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Brushworks by Monte
Category:
Horror
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (January 19, 2013)
ISBN-10: 1482017636
Type: Fiction
Pages: 100
ISBN-13: 9781482017632
Seven Short Stories, this collection is an eclectic mix of head banging bizarre tales of Supernatural, Psychological & Spiritual Horror. Exploring the deepest realms of the human psyche where reality & illusion merge into unexpected & surprising territory... So buckle up and hold on to your brain, your in for one hell of a ride! This title also available in e-book format.
Excerpt
The Void
The last thing I remember…screaming sirens. Wherever I am, it’s hideously dark--a black so deep, light might never have been. I find myself reaching out, hoping to break free of this crushing fist. I cannot feel myself move. I cannot feel myself at all. Am I dead? Am I nothing but consciousness ensnared in some private hell? I cry out in protest, but my thoughts cannot form words with frozen lips.
Where is the tunnel to ascension? Where are the Angels? Where is the God I’ve prayed to all my life? I am alone with my thoughts. I begin to wonder how long I’ve been here. How do you measure time in timeless space? I tell myself to think without
panic, taking a deep breath, but if I’m dead I have no breath. A small voice in my mind says to breathe anyway, so I do.
There now, that’s better.
Didn’t Descartes say, “I THINK therefore I AM”. I can’t be dead if I’m still thinking…right? In order to think one needs to have a brain to discharge electrical impulses, to formulate thought and reason. Perhaps I’m just unconscious and haven’t awakened yet. Maybe this is all just a terrible dream.
Maybe I’m in a coma and doctors are working feverishly to save me? Of course, that must be it! I don’t know much, but I know I want to LIVE. Yes, I’m sure my friends and family are all around me, praying for me, crying out to God to save me. I tell myself I can feel presence though I cannot see them. I create hope because I have to have some.
No, I do feel them! And there, in the distance, I see little points of light, stars breaking through, prayer that burn, penetrating the darkness. They are offered to me, for me. Constellations form, galaxies of concern. I am in a place where only love is real. The darkness, once so complete, is thinned to shades of gray. I am not alone. I am not forsaken.
A battle is being fought. Death refuses to loosen his grip, but I will not go gently, without a fight. The Light is warm, dazzling, stirring a childhood memory. A verse I learned once in church floats to the surface of my mind. I say the words:
The Lord is my Shepard; I shall not want... I feel myself being pulled across some abyss. And far below, I can hear voices; “I’m sorry, Mrs. Socorro, but your husband is brain dead. His spinal cord is severed. His body is being kept alive only by the respirator. I can see no hope for recovery. We know this it difficult, but have you considered organ donation?”
My wife weeping bitterly responded as she signed the document, “I love him so much and I know he would have wanted to help someone with a gift of life such as this.”
I listen stoically, resisting a very human impulse to scream, “I AM NOT BRAIN DEAD. I WANT TO LIVE.” But my spirit knows I must accept God’s will for me. I recall another scripture; “There is no greater love than to willing lay down your life for another.”
“Let it be,” I pray. “Let it be.”
A brilliant light emanates from my body, instantly dissipating the darkness effortlessly. I am bathed in a storm of light, surrounded by beings that burn with love. Free from all I have been, I let them carry me toward an incandescent heart. The Angels have prepared a place for me in paradise.
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