Chapter #5Meet Joel, our next Victim by: Unknown Joel Mattheson had never had what you would call an extraordinary life so as he walked into the street and that monstrous truck came barrelling towards him he wasn’t filled with any feelings of existential dread. They say life flashes before one’s eyes as they pass from the worldly the living to the world of the dead. Joel, always the dependably unremarkable specimen, experienced the same. Time seemed to slow down and the air crackled as his thoughts, emotions, memories and past experiences played a final loop of what had been, what should’ve been and what could’ve been if he hadn’t been so timid to live life to the fullest.
He was transported into his own mind, a detached remnant floating in his own imagination as Lady Time seemed to work her way in reverse, beginning from the impending collision and coiling her pocket watch backwards, allowing Joel a glimpse of what his life had been. He saw himself strolling his way to work, eyes wide and feverish, a coffee clutched in his hand and his pupils flitting backwards and forwards between the street and the watch, his mind racing with the possible consequences of being late to the temporary office job that would somehow inexplicably set up the next phase of his career where he could do something that actually enthralled him.
Time wound back once more and he found himself back in school, university then sixth form then high school, revising for hours upon hours for subjects of little interest to him. Sure he was good at them but just being good never gave him any fulfilling satisfaction. “It’ll pay off, one day,” he heard his younger self whisper as he refused those little eccentricities in life that made it worth living, pushing the few friends he had away for fear they were holding him back, sighing as he let girls pass him by and swearing that he would find that special connection once he was more mature, and drowning in a cesspool of anxiety about the future and what it could bring.
Time continued to pass him by and every moment seemed to be a stinging reminder of just how safe he’d played it. As he approached a memory where he’d refused to hop on a tyre swing with some kids in his neighbourhood for fear of hurting himself, time seemed to stop whirring backwards. As quickly as he’d begun seeing time in reverse it began to speed up again, building intensity until he came back to that dreaded moment, watching helplessly as the truck barrelled towards him and his feet stuck unmoving to the ground. He closed his eyes and braced for impact.
But no collision came. Instead Joel found himself rocketing himself up in a strange leatherback seat. His breathing was scarce and ragged and his eyes bulged out on stalks. He checked himself. No abrasions, no bruises, no bones jutting out of his skin. Matter of fact, all of his pain had gone. Joel prodded the spot on his back shoulders that had been nagging him for weeks. Nothing. Either he’d been miraculously saved or he truly was dead.
Joel breathed a sigh of relief and slunk backwards into the strange new leather upholstery. He was still alive. Thank God, he thought. He sucked in a long breath of air just for the sake of it, to relish that sensation of life still coursing through him. Joel looked around the room. Coming straight from that surreal moment of action had sent Joel’s heart racing and it was unsettling to be put into such a serene scene so soon afterwards.
The room looked grand in it’s simplicity. From what Joel could tell he was in some sort of administration office, maybe it was the lofty stack of unfinished paperwork and the Comparing it to his dingy ‘office’ was not nearly giving it enough justice. There seemed to be a few eccentricities scattered around the room; a bookcase filled to the brim by books with thick spines and bulky padlocks locking them shut; eerie occultist stars lining the walls and ceilings along with a couple other glyphs and signs Joel recognised from a book somewhere; even the blood red furniture that perfectly complimented the crimson wallpaper lining the walls. Everything including the door handle seemed personalised, a screaming skull sculpture painted to look like the poisoned apple from Snow White.
Joel was admiring a picture frame on the table, the picture inside inexplicably torn into halves, before a figure bampfed right into existence before him, sending a plume of blue smoke into the sky as Joel’s chair teetered backwards. “Sh*t!” Joel squealed before he felt an invisible hand softly guide his chair back onto four legs. “Apologies, Mr Mattheson, I’m not normally one for extravagant entrances but c’est la vie,” the man said. At least Joel assumed it was a man. Their gravelly baritone, broad shoulders and dapper black suit with red pinstripes seemed quite masculine. But their face, it was strange how despite their rugged features and defined jawline, they looked so feminine; buxom breasts snuggled underneath the fabric of the suit, sultry catlike eyes that seemed to stare straight at Joel and through him at the same time, and their hair, even the pixie black Bob curling into their eyes reminded Joel of a sensual woman he’d once seen on a rare outing to the club with a few mates one night.
Whether he was male or female seemed to be the wrong question to ask though; the figure’s skin was a shade of chilling red, thick as blood but with the lustre of a polished convertible. They were either a demon or afflicted with the most undesirable skin condition Joel had ever seen.
“Allow to me to introduce myself,” the figure spoke, it’s voice a weird amalgamation of scintillating male and female inflections silkily stitched together into an intoxicating concoction of sound. Scratch that last theory, they were definitely a demon. Unnaturally white teeth jutted out from their mouth but Joel couldn’t tell if the expression was meant to induce comfort or terror. Probably both.
“W-who the... What t-the f*ck are y-you?” Joel squeaked, his voice barely echoing around in the spacious chamber. The figure smiled, batting their eyelashes before slinking back into their chair, that strange grin still apparent.
“Expletives and asterisks with all of you humans,” the Voyeur sighed. “No more.” This simple pair of words sent a pulse running through the room, striking Joel in the chest. Even I shudder as write this, such is the immense power that the figure possessed. “What the heck just happened,” I’m compelled to write Joel said. Joel grabbed his rebellious voice box.
“Now we can speak without your sailor’s mouth interrupting my train of thought. Now, where were we?” Joel watched as they leaned backwards and a chair—no, a throne—seemingly made of flesh and blood built its way up to accommodate them, disgusting tendrils of red tissue twisting and coiling into shape until they fully immersed themself into it and the writhing stopped. The figure pulled a file from the paperwork and placed it in front of him before turning their bony neck around to Joel’s direction.
“Oh yes, I remember now. I, Joel, am the Voyeur of Chaos, Overseer of the Passing and Grand Vizier of this little pocket of shattered reality shards. Though you and your kind may better recognise my realm as it’s more colloquial name, Purgatory. Perfectly fine to use either as you like, I’m not really fussed. Seems like I’ve got you booked here to discuss the matter of,” the Voyeur scanned through the file.
“Ah, yes, the matter of your impending doom.”  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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