The Assassin

I was suddenly aware of myself, a body that wasn't a body, a voice that wasn’t a voice. I was a soul, pure and complete. This was real. And as I was in this place that did not exist, my body took form, although it was not my body; it was all of my bodies. Time chose for me my next form, a new case of cells for me to become. My feet became all different forms from hooves to flippers, from feet to tentacles. My hands turned to wings, to broken limbs, to paws, to claws. Winds whipped around me, eroding away at the flesh, corroding the bones. My sizes changed drastically and as I watched my form changing, I noticed that the millennia were going the wrong way. I realised Time was going backwards for my bodies. I was becoming my first form, my true self.

I watched as a torso formed, the arms budding from fresh bones, my pelvis forming from a tailbone, my legs growing and feet placed firmly on the ground. Muscles and organs took shape and soon skin covered it all, a creamy moon-shade of pale. My nails were sharp and black. I felt my face for the first time in a long time. It was long, with high cheekbones and sunken cheeks, thin lips and a sharp nose. I was bald and exposed. Everything felt new, but familiar, a type of déjà vu I could not enjoy.

As a newborn lamb, I fell down on my shaking legs. When I looked up, I became lightheaded. After the darkness from shock, the place around me was covered in thick fog. I could hardly see my hand at arm’s length, if that. I swallowed chalk and pushed myself up. I hugged my new body and pressed on, searching for something, someone. I did not know what was going on. I had no memory of my self or what had happened. All I knew was that I was alone, naked, and afraid.

Time does not exist in the place where I was reborn. It is the place where the newborn dead go when they cannot find a way to Earth, a way to Life. Souls wander for eternity in this no-man’s-land. It is Purgatory, but not every being here passes forward to Heaven. Some go to Hell, some go to Earth after an eternity, and some never leave. It is worse than Hell, the not knowing, and the never remembering who you are, what you are, and why you are.

Language was the first thing I learned in Purgatory. Well, I did not really learn it; I more or less came to understand it and knew it innately. Memories started to come back slowly, one piece at a time as I needed them. Moments after I had language in my possession, a soul came towards me. It was a man who looked lost and weary from wandering. He, too, was naked. His skin was pulled tight over his bones, his internal organs gone. His head was too heavy for his neck to bear, so it fell from side to side with his every step. When I saw his eyes, they were devoid of life, completely white as if they were rolled back. He stopped before me, his head lifted and a frail hand ripped dead skin from his pale lips.

My voice cracked as I tried to speak; yet no sound was exhaled. I swallowed more chalk and was finally able to choke out a question. “Sir,” I gasped, “do you know what is going on?” I sucked in as much air as my fragile lungs would allow over and over.

“Do you not know?” He replied. His tongue was grey and swollen, and I wondered if he swallowed it after he spoke.

Instead of replying, I stared at him, trying to understand. I believe he understood that I was new and confused. I was a baby for he was the father.

He chuckled and answered my questioning face with something so frightening that it caused me to run. “We are all dead.”

I dashed past him as hard and as fast as my legs would allow, still hugging myself the whole way. I was running towards the door that I could never open. I felt water fall down my face and I did not understand what I was feeling. Was it elation or was it fright?
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Darkness. I am surrounded by total darkness and remember my journey here. My memories have all come back to me about who I was and who I am now. I know where I am and why I am here. I am no longer balled, but now have shoulder-length black hair. I am no longer naked, but now wearing heavy military boots over leather pants, a tight black shirt and a black duster. I do not move forward, but instead pull forth the information I need to understand.

I am twenty-six years of age, and I am standing on the soil of Hell. Everyone who is plucked from Purgatory and thrown into Hell becomes a demon. Everyone who is lifted from Purgatory and raised to Heaven becomes an angel. The humans who are murdered are judged by their sins and then sentenced to reside in Heaven or Hell. The humans who are murdered by Satan’s assassins are damned to Hell, or used by Satan for whatever deeds he needs done. Those who die of a natural cause go to Heaven for they have lived their lives fully and have their sins absolved. Those who commit suicide are also judged. I cannot say if I was murdered or if I commit suicide, but that is redundant now.

There is a catalysing feeling of urgency, and so I begin to run forward hoping that there is an end to this darkness. I fall several times due to the weight of my boots, but nevertheless push on. A pinprick of the distance is a murky grey tone, so I run towards it. It grows in size and takes the form of a second dense fog that stirs with the black fumes of a city. The ground and vegetation here resembles that of the Earth so much so that I am shocked with the memory of my most recent death. I gag on the putrid air and move again.

After a while of running on a forested path, I come to a ramp that leads under the soil. There is nowhere else to go, so I hope that this path will bring me to some form of life. I descend into yet another blackness that soon forms into a lighted hall. The floor and walls are both made of granitoid and anorthosite rocks, meaning this may have been created at the time of the Earth’s birth.

At the end of the hallway is a grand galleria, equipped with demons, elevators, escalators, newsstands, wood staircases with silver filigree, a library and most importantly, various rooms and shops. It is so much like Earth I feel that I have not died, but moved to a new city. My eyes explore everything as I spin round and round. I am a child in the middle of Antwerp Central Station in Belgium, the architecture so profound and regal. However beautiful it may be, there is something unsettling about it, an uneasiness on the eyes that I cannot place.

When I look forward again to find my way through the galleria, I see someone that looks very familiar to me. I move closer and their skin is not pale, but full of life and their eyes are full of fear. Their head is turning so fast in every direction I cannot make out who they are.

“Excuse me,” I say, “are you lost?” What am I doing? I do not know this person nor do I even know my way around this place.

This being stopped turning his head and looked me in the eyes and it seems as if he recognizes me as well. “Alex?”

“I know not of anyone called ‘Alex,’ but may I ask who you are?” Alex? Why do I know that name?

“I’m Johnny. Alex, you were hit by a car. You’re dead.”

I took a step backwards as the memory of agony filled my bones and chilled my blood. I could see the automobile come towards me and slam into me. I could see Johnny as he woke me from a hallucination and called me “Alex.”

“I know I am dead, but I have recently arrived here and do not know my name yet, though I do recall having that name at one time. And I do remember you, Johnny. I have not forgotten.”

Johnny and I were sitting on his apartment floor watching films and decided to go out and buy some books. Together we picked out heathenish books, such as the Satanic Bible and a few of Crowley’s works. Of course we never paid a dime for them because that just wouldn’t be right.

We drove back to the apartment on icy roads. Our immense collection of Satanic Bible’s had grown and there was a rather large stack of them on the floor. Out of our boredom, we decided to make a pentagram (the very one on the cover of La Vey’s infernal book) on his kitchen floor and put lights at the points. When it was finished, we put two mugs of tea in the centre and asked Satan if he’d join us for a cup of tea.

“That’s just fucking great. So, Alex NoName, where the fuck am I and why the fuck am I here and why are all of these people looking at me?”

“You are standing in the centre of some galleria in Hell, and I know not why you are here. Furthermore, those are not people, they are demons and they are looking at your because you are living in the realm of the dead.”