but why was this sickening scene of pure malice and hatred coming to pass.

Boulders shot over the houses like stars, fiery and shining bright. The ground shook as though the devil was tossing the town too and fro. By now Alistair was out of the coffee shop screaming for his precious family, as fragments of rock and bursts of flame narrowly missed his person. "Jesus, why?" he howled into the red sky, as a boulder exploded nearby, the jagged shrapnel, as sharp as razors, slicing and tearing away at his exposed cheek. The pungent smell of decaying flesh made him wretch and gag, projecting bile into every orifice of his mouth.

Alistair felt his way through the coarse damp streets, thrashing about like a stabbed rat in panic. Stumbling, sinking… Every corner he turned in dread of what might befall his vision. Every alley he saw nothing but shadow and evil. The gloom seemed to be moving, shifting. Sparks danced in a never-ending furnace, it was the Apocalypse. What had been a tranquil care-free village had turned into a distorted abomination. He watched in horror as a child was stricken down to the floor by a sword of flame, sinking to the ground as blood poured from his severed neck. The dreaded pentagram, the mark of the devil, was etched on his back…. He stood there, amongst the hissing, helpless. All of the pride inside him had been violently humbled. No paladin bolted to his aid. No calm words of encouragement met his ears. Why would God permit this? What had the world done wrong? It became inevitable that the time for the end was nigh.

Alastair did not even once think to search for his family, or help others as their minds were being ravaged by hell or their souls devoured by demons. He scanned the blood ridden landscape for the smallest, most inconspicuous corner he could find and chose to cowardly crawl there and conceal himself perhaps in the hope that the nightmare would end. He clenched his own frozen limbs, his nails etching marks upon them as though he was part of the corner he sat in, as though he was invisible… But then he came to realize that during the apocalypse, the more he chose to ignore gods calling, the more afraid he would eventually become.

Alastair stared down at his scars, eyes wide with woe. The oozing red he had created, tigered the white of his skin. He flinched as a stab of pain slithered through his body, every time he heard a bloodcurdling scream or shrill cry. As he became vulnerable, weak, his mind began opening up, allowing voices to plague it so ungrudgingly. He was fighting a fearsome battle with his wits, not to give in to the torment that was beginning to block his path. It was no use… Visions of monstrous things and disgust were all he could see now. He felt the cold caress of fear envelope his head and feed on it. He was trapped. Doomed. Faces of children leered at his. Cracked necks. Eyes like two black holes tinged green. Hideously smiling as they shed their rotten skin, their sticky, blood soaked tongues writhen. In his nightmare's he saw these horrible images. When would they end? He saw once more, four horsemen, bolting through masses of these children which were manifestations of hell, a mighty glow set upon their silhouettes. They raised their swords, struck them down again and again, showing no mercy. The wind that followed behind was like hammers, knocking at the sea of bodies that now lay before them. These horsemen were a beacon of hope to those who believed in God. He had overcome his nightmares. He saw a glimmer of hope.

A single stream of light fluttered through the thin crack of Alistair's eyelids which broke the nightmarish gloom of his slumber. The scorching rays forced him to beat a hasty retreat from the wall he was cowering against, in quiet, whimpering solitude. He was a worm wriggling out of soil into the mysterious undergrowth as though in isolation for a hundred years. A cold sweat was now running down his forehead, getting tangled in his wispy strands of unkempt facial hair. Alastair had jagged nails encrusted with grime upon his now weak frame, riddled with scars. As he brushed away a few renegade strands of hair from his eyes, took in his surroundings in awe. The now, godly awakening of the heavens and the earth; the celestial aura of his surroundings had become unfamiliar to him. Amidst all the chaos and horror how could the scene of peace and prosperity he now saw, be real? He was becoming warmer, lighter and all of the tensions of the past lifted off his shoulders as though they had been carrying led all along. It was a brilliant feeling. As though he had sank into a hot bath. Alastair walked forward into the light, his instincts pushing himself forward like a puppet. With his wizened voice, God spoke to him in his consciousness. “Only those who learn to trust in the hope of God can ascend to heaven”. His heart suddenly froze as he was being whisked up into the billowing white clouds like pillows in the sky. He was being carried in Gods loving hand. He passed giant, towering halls of air, cleansing, replenishing his bloody skin. This was the end, but true happiness would blossom for eternity.