Souls - XXXI

My feet and arms kick hard against the water, trying desperately to move upwards, but it’s no use. Something is pulling me down into the cavern, through the gates of hell. My thigh is nearly on fire, the soul protesting the only way it knows how.

Something grabs me, I feel myself pulled downward with force. My ankle snaps under the pressure of being yanked suddenly.

I scream, the pain is primordial, untamable, indefinable.

My body is sinking, the bubbles of oxygen coming from my screaming mouth desert me; rushing upwards towards the surface. Then it is blackness, real blackness, blackness I have never experienced. Not only the absence of light, but consisting of a real tangible weight. I feel it pushing me, squeezing me, toying with my flimsy body.

I hear screams, I hear sobbing, and I hear the last thing I expect; my mother.

“I’m so sorry.”

I twist around as best I can, but it’s no use, I can’t see anything. But I can hear.

“I was only doing what I was taught was best. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

I can hear the true regret, the anguish that has been calmed by years of continual remorse. 

Calm, but raw.

My mother, the most aggressively pious person I ever knew was here. The woman I tried so hard to please that I rushed into the church to become a preacher; she is here. 

In hell.

Her voice is fading as I continue to rush through, something pulling me quickly.

“I love you, take care of that little girl. Do better than I did.”

Her statement pierces my heart, suddenly wanting nothing more than to embrace her to tell her that I love her, that she did the best she knew how and I understand. But I can’t.

She’s gone.

She is replaced by thousands of moans, screams, gnashing of teeth. Many of them are familiar, many of them belong to the people from whom I took souls. I think I even hear the archangel Michael, but I can’t be sure. It’s all moving too fast. The soul in my pocket is searing into my skin. It doesn’t belong here. I feel down to it, trying to comfort it. That’s when I realize, it’s the one that is comforting me. It is the one pulling me through this nightmare. It knows the way out and it isn’t wasting anytime getting there.

The heat from the soul is dissipating, not because it is cooling, but because I am warming. I feel it subtly at first, not even realizing it’s happening. But all of this has triggered it. I am going to explode. I feel the heat spread, matching the intensity of the soul.

I see the light flash outward from me. I am gone.

When I open my eyes again it feels like appreciable time has passed. I feel separate and distanced from the self from however long ago. I move my fingers and feel sandy dirt, dry sandy dirt. I’m no longer in the water. 

I sit up and see a city limits sign looming above me.

Surprise, Arizona

POP. 123,546

My hand reaches down and feels at the soul. It’s cool now, calm and content in my pocket. I feel up to my head, the hat is gone. Stranger still, my wound is gone. In its place is a bald spot that is disturbingly smooth. I guess when I blow up it’s like hitting the reset button. 

Or that’s my theory anyway.

I stand, brushing myself off. I realize I have a problem. All of my instructions, including the location of Jesus, is in my car which is back in Santa Rosa. I scratch at my bald spot, which I assume makes me look like Friar Tuck, and try to figure out a plan. 

That’s when I see the bus. I’m pretty sure it’s a mirage at first, but as I get closer it comes into clearer focus instead of fading away. It is pulled into a tiny little gas station. I reach out to it, expecting it to disappear into the sand as I do, but it stays firm. I run my hand over the stenciled letters on the side of the bus.

Dearborn Pentecostal Church

I know these stencils.

I painted them on.