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A Never-Ending Afterlife

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Night-Rain

It's cold outside. Then again, when isn't it smack middle of winter? I lived in the city for a good portion of my childhood. I never thought much of it, until I learned how horrible it was with the eroding and knowledgeable effects of age. I know now the city is filled with misc. thugs and hoodlums, whatever you wish to call them.

With so much external conflict going on, how can you notice the internal war waging? Although, that sounds like another cheap one-liner from some Jennifer Aniston menstral-synchronizer.

Back to the cold day, it was like any other day from my oh so pleasant childhood. Riding my bikes with friends, who lived in the "lower" side of the west end of the city. We had a favorite hang-out, like all good childhood go-happy films writers used to make, practically extinct now.

Our hang-out was an abandoned Metal Recycling facility; we used the backyard where they stored all the crushed vehicles and metallic treasures my youth mind held so dear. Riding my rusty, trusty Mongoose bike, I rode in down an asphalt path, surrounded by industrial buildings and abandoned cars.

My friends and I approached the exit of the yard, now our entrance, to our glorious Shangri-La of no obedience towards adult figures and a servitude to paper assignments. Upon entering the gate, I guided my bike along with my friends: Billy, Nathan, my brother Brandon, and myself.

Though, before you entered the yard, you will stumble up a wooden structure. It was about the size of a small closet, completed with shelves, but only enough room for one person to stand inside it at once. Today was no normal day for that quaint shack, if not for my keen eye, no one would have seen it. I threw down my bike with as much force as a child can, boasting non-existent testosterone. I approached the shack, peering inside its decaying wooden entrance to find odd symbols Sharpie marked across all square inches of its surface.

Some I recognized, The Sun, Moon, a sickle, what appeared to be the number "4," and the word "Horus." I signaled my friends to make haste to gaze upon my discovery. With such enthusiasm my brother often showed, he replied in the most pleasant way possible. "What dumbass would write creepy Satanic crap everywhere?" We all just agreed upon the notion that some hobo with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder drew flashy images from his mind upon our landmarks.

Blazing upon our trail, I hear odd sounds coming from my left flank. The trail from the industrial entrance is dirt, and surrounded by heavily wooded strips of property, Serving as a wall to keep the cities Mongolians from getting in for free, profitable metals. I found this humorous due to the fact the gate was wide open. Finally showing up to our grand destination; filled with wondrous metal heeps and structures to climb and play on, we had at it.

I immediately darted for my favorite spot in all our kingdom, an old tanker truck. I loved it because its isolation properties, and how beautiful it was. Climbing up the ladder to ascend the top of the truck, I did what any normal person would do; I climbed inside its spherical goodness. Inside the metal was cold to the touch, But I didn't mind. I just slid down into my usual sitting habit, and watched the pale light flood into the entrance. I started to doze off, relaxing without a care in the world.

That's when the hatch shut. I had tried to close that rusty piece a steel for ages it seems, and never even nudged it. Now it's slammed shut, and I can hear the hatch wheel eerily turning. I started banging on the ceiling, screaming for them to open it "or else." Eventually, I noticed I was just swatting at air. I give up the fight, and stare around me. The air has changed, I can feel it, like vast empty space. I attempt to stand-up, cautiously as not the smack my head into thick steel. I am greeted with space to stand.

After standing around for what feels to be an hour, I see a dim light in the darkness. I sprint toward it with as much speed as my little legs could bare. Near to it, it was not the escape I was dreaming of. Imagine standing in utter blackness, and now imagine in front of you is a giant dark orange ink blot swirling in place. Soon the ink blot started to form an image. It formed a picture of a dark room, torch lit. A beautiful woman standing with her back turned to a mummified corpse, lying upon a stone table.

She bares golden armor, and a silver sword. Her hair gracefully flowing from head to breasts. Dark blue eyes concentrating on something. These 3... I don't know... MONSTERS walking towards her. She seems to be defending the mummy. Soon the epic image fades away, and I awake. I am awoken by a yelling, and the hatch has opened. I quickly climb out, ready to defend my friends if needed. I see Billy standing upon a heep of metal. I climb down the latter with haste and meet him.

His cheeks are red, and His blonde hair covers his right eye. He repeats something in hushed mumbles.

"Amset, Inubis, Horus, Hapi, Isis, Osiris." I attempt to ask him what he means, but am rewarded with a yell, and a hardy shove down the pile.

I go tumbling down to heep, cutting my face on metal shards. I attempt to arise, and stagger around the pile, facing the exit of the yard. I see Billy lying face down in the mud, he raises his head to me, and screams "ISIS!!!!!" and is dragged into the bushes.

I scream after him, turn around, rip an iron pole from the heep and face the greenery. It somehow has become increasingly hot, and I rip off my jacket, and let it soar into the air. Thunder strikes, rain falls, a sound of silence. Two eyes have fallen upon me, and they glow with a red aura.

A voice booms in my head, "Isis Ut custodiant te hodie, vestrum autem dimissione non erit celeri..." and the eyes recede into the black. The sun has gone down now, the sky is struck with electricity, the rain patters my face. It's never ending.

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