Holder of Death

In any city in any country, go to any mental institution or half-way house you can get yourself into.

Walk up to the receptionist and ask in a hushed, respectful tone for the Holder of the Slain. She will ignore you, but continue asking until she puts down whatever she is doing and dials a number. Wait patiently with an impassive expression on your face, arms behind your back. She will start talking to the person on the other end of the phone, and then suddenly remember your presence. She will point you down a very plain white hall. Thank her coolly and walk down it, confidently, until you reach the end. It is very important that you maintain a respectful confidence and not arrogance.

At the end of the hallway there is a plain white door, unmarked and ordinary to the point of worrying. Knock twice, take a step back, and wait. The door will swing out towards you, the inside as black as the darkest night. Step through it confidently. The door behind you will close and lock. Do not try to open it, for it no longer exists. In this darkness, you will not be able to feel, see, hear, or know anything, though you can speak. With all the confidence you can muster, say: "Take a life, give death". Say only this, else the darkness will suffocate you, imprisoning you for eternity, driving you mad as you search for its end.

The darkness will lift, an eerie glow replacing it. In this light, you will find yourself standing upon a small hill overlooking a land stretching out forever. It contains every person that has ever died a violent death. Pay no attention to them. Instead, look for a small white mausoleum in the center of all of the souls. Keep your eyes fixed upon that as you find your way down the sloping hill. Do not stop or hesitate, only paying brief respect in the form of a nod as you make your way through the souls, even as they beg for you to listen to them and their stories. They will drain the life out of you if you listen, to try and fill a life unfinished. Keep your eyes only focused on the white temple. Most importantly, do not look into the eyes of any of the souls. If you do, the moment of their bloody death will be yours to relive for them eternally.

Keep walking, for the distance is deceptively short. There is a white wall around the mausoleum, about waist height. Do not jump over it, for the spirits will become enraged and tear at your flesh until nothing is left, leaving you a shattered spirit. Find any of the small iron gates and push it open. Go through the gate and shut it behind you. You should now adopt a more humble attitude, for this Holder commands humility. Humble, but not submissive, for if you are too submissive you will not be granted audience. Walk up to the front door of the temple and knock. A black robed figure will open the door. Respectfully ask it to see the Holder of the Slain. If you are humble without groveling, it will let you through.

It will gesture you in, and lead you into a small study. Enter, but politely remain near the doorway. It is rather cozy, warm wooden bookshelves and lush red carpeting marred only by the stench of blood. The light is soft, but vaguely disturbing in its extreme realness. There is a desk in the room, the same color as the bookcases. On the desk there is a set of small golden scales, the base and pivot containing an hourglass. There is a small knob on the side, which flips the hourglass over so that it may empty again. Encircling the scales are small golden objects, varying in size.

There are two chairs in the room, a high-backed leather one, which is behind the desk facing away from you, and a smaller version of it in front of the desk. You will hear a person, incalculably old tell you to sit down. Do not be startled by this sudden realization of another person in the room, for he is intolerant of the living and may be quick to anger. Take the seat that has been offered to you, and wait for the person to turn around. You will see a man who looks as old as time itself. He is partially decomposed, and the stench wafting off of him is enough to make the most hardened stomach sick. His hair is white and wispy, clinging damply to the rotting flesh of his remaining forehead. He is missing one eye, leaving a maggoty nest of decay in the socket. He will ask you what it is you wish to know. Answer him respectfully with the only question: "What does death mean to you?" for he will not answer any other question, replying only with your horrific demise.

He will then begin telling a story of all the forced deaths in history, every war, abortion, execution in detail so excruciating you imagine yourself living every one. Bear through it, listening to the words he says, trying to remain sane throughout the onslaught of death. After what seems an eternity, he will finish. If it did not drive you mad or to suicide, he will then pack up the scales, first placing all but one the small golden objects you now realize are weights in a velvet pocket in the case, before placing the scales inside. Once he is finished, he will slide the remaining weight to you and turn back around to face the books. Take it, politely thank the man, excuse yourself and leave through the same door you entered. You will walk out into the lobby of the institution.

resubmitted as The Holder of the Slain

Categories: | Needs Revising |

Last modified on 2010-02-25 08:43:30Average Rating: 3 / 5 (1 votes)Viewed 5541 times

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