Posted by Will Turner, Karaoke King at nat0.ucc.ac.uk on January 25, 2004 at 10:44:47:
Basically for anyone who's bored I'd appreciate what you think.
The Man Who Saw Hell (working title)
“I. Saw. Hell.” John didn’t know how many times he had to repeat this, but it seemed nobody around him believed him. But then, if he had have told himself just one day ago, he would have easily found fault in a story that had all the hallmarks of Poe or an episode of American Gothic.
It happened in a club. John wasn’t sure why the two blond women in skimpy dresses started talking about being “messengers from the True Zion” but then John wasn’t really listening. They kept talking, eyes fixated on him, like he was a monkey in the zoo. He reached out for his drink, sipped and pretended to be engaging in an intellectual manner.
When John woke up, the club had disappeared, replaced by the foul stench of sulphur. He struggled to see through the heat haze, burning into the back of his eyes. It was a world of intense yellow and orange, with howls and shrieks all along. It was a landscape of jagged points, ragged cliff faces. And there in the centre, like a twisted choreographer was Lucifer himself. His dark aura radiated across the infinite orange wasteland, his laughter pierced John’s eardrums and the smell of his own burning flesh put a fear of God into him that no minister ever could.
It was that vision that brought him to Moses Beagle. His real first name was Charles but had it changed since the formation of the Exodians, “followers of the Exodus.”
In the original story, Moses is given the Ten Commandments by a burning bush (aka God). He frees the Hebrews from the Pharaoh by unleashing the ten plagues upon Egypt, then parting the Red Sea, drowning the Pharaoh’s army and leading God’s chosen people toward Israel, the promised land.
“The devil can quote scripture for his purpose” Moses laughed. Moses himself was dressed in a shirt and tie. His other worldly voice did not fit what looked like an executive. He certainly did not seem like someone who would talk to John, sullen and wearing a faded AC-DC shirt and black jeans, stroking his greasy long hair, hanging over his face like a veil.
“Why are you so interested in me?” John wondered, trying to look for signs of the conman. Would he ask for a donation? Would he need him to tend a field or leave his family? Moses’ reaction surprised John.
“Tell me exactly what happens in this vision, and I can tell you your next course of action. I am not here to tell you what to do, John. But I am here to help.”
As John retold the details of his vision, Moses wrote down a list of words.
“Heat is a symbol of stress, a need to release. The burning suggests passion, your fire inside. Yellow shows you have confidence in yourself but will encounter opposition, orange once again suggests passion. And the cliff suggests a conclusion to these affairs.”
John was shocked. It sounded rational, almost scientific. It gave him a sense of purpose. Perhaps his vision was not a curse but a blessing, one he could share with others.
“John, I can help you understand yourself. Join the Exodians in the New Zion. I promise you we can help you through this, we will steer you away from sin, away from Babylon. We can make you whole again.”
And with that, John shook hands with Moses and agreed to become an Exodian.
The journey on board the ship was tiring. The cabins were roomy and had comfortable beds that stood firm even against the mighty power of the sea. It was so pleasant that John did not notice the man coming into his room and stealing all his possessions.
John yawned. He had slept like a king, and now the sea made him fall over like a court jester. He struggled to get to his feet, then cautiously made his way to the top deck.
There Moses stood, smiling as he flung a Dell 5.0 laptop into the sea. Treating the sea like his stewpot, he threw Rolex watches, Beatles albums and Zippo lighters into the frosty broth. John was half tempted to dive in when he saw his Red Hot Chilli Peppers albums floating by too.
“Relax.” Moses smiled. “You will be adequately compensated.”
John snorted. He had lost all his things. What could…possibly…compensate?
There in front of him was The Sentinel. As Moses explained, it was the centre of the island, the icon to which all prayer would be directed. This was not blasphemous, as it was designed purely to focus minds and was not in itself an object of worship and therefore not a craven image.
A layman however would be more cynical. The giant purple tower, with footlights on its four corners and three windows resembling a face, loomed over the island, its gaze visible across the horizon.
While The Sentinel was an awe inspiring sight, it still left John with the nagging question of why his Spiderman comic collection was in the briny deep.
“We run on a kind of Marxist Theology. Essentially, we remove the capital from capitalism. Using the insurance money we have re-routed, we will be able to create communal entertainment and clothes. There will be rationing and time schedules and there will be some censorship. But aside from that, we allow people to be creatively expressive, especially when it comes to fashion. Here, we make the rules.”
John did not like the numerous references to “We”. It sounded almost like a royal “We” that in reality, we was him. He was certainly not comfortable with his money being “re-routed.” And the way he said “fashion” with a horrible glint in his eye gave him a kind of sinister benevolence.
“If you worry about your loss of identity in a communal context, please do not be alarmed. I regularly send my trusted messengers to the mainland and they will deliver any messages you entrust to them.”
Although John was still not fully satisfied, he was nonetheless reassured to know that his family would know he wasn’t dead. That was if he had a family. In fact, John realised he couldn’t remember much at all since the vision.
Upon arrival, the island looked like a typical beach holiday in Jersey. The only difference being the giant purple church tower in the middle of the island but then John was becoming increasingly fearful of its scornful glare.
The bell rung, and all around him knelt in the direction of The Sentinel. From the roof, Moses stood, holding aloft a stone tablet. He was now dressed in a purple gown and he had lost the look of twinkling charm.
“The new arrivals will break the tablets, as Moses our forefather did. May they learn his humility before God or else!” With these words, he violently threw the tablet off the roof, startling those below him as the debris hurtled across the island and sploshing into the sea.
“Not a bad show, huh?” laughed a man. “The name’s Karl Engels.”
“John. John Dee.”
“As in Sloop John D?” the pair laughed. It was a relief for John to finally meet someone normal.
“So, what do we do now?”
“I’m guessing you’re new here. You get your purple star, then they give you vitamins. It’s a bit of a drag, but then there’s bowling. And because of this whole equality thing, you can play all night and it doesn’t cost a thing. I mean they ration all the perishable stuff, bit of a downer but you should see the rooms we get here!”
“In the Sentinel?” Karl made a chopping motion across the neck, suggesting that topic was closed. “No, the rooms are on the other side of the island. It’s a bit of a walk but you get all the mod cons. They even gave us a copy of The Wicker Man!”
Karl was obviously a nice guy, but he mostly babbled on about nothing, enjoying the fact he could bum around for the rest of his life in a kind of eternal Butlins.
In fact, he was still talking as John was getting injected. This was good as it distracted from the pain. Then again, the pain distracted from Karl’s obsession with space hoppers, Spangles and everything else he loved and cherished from the seventies. Then talked about all the great New Romantics and punks of the eighties. Then saying how much worse off we are without Brit Pop. He then said his memory was pretty hazy past the year 2000.
As the days went by, John listened and looked around. There were very few cars. Karl gave everybody lifts in his GMC custom van while he waxed lyrical about the A-Team. The arcade had games from the seventies and eighties. The cine ma was playing classics from the forties and fifties. Indeed, the sense of being in a time warp was compounded by the sight of kids with hula hoops, a surreal kind of Amishness, as if anything past the nineties was the devil.
But it was more than that. John could not remember seeing a single book on the island. He saw an open air classroom, and the kids were bright and could read every sign on the island and could add up bowling averages in their heads.
But one thing bothered him. Why wasn’t he allowed in The Sentinel? What was inside?
“I’m going in there” John finally announced, as Karl composed poetry about Joanie Cunningham. Karl was starting to piss John off now. Although he couldn’t remember his former life, it had to be better than this freakish world.
“You can’t. You’ve got everything here, why bother looking over the fence?”
that was another reason why John hated Karl. He said stupid things like “Live as if you’ll die tomorrow, dream as if you’ll live forever”, thinking them to be profound when all he did was sit around thinking them up while surfing his board or experimenting with his blond hair. Indeed, the most searching question he seemed to ask himself was ponytail or dreads.
As the bell for the final prayer stopped and the sun set over the vast horizon, John readied himself to enter The Sentinel. He waited patiently as the four footlights stood to attention, feeding light into the cavernous eyes of the island’s guardian.
Precisely on schedule, a burly looking gentleman stood to attention, holding a less than Christian gun. John carefully avoided the lights, then went behind him, grabbing him by the neck.
“I don’t want to hurt you” he said, staring directly into the burly man’s eyes. The burly man threw him over his shoulder, leaving John bloodied and on the floor.
Smiling, he leaned over to pick up John, eyes shut, out cold. But as he leaned over to pick him up, John kicked him in the nuts, elbowed him against the wall and ran for dear life inside The Sentinel.
The inside was more impressive than the outside, complete with a giant banqueting table and opulent staircases and medieval tapestries. However, the darkness gave them edges and corners, the icons all around seemed to peer straight into John’s soul. He felt his eyes begin to strain in the dark, but continued to struggle forward.
Moses looked on in his chamber, his camera picking up every second of his subject’s treachery. But he was not nervous. After all, how can you discover the truth if you have no idea how to look for it?
John reached the files, flicking through them. He then came across something that disturbed him. It was “Engels, Karl.” Only the Karl in this picture had straight black hair and was a hired cult deprogrammer. His file contained his phone number
And was labelled “Threat Grade B”.
It was then he reached his name…
Durkheim, John
Profession: Interpol Investigator
Threat Grade A
John looked at “his” picture. He had short, army cadet hair and glasses.
Last known whereabouts: The Loft, Norwich
Then it all hit him. The messengers, they were not there to reassure family, they were there to abduct people! His vision was a drug enhanced illusion and it was all a fake.
“Yes, John, it is all a lie. A beautiful lie! I have created a world far better than the filthy empire you are part of! It is no coincidence they call it the Western World! We exist in hemispheres, more shut off than here. Everyone here are either blissful harmony with their nostalgic dreams, or have been given a future without stress or harm. I have created them, they are docile because that is how I have moulded them and how you should have been!”
John revealed his arm. It was bare. He had never received the purple stamp.
“I will have you silenced! You will never leave here alive! You will pay for your ingratitude!”
John smiled. “Would you care to repeat that?”
“Why?”
“As you have just broadcasted it via your speaker system” laughed John.
“AAGH!” yelled Moses. He flung himself toward John, raining punch after punch on his head. John swept his leg down, before opening Moses’ head against the concrete floor. John slowly got to his feet as Moses grabbed his head, then ran away as fast as he could.
Unsure what to believe anymore, the Exodians threw themselves into the sea. By contrast, Moses was now certain- all those around him were tainted by the cynical glare of the world.
He grabbed a petrol can, laughing as he poured over his darling sentinel.
He lit a march and laughed with glee as the fire tickled his toes and spat furious damnation on his once loyal subject.
As his flesh burnt and his eyeballs became blackened with smoke, he sang out with joy…
Jesus knows me and he knows I’m right!