One Thousand Years
Genesage
"Life?"
(Chp 4:1)
No longer listening, Tom did not hear.
He was busy. He wasn’t there. He was petrified in a memory. A “waking nightmare”. A Post Tribulation Traumatic Stress Disorder (P.T.T.S.D.) Tom was reliving a memory as though it were as real as the day it happened.
Though Toms body was still standing in place: "Tom" was no longer there.
He was far, so very far away.
Nightmares were fewer for Tom now that He had reconciled himself to the idea that he was NOT going to get out of this one alive.
Not as though he had ever been in a situation like this one before. No one had, or so he assumed. Oh he had seen the stories on Television about the hostages, terrorism, the wars and atrocities. He had even watched theatre movies paying good money to see the special effects done at his favorite horror show. 3D was “so real”.
Nothing had prepared him for this.
Nothing could. Who could have imagined finding themselves where he was at? Who would have thought to have survived this far into the Tribulation?
Who except some sadistic masochist would have even wanted to live this long?
You would have to be insane to want to be here. Cursed to actually live this long. Forsaken to be in this place at this time on earth. Existing this long in the living hell earth had become. Who needed a purgatory? This was what the Catholics described, or seemingly close enough to make no difference whatsoever. And he was not alone.
Hell needed company.
No one else around him was doing any better. They were probably as shocked to be here as he was. He was resolved to the fact, even hardened of heart by it, that he would die. There was no doubt. He was going to get killed. There was nothing he could do about it. There was no escape. It was over. Finis.
This was the final act and the curtain was falling on his life. “NO MAS. NO MAS”
At first as with anyone in any given situation where life and death is involved, you always start off with hope.
Hope of rescue; hope of deliverance; hope that something unknown will happen or someone somewhere was going to change their mind and set you free. Set you free or you would escape.
Of course it would be you and not the other guy.
You were the good guy and the other person was…good too?
There was always the possibility of escape.
There had to be, everyone knew that. Escape from the planet of the…, “A Great Escape”, an appeal to basic …..humanity?
Only there was no escape. Not this time. No way out. No way to get out of here. Still there must be a way, there was always a way:
Wasn’t there?
After all, all good story lines were full of that kind of stuff.
Good guys wear white hats, bad guys wear black. The hero gets the girl in the end; everyone lived happily ever after, right? The movies had the Calvary come riding in. The main character always, always, always won. The damsels in distress were rescued.
Everything worked out just in the nick of time.
Who was Nick anyways? What is a “nick of time?” Where were John Wayne and Clint Eastwood when you needed them? Isn’t it time for a commercial break?
Is it “time out” yet?
Watching the skin peeled off another "Christian” was a culture shock for faith. Their screams were shocking to anyone’s sense of hope. Or at least the first ones were.
Those first ear piercing Screams…,
You could always tell when it was the first time, no one could fake that scream.
Hearing the pulling sounds with the horror of agony, it was obvious there was no point to any of it. It was complete madness to whole procedure. No rhyme or reason. No purpose driving it. Machiavellian the sheer horror of the volume of the torture the skin peeling invoked on those who felt it.
Worse than that for those who heard it.
Nothing could compete with those who were forced to watch it.
Forced daily to watch the whimpering. My God how men; women; and children; could whimper.
The strongest athletic build, bereft on portions of the body of skin, left open nerve endings clamoring for relief; they could not endure.
Torture had been perfected over the years for just this time. The voice of the mighty reduced to the whimper. None survived long. Yet they lived just long enough. Long enough to cower, beg, whimper and cry.
None were quick and all dragged on and on and on.
The begging; the screaming; the echoes of the whimpering; bargaining; moaning; groaning; the gurgling sounds, the tears, the gagging noises, the vomiting, the worst of sounds all on display.
Screaming would never leave his heart as long as he lived.
Seeing humanity gutted, skinned, filleted, the horrific was burned into the cornea of his mind. It was all designed to destroy all hope.
It did.
What came next was worse still.
He saw thousands of people change their minds. Millions it seemed, billions it felt like.
Change their minds about God.
Curse God yes but worse than the results of simply damning God came soon enough.
The offer was presented to each and every soul there. The Gospel of Salvation; redemption from the suffering, a driven purpose to choose to follow. All they had to do was accept. Just bow down and Accept "life".
It would all stop. It would end the pain. It would bring immediate relief. It was the only road to salvation in the Great Tribulation and all they had to do was accept.
That simple; Accept Life.
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