He crept unsteadily along the dark shadowy corridor. He walked step by step along the marble floor, clutching the railing for support. As he was making his way forward, the railing buckled and broke. The old man fell to his knees and struggled to regain his balance. Placing his bony hand on the ground, he felt the thick texture that his brain knew to be blood. He quickly withdrew his hand from the puddle that had crept forward and soaked his slacks at the knees. He tried to control his stomach and keep his composure, but it was lost when he fumbled blindly upon a piece of raw flesh mere feet ahead of him. He reeled and threw up on the wall beside him. The wall that had been defaced by his vomit melted away, as if by acid, to reveal a sight that shook him to his very core.

 

            He limped his way over to the fragmented window and peered through. Gazing into the tiny window he saw hundreds of cages of various sizes. The prisoners were trapped in an interlocked network of grimy bars, suspended from chains that were protruding from the ceiling. The cages were swaying back and forth, perilously close to breaking from their chains and tumbling down towards the floor. The taloned-armed nighthawks, excited by the screams of the prisoners, swarmed down upon them. His face pale, he gazed upon the feeding of these bloodthirsty demons. Being that he was an inhabitant of the Upper East Side in New York City, he wasn’t accustomed to seeing such brutality and he was unable to bear anymore of this horrific sight. He tore his head away from the window and stood upright, gripping the railing once more. He walked for what seemed like hours until he came upon an extraordinary sight.

                                                                                        

The sheer magnificence of the gateway was overshadowed by the sickening events that he had just witnessed. Straight in front of him stood an enormous door twice the size of a man and nearly three abreast. The doorway was double paneled, fitted with iron bars and complete with a stone statue of a snarling lion. At both sides of the door stood a lantern alight with the crackling of red flame. The old man wobbled over to the door in a curious daze. He stopped within a couple feet of the gate and gazed at the eyes that had captivated his attention.

 

            Beams of bright white light were shooting out of the eyes of the lion, filling the hallways with an eerie glow. From the mouth of the beast fell a sickly green mist that basked the man in a shroud of foul air. Taking a deep breath, ignoring these toxic fumes, the man lifted his shaking hand to the snout of the statue and then let his hand rest upon its head. The pale face that had just witnessed the blood and death and the feeding of Hell’s creatures was transformed into a face of youth and courage. He gazed with a face of happiness and utter joy at the beauty of the lion.   He was mesmerized by this sight and stood calmly for several minutes watching the statue intently. 

 

            Lucious Dante had been a busy man, always occupied, but always doing things for his self-advancement. He had liquidated factories and businesses to finance his own selfish, and often, self-destructive ends. Though everyone hated him, no one knew how badly he hurt inside and how much he longed for inner peace.  He longed to be content without having material possessions. To be loved unconditionally, by his parents, sons and daughters, and peers. He had never achieved this peace while on earth, but for an instant, frozen in time, staring at that statue, he felt content and, at last, got a moment of inner peace.                          

                                                         

He held the blinding gaze of the lion for what seemed like a lifetime until he noticed a tint of red appear in its pupil. It grew and shot out until the eyes held nothing but a piercing blood red gaze. The lion’s handsome features distorted and turned into a grotesque display of hideous features. He tried to look away and avert his eyes from this frightening image, but the lion held his gaze, its crimson eyes refusing to release him. For the first time in a long while, the man felt fear creep into his heart, realizing that he had been trapped in a battle that he could not win. He strained and pulled against the will of what seemed to be a supernatural being. After several attempts he succeeded in freeing himself from its gaze, only to find himself trapped in a ring of flames that had sprouted up.

 

            He was unable to free his hand from the lion’s head; the fire burned more intensely building speed and spreading across the floor towards him. It moved like a snake, slithering and hissing towards his body, his hand still stuck on the statue. The man was perspiring and flailing where he stood.  He had never prayed to God before but now that he knew death to be approaching, he decided that he might as well try.

 

         “Lord, help me!” he cried out.

 

Just then, as his frail voice trailed off, the fire was quenched, wiped away as if it had never been.  His hand was sprung free from the statue and he spun backwards. The enormous gate swung open and unleashed a gust of clean, cool, refreshing wind. The man, frozen from fear, closed his eyes and stood still as the wind passed by him. The wind passed through his grey, knotted hair and immersed his body with a feeling of energy and strength.

 

            The man opened his eyelids slowly, expecting at any moment for something extraordinarily frightening to happen, but instead was awaited by a vision that would have made anyone’s jaw drop. He was on a cloud, a white cloud, suspended in the air over the greens and blues of the earth below. He could see clouds for miles with people seated on each, transfixed by their own imaginations. Instead of the demons in that place that he could only call Hell; there were doves, bright and elegant, flying in the air above him.        

 

He was overcome by a sense of peacefulness so serene that he nearly forgot who and what he was. He was a man, a simple man who didn’t believe. He didn’t much believe in anything. Didn’t believe in love at first sight, didn’t believe that there was always a silver lining in any situation. He had found the preaching of dry, old pastors to be boring and absurd. He thought the lessons about being kind to your enemies were a ridiculous fantasy of people who had problems facing reality. But when he saw this sight, for the first time in his life, he believed that he was in heaven.

 

            He was still admiring the beauty of the heaven of which he was a part, when he heard a booming voice from above.

 

“Why did you cry out for my help if you don’t believe in me?”

“I don’t know,” replied the man after a startled pause.

“Did you like Hell?”

“No, it scared me half to death… am I dead?”

“The question is what and where you want to be when you die.”

 

All of a sudden the clouds underneath his aching feet howled and dissipated into nothing. The flying doves disappeared, and he was falling fast towards the ground. He tried to scream, but the wind was biting at his lungs and he couldn’t summon the energy to utter a sound. He hurdled faster and faster towards the ground and he could now make out the Empire state building, a miniscule spire, spiraling up from the ground. He was nearing the ground at breakneck speed, spinning sideways, his arms and legs feeling formless and limp. He was within seconds of hitting the hard concrete below when he woke up from his nightmare with a start.

 

He sprang upright and gasped for air. He was sweating and panting, his eyes darting around his room, searching for evidence that he was indeed in his room safe at home. He saw his skateboard leaning against his closet door, and a poster of his favorite band on his ceiling. He shivered and rocked back and forth.

 

             At eight o’clock in the morning his mother came into his room, as always, to ask if he wanted to go to church, knowing as always, that he would be uninterested. Still, his mother came into the room and saw him rocking back and forth on his bed. Concerned, she pushed open the door, tip toed to the side of his bed and sat down. His nightmares had become more frequent, but this seemed like his worst one yet. She picked up his white bath towel from the floor and placed it around him. He clasped the ends tightly around him and turned to look at her.

 

“Do you want to go to church today, Lucious honey?”

The boy, pale-faced and lost for words, stared hard into his mother’s crystal blue eyes and then turned away, remembering his crimson premonition. 

“Yes, that would be a bright idea.”