IMAGINATION'
S PLACE
FlCTION
THE SECOND DEATH
By; Rev. Speaker Gerald Polley
THE ANCIENT ONE'S WORLD WAS TN TERMOIL Dictators were falling
right and left. In one land especially, the people had risen up against
their bloody tyrant and the free forces, The Spirits 0f Liberty in that
land, sent an urgent plea to The Ancient One, and he took wing to be
with them. Their material forces had captured the dictator, tried him,
and were about to execute him, along with his companion who had so
terrorized their people.
The Ancient One knew what those who summoned him wanted. There was a
chance, just a chance, they could catch the bloodthirsty monster that
had caused so much pain and finally send it where it belonged. If The
Ancient One was cunning, and rhey held onto the last few seeonds of
1ife, to drain every bit of living energy from the bodies they
possessed, then perhaps, just perhaps, The Ancient One could lay a
trap.
He landed in a courtyard where several dozen soldiers waited, and
approached one.
"Child of the Light" he said, "I know you are one with The Power. Do
not look at me, but follow my directions!"
"I hear you, Lord," the man whispered.
"Take the clip from your rifle," The Ancient One told him, "and remove
the first cartridge." The man obeyed. holding the bullet aloft.
"Repeat after me" The"Ancient One continued. "'Oh, Blessed Ones who
have come before, let each one who has suffered touch my bullet. Let
each one who has cried let fall on it a tear. Let all those who seek
justice gather near. Let my bullet, 0h Blessed Ones, fly straight and
true. Let it find The Darkness within the heart of the evil and destroy
it. Let it destroy it forever and ever."
As the ancient prayer has repeated, The Ancient One extended
his hand, and thousands of 1itle beams of invisable light streamed into
the bullet until it glowed with a glow only The Ancient One and the one
he spoke to could see.
"You know," said The Ancient One, "whose heart your bullet must
strike."
"I understand," the soldier answered.
"Soldier!" came a gruff voice. The Ancient One turned to see an officer
aoproach him. "Whar was that you just did? I've never seen the like of
it!"
"An old prayer," the young soldier remarked. "something my grandfather
taught me."
"Huh!" the officer gruntedl He stared where The Ancient One stood as if
he could see him. "Ah ha!" he grunted. "Come! Gather, comrades!" the
officer cried. "Our young friend here, is a believer in customs and
prayers, and he just said a good one. Remove your clips, take out your
first cartridges, an4 fo1low his example."
The Ancient One couldn't believe his good fortune. Whether the officer
sensed his presence or not, did not matter. He was helping his people
in a way he could not imagine. Now, instead of one bullet, two dozen
bore the energy of thousands of Spirits...all their pain, all their
grief, all the anguish they had suffered, stored like a
recording on the bullets.
The Ancient One hid himself behind the chimneys high above the
courtyard. He would like to have watched, but even a glimpse would have
warned them, and they wou1d have f1ed. So he waited until the volley of
shots was heard, and the unearthly wailing began. Then, he flew down
into the courtyard. A man with a video camera and photographers were
taking pictures of the bodies but The Ancient One was not interested in
the dead f1esh, he was interested in the two spirits crawling into the
shadows, trying to find the darkest place out of the light. They clawed
at the glowing balls of light inside them, but trying to remove them
only caused them more pain. As The Ancient One approaehed, one of them
looked up at him.
"Curse you!" it cried, "I should've known it was you! Curse your
existence! You hurt her Damn you! You hurt her!"
The other spirit turned to The Ancient One. Through its twisted,
scarred and festered features The Ancient One remembered something that
had been extremely beautiful. "He1p me!" it cried."Mercy! Please! Pity!
Take it awayl Please! The pain! It's horrible! Please. help me!"
"There is only one way I can help you," The Ancient One
answered, "on1y one release from that that you suffer."
"Not" the mai screamed, "No! Don't tempt her!" He turned to the woman.
"Fight it! the pain is only temporary. His powers are limited. You're
stronger, you're mightier! Don't surrender. Don"t give in to him, what
he offers is oblivion!"
"I can't bear it!" the woman cried, "1 can't bear
it! Anything is better than this!" She turned to The Ancient One.
"Prepare for me a passage she cried, "from this world to the Next that
I may cross through."
"No!" The man screamed, reaching for her, but she jerked away, as The
Ancient One extended his hand and opened the Veil between the Material
World and The Spiritual world. Struggling to her feet and giving a
horrid cry, the woman staggered through. Barely had she passed from the
living than she disappeared in a bright flash. Millions of little
sparks scattered into Thel Spirit World, and one by one faded out. None
returned to the Material side of existence to be reborn.
"Damn you!" the man whlispered. "What right had you to destroy her
eternal existence? She was better than them, stronger, mightier. You
had no right! May you rot in your own misery!" He rose to his
feet. "I am coming, my lady!" 'he cried, "I am coming! I promised you
would never be alone, and you never will be!"
He charged through the Gateway and suffered the same fate as his
companion. Three small sparks drifted back toward material existence,
but they landed on the ground and burned out before they could find
forms to be reborn into. The Ancient One closed The Gate and stood
staring at the empty space for a long time. Then another Spirit wearing
the robes of a monk approached him. "What troubles you, Bearer Of
Light?" the stranger asked.
"I wonder," The Ancient One remarked, "if there is not truth in his words."
The monk shook his head. "You do not judge," he said, "you merely open
the Passageway and send them to where they choose their end. More than
once you offered them the opportunity to cross over when they could
have survived the transition. Now, they will cause no more sorrow, no
more pain. They will not encourage others to evil, to fulfill their own
lusts. What more could you do? THEY chose their Path!" "Who was it that
said," The Ancient One remarked, "that there is no joy in victory?"
The monk laughed. "YOU did!"' he cried.
The Ancient One looked at him, bewildered. "Good Lord!" he said,
"You're right!"
The Ancient One bowed to his companion and soared homeward. His
thoughts turned to ancient times, to a beautiful woman who chose the
wrong Path. "What a pity,"' he thought, "that the most beautiful can
hold the most Darkness."
THE
END.
The preceeding story is fiction. Any resemblance
it bears to true persons or places is coincidental, and not the intent
of the writer.