Books by Nickolaus A. Pacione
are going to hell.....
"The root of all evil is the heart of a black soul.
A force that has lived all eternity.
A never ending search for a truth never told.
The loss of all hope and your dignity." --- SLAYER, South of Heaven
Word Count: (1947 Words)
In the mind as it is a low whisper, that tells of what one puts to the pages as they dwell in the surface of dreams. From them as they become lost from the hours of being awake, and the adaptation from them gather in the echoes of time – while in the shadow it would be within echoes told from memory. In the places told from the skies as they draw into darkness while the rest of my body falls asleep. Among the places which drawn, into a void as it would be penned – beneath a waking eye that it would draw from a hand that is barely awake. It would be them from I as it would be the written thought – a sky which falls into the void of a February darkness, and from them in the etchings on ice that described in a poetic sense. The darkness in the sky seems to have this poetic description to it – that it would be following from the sense as the body falls into the patterns when the mind is dreaming. Yet a reoccurring theme but again, in a pen as it glows on the screen – that it would draw to the place once again being Glen Ellyn, Illinois. Just something about Glen Ellyn, Illinois, seems to play out in the dreams some how – and from them it seems to create a glow of an aura gray.
Barely awake as it would seem – the details in the dream would stand as what would be as the congregation of the Kingdom Hall looking on. Something about the Watchtower Society had always gave me a notion of horror that I cannot begin to describe, just that their belief in not going to the hospital when one is severely ill would play on my mind – where they say who lives or dies. In their eyes – that draw from the sickness as it is written from the minds of the sound, and the dreams that become. The factors where they made a perversion of the crucifixion, and the horrors that draw from them become the backdrop to the portions of dreams as they were written – though found in the testimonies of the uncollected. From the dreams drawn from places in horror, of them which become from the darkness gathered as falling into the clay which become the beginning. If it would gather from them in the places where they walk – no telling of them where they have already got blood on their hands. While my body sleeps, I see them waking the halls in their black suits and New World Translation Bible’s under their arms, “Denounce medical treatment” under their tongues – it would be this that would bring the sense of horror to the mind.
Horror of what stands within darkness that waits looking on from their eyes, which I put to the pages as they are written here glow from the nightfall pages. That it would be as I write this, the dream would be the thing that plays the strongest in the mind – dark in the echo that fades from one stage of the dream into the next. That it would become from an unknown echo, beneath the names whispered – “denouncement of medicine” where the words spoken. The words in the mind that I often heard from when I dreamed, in places that I found myself in the small town outside of Chicago – about 45 minutes west of the city.
That a place like Glen Ellyn was town like any other, a train station that was across the street from a police department – but the dream would be there as it would create the landscape more horrifying than anything that was imagined. Yet it would be just down that road, of Main Street Glen Ellyn, it would be there – the quaint building that plays out in old nightmares from one time and again, more so when I have to go to the hospital and would see them debating with doctors – often on the case when they knew when someone was going to die. In their whispers that grown louder, that in the dark it would gather its dominion in the word as I describe to them becoming – yet where all there would have an end would become the dawn of the beginning. I kept hearing them whisper the phrase, “denouncement of medicines, denouncement of treatment. Come to the Hall and you would become healed.”
I stood there in the hall within the hospital, questions in my mind of what dwelled from their psyche of the dreams and nightmares lived in their mind. From the gathered among the places in the dream would become the echo of the funeral pyres. From them told in echoes with their black suits, and the eyes which don’t have soul to them, though it would be from the nightmares that are written from them in places told in a point of view that is my own. As it would be heard in the whispers, told from silence which becomes from the echo of the dreams as my body falls asleep. That in my dreams I kept seeing the Kingdom Hall – from the darkness that fell within the places that are my dreams, “No blood transfusions, live longer – come join the 144,000 that would be in the house of the Lord after death.” They were staring at me – each and every single one of them, that they had eyes that were not human or demon yet they did not have a soul to them.
“No – I won’t join you,” I said with authority, “people need blood to live and without it – as you say where they are not allowing blood transfusions, are in time killing them – making you the worst kind of murderer.” I began to run but there were a number of four to a hall, where the notions to their thoughts were that of the unknown. The tone to their voice became darker, “Join us – be one of the 144,000 going to heaven and renounce the science that was given to you.” I responded, “God gave us medicine so we can live longer – there is a reason for blood transfusions, and they are there to save lives – you are willing to denounce the very thing that God had given to people. You are not bringers of life. I will not join you because you are not messengers of God – just the bringer of death when you follow around the hospitals.”
I began to run at this point and a trail of blood followed behind me like something impaled my foot – felt like something sharp as a scalpel. Limping along from the sight of horrors – it would become the burning that was in the injury that was inflicted. Where as I proceeded to run, I kept hearing their echoing whispers – the places where it would be described as the room of fools. Tarot cards rested across the beds and each one had the Death card in place on top of the deck. That it would be among the gathered mind, it would be taken from the recollection as they are written here – the places in the dream become in the fragmented parts as one sees the Watchtower Society looking on and saying, “Join us in the kingdom of God, renounce the use of the your medications. Join the 144,000.” The words that brought about to the mind as they were said to me years ago by a friend of mine from the Assemblies of God – the telling of this would be only in the twelve tribes, but in the dream and it would go further in the blackened details would become within the hospital’s walls. It would be gathering from the walls that the blood leaks from them – firing out like they were arteries at the wrists.
In the places that crawl, the thoughts that become from a body that sleeps – it would be from them in the dreams crawling within the places that dwell among the years that long died. Beneath the nightmares as I write of them here, the whispers which play out in the dream would be that of, “join the 144,000.” It would be in the descent from the waking into the dream which the darkness descends as the skeletal figure rides a pale horse. Its gallop came as a thundering roar, where the Watchtower looked on as it proceeded to reap the sick and the dead; of them which it would stand before me – in horrors that rise within fires that come in the stages while the skeletal bird looks on with the pale horse. It becomes from a darker sky that fades in echoes from a pale sound of thunder. In them which they stand looking on from a darkness in the skies, that it would be when I saw them looking on from a horror that cannot be expressed. Beneath a shadow which glows from the aura gray, that it would become from the nightmares waiting –– it would become, closer from the whispered prayers that fall from the echo in the skies. It would drawn from them in the patterns of sleep, that I saw the eyes without faces –– where they would look on without a soul.
A stirring horror grows within me of the known thought that this would be only a dream, but when writing it out in my mind on the glow of the screen it would have a sense of it becoming real. From them which become of the dream, described in their words of that 144,000 that go on to the places of Judgment. Beneath them are the eyes that stare before the place of purgatory, waiting for that 144,000 to join them in the place of the flames. When they become part of the time where death and nightmares are inked within the pages –– it snarls beneath a delicate sound of thunder; though it would be in the mind as the body rests and sleeping. It would become from them in a darkness looking on to the lands of the alive above them, within the seven paths to hell when their road begins. Where they are seen from the eyes of the one who writes from the nightmares that dwell within –– as they see the pale horse. That even from the questions within the nightmares of the elders belonging to the Kingdom Hall, what stands between their sleep and the nightmares are the truth that remains of the pages they ignore. Where it would gather from them – the place known as the Watchtower, it would be among them in death which becomes the thing that is on their hands. Horrors follow them into the sinking sands of Purgatory – beneath their eyes the coins are rested upon them. It might begin within the streets of Glen Ellyn but it closes within their sleeping nightmares, crawling as they would get in line.
In the dream as I fall asleep, I watch them join the congregation – gathering from the cold that gathers in a hell on earth. It would become as I see them from the dreams as they are collected from an echo of a revelation, that they become from the pages told within them as they are written here. Among the 144,000, it would be among the nightmares which await them as they fall asleep – within the places of their haunted revelations beneath a darkness that would become a time that follows them from life into afterlife. Among the places which stand among the congregations of the Watchtower which stand in the places of the line.
"South of Heaven" -- Slayer, 1988, Def American Records
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|Reviewed by Lee Garrett
|There is a resonation of reality within this surreal story. It's horror lies in the fact that zealous evil is so much with us, sincere and dangerous--this is indeed a window to hell.|
|Reviewed by Robert Montesino
|Much cleaner tighter write now! doesn't sound so angry as the first version, this is more objective but with all the elements of terror as the original! Well done!|
|Reviewed by Gil Alexander (Reader)
|Great story, again. Your voice is very poetic and it has an evil undertone.
-Supergill, from FP.
|Reviewed by Mitzi Jackson
|kinda personal this one
i enjoyed you here
let's just say i REALLY know where you are coming from here
religious group or cult
which is the more likely here
|Reviewed by matthew Hewitt (Reader)
|Another great piece of writing . Love the title.|
|Reviewed by Terry Vinson
Frightening stuff. A great premise that the story within lives up to. You have a way of describing 'dreamscapes' that I've seen no other writer match. Keep it up..