A Moral Epiphany

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A story about a man conquering his personal demons.

God help me! oh lord please! Please help me! show me mercy! Why oh’ why must I awaken in the deadest moments of night to encounter this epiphany? Awakening from my dreams of pastures new, beautiful green hillsides and golden skies with ocean blue streaking through it, whales calling one another, birds singing in harmony, trees blowing blissfully, only to awaken from my dream of dreams for the cold, harsh reality of my existence and consciousness? I stumbled across my quarters to the window and it drips with perspiration, the cool beads of water racing each other to the bottom, and the sky dark with a crescent moon and thick fog gathering on the floor of the sky? I opened my window and allowed the breeze to tumble in and steal my senses away and return them altered and calmed somewhat, albeit temporarily, for the senses would surely be restored quickly without my consent, for my consent would retain this altered state. I breathed the cold night air into my lungs, swallowing the cool night gratefully and exhaled with a relief, acknowledging fully that I would have to continue the battle. I closed my window and shivered with goosebumps and returned across my quarters to the foot of my bed, where I picked up my housecoat, pulled it onto my body and tied it tightly. Why Lord, if you are out there and care for me, must I be condemned to this existence in which you have bestowed unto me? Dare I ask for something better? Haven’t I lived a good life and done my fair share, tried my best to care for my fellow man? Please, have mercy!

Still in my dream drunken state of mind and body and soul, I once more crossed my living quarters to the door and hesitated to open it, for when the door was open, the world in all its corruption and hate and jealousy and love and happiness and the feeling of doom would hit me all at once. In the eye of my mind and soul, the door of my living quarters acted as both a barrier and a protective shield from which the world could not access and corrupt and affect me any further. The door would open up from my dream into reality, and reality in comparison did not flatter my experiences. I finally opened the door, summoning the courage from the need to ensure that my kin remained at peace and were proud of my efforts in this life and allowed the door to swing open, taking one last gasp of the sweet, innocent air.

When I walked through the door, I encountered immediate darkness and felt my other senses heighten exponentially. I groped and grasped and hoped to find a small piece of wood to craft myself a torch for seeing throughout the rest of my chamber. Luckily, I found a piece of wood and walked to the end of the corridor immediately outside my living quarters and found the dull glow of a burning wall lamp. This lamp I used to ignite my stick and finally I found greater sight beyond the corridor. I felt my sight being restored back to its normality and felt my hearing, touch and smell return to their normalities. On the walls I could see paintings of Leonardo da Vinci, more namely The Last Supper, which swirled and sprung out of the wall at me like they were trying to move through me. When I tried to look more closely at the piece, it changed completely and it now bore the resemblance of a Vincent Van Gogh piece, saturated with messy colours and luscious dream-like landscapes. My breath got caught in my lungs and I struggled for air, the sudden metamorphosis of the painting removing any form of healthy body function, so I began to breathe slowly and more deeply until I managed to compose myself before I carried on walking through the chamber. The second corridor I walked down gave way into a large room with a white beam of light pouring in through the roof, glowing on top of a large, black chest. The chest had engraved on it; ‘for Cassius, find here what your heart desires the most’. As I closely observed the chest while I walked towards it to open it, I found that I began to hear the faint laughter of the youngest member of my kin and I at once fell onto my knees. Why Lord! Oh’ why must you shatter my salvation from this horror of an existence at the opportunity for redemption and salvation? Lord, please, oh please show me mercy in the darkness of this night!

After weeping into my hands for what felt like a fortnight, the laughter stopped. I was able to compose myself and regain my senses and strength and normality once again by executing the little breathing exercise I so rubbishly described earlier in these pages. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and my cheeks and rose to my feet and continued my quest to open the black chest that was placed there for me. When I reached the chest, there was no lock upon it, and I was able to open it without any difficulty. The chest opened so smoothly it was as if the chest itself had waited for this moment for its entire existence and wanted to provide a good impression. When the lid of the chest was open fully, a small quantity of purple smoke spilled out of it and for all of my life and whatever sum of strength I had remaining in this dark moment of the night, I fought to resist inspiring this peculiar smoke. Despite my great efforts, my lungs accommodated this purple smoke with great affinity, as if this purple smoke were oxygen itself, which of course it was not, for upon inspiring this gas my lungs began to burn and my eyes began to cry against my will. My mouth became incredibly dry and my legs felt like two massive sandbags being thrown in front of each other, while my hands lost all moisture and fell as dry as any desert of the planet Earth. My head felt as though it were spinning at the speed of sound and my eyes were involuntarily spinning in revolutions as I slowly lost consciousness and hit the cold, grey bricked floor with very little resistance.

I awoke from my slumber with a cold sweat enjoying my skin and with a headache that throbbed to the point that I believed my temples would explode and my brain would spill out of them. I opened my eyes and found myself in a white room, with a single white table in the middle of it that had an audio recorder set on top of it. I began to cry internally, for now I was in the white room! Somebody must have heard my anguished screams and cries the night before and called the specialists in. I stood up and wandered over to the table and sat down on one of the white chairs. Immediately afterwards, the audio recorder began to speak to me and at this my internal cry was beginning to morph into an external scream of madness.

‘What is your name?’ the voice asked me, to which I responded, ‘Cassius’. The recorder fell silent briefly before resuming its questioning.

‘What is the reasoning of your being here?’ the voice asked me again. I frowned upon the device and responded saying that I opened a chest and purple smoke spilled out of it and caused my unconsciousness, from which I had only just recovered from. The recorded fell silent once more. The cold sweat now began to morph into a hot one, for my face began to blush and I felt it reddening, as if I looked like the devil himself. I began to breathe in short bursts and wiped my eyes from the sweat and the confusion while I sat in silence in the large white room. At this point I had only noticed that all I was wearing was white, and my housecoat had been lost along the way. Was this what heaven was like? Had the great Lord of the heavens and the worlds and the universe finally decided to gift me salvation with this monstrous condition? Was he really that capricious in the face of questioning and confrontation? These questions I began pondering until at last the recorder began to utter once more.

‘Listen son, you are a tortured soul and you are in dire need, I understand. You must search your feelings as to why you are here and then walk through the door directly in front of your eyes. Your path to understanding your displeasures with your mortal life will allow you to conjure up your individual evils and exorcise them out of your life and spare you any further loss of health. Good luck child.’

The recorder then emitted a small but sharp beep and turned off. I saw in the white chair in the white room gobsmacked at what my ears had just encountered. Did I hear the voice of God? What was it? Your path to understanding your displeasures… is that what this is? A celestial intervention? Had the chest containing the purple smoke opened a gate in my mind to facilitate the understanding of myself? These questions I took as my reasoning for accessing the white room of my own mind and I at last rose from the white chair and walked to the white door on the white wall in front of me. When I reached the other side of the door, I was stood on the air, observing one woman, aged 40 getting onto a bus. Her hair was tied up and unwashed and blond curls fell behind each of her ears while a hair bun rested on top of her head. Her eyes were barely awake and there sat immediately beneath them two dark purple bags that looked almost as big as her eyes. When she got onto the bus, she took her time to sit down, for she looked so frail, dehydrated and unfed and when she did, she released an incredibly exhausted sigh and placed her head in her hands. The action of another human soul behaving this way irked me incredibly and caused me great distress, for I felt that there was no need for such behaviour. Only now did I realise that a person may not be in their fully correct state of body and mind and soul and that they too could be a tortured soul. In an instant, myself and this same woman were stood over the bed of a dying child. The child’s hair was gone, and their eyes were a very dark grey against a face that was almost as grey as the eyes. The eyes barely hung open, and their breathing was laboured to the point of being painful beyond a description of my own capabilities if the inhale was too deep or fast.

‘I’m sorry Mrs Smith we’ve tried everything. Your daughter is no longer responding to the treatment and her life is in the hands of this machine. I’m sorry.’

Mrs Smith fell on her knees and cried violently, much like I had when I heard laughter when it was not there, and I stood looking at the child in the bed and wanted to mimic her mother. My displeasure towards the actions of people and my expression of it did not help any party involved, for I still at the end of every night would vent my anger on my chambers and the recipient of such treatment would go away and feel worse than they already had. Mrs Smith was the most perfect example of such a situation. I felt my heart rising with anger at the sight of her slow movements when I had errands to run, important errands, and yet I knew nothing of her personal experiences. These thoughts made my stomach fill with a sickness and vomit wanted to jump out of my body and onto the floor. It did. I was violently sick and yet I did not feel upset, for I felt that I deserved to feel this way, as a consequence of making somebody like Mrs Smith feel worse than what she could afford.

I woke up on the cold, stone floor of my chamber. The chest remained open and the last of the purple smoke was leaving my chambers. My head ached worse than before, but the events of my dream state could not be wiped from my thoughts and feelings. I had always felt that my constant resentment of those different to me had been plaguing my health for a lot of years gone by, decades, but I had never encountered such a happening where I confronted this idea with nowhere to go. My prayers were answered. Thank you Lord! I do so solemnly pledge to you and to my fellow men and women, brothers, sisters, that my anger will no longer be expressed and that my heart and soul will cease to house such a feeling! Thank you! I stood up, the cold sweat was now gone, and a smile had seized control of my face and I felt like I had conquered all my issues at once. This encounter with the fictional Mrs Smith that had somehow trojan horsed her way into the deepest depths of my mind represented all that plagued my poor soul. My prejudice towards my fellow man had occurred everywhere, because of such minor details and reasons that I would harbour all of the world’s anger on my shoulders and in my heart. My anger fell upon prejudice, and this encounter with my deepest mind allowed me to finally let it all go and understand how to retain immunity to it.

I walked back to my quarters where the clock read 3:45 am and the sky outside no longer held the thick grey fog at its feet, for the sky was now populated with the brightest stars in the universe and the moon was a full one. I went back to my bed, removed my housecoat and climbed in. My soul went to sleep once more, this time without thought or struggle.


Submitted: January 10, 2021

© Copyright 2021 CountDan. All rights reserved.

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