Unfortunately, there exists peace. Unfortunately-as a consequence of having peace-there exists evil. And unfortunately-because there exists fortune-there exists misfortune. The world exists on a spectrum of extremes; there cannot be happiness without sorrow-there cannot be life without death.
When they came, we were unprepared and defenseless. Savages we called them, who reached down and fastened us in their hands, winding those slithering, sick fingers in convolutions around our bodies. With the ravenous, voracious hunger of vermin, they positioned us to be engulfed by those sinister shadows that thrived within the throngs of their bags. When the fingers fastened themselves upon my flesh, I felt a violent shudder; the blood of fear and angst thundered in torrents to my chest, swelling to become the terror’s tempest. There existed no trial or jurisdiction; only genocide-the rapacious removal of life.
When I awoke, the quivering bodies of others pressed against me in a body bag. I felt within me an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart. The hope slowly shriveled like a withered grape, sliding further from my psyche until it became a superficial sense. My very soul now copiously immersed in despair, I swooned.
Writhing in terror from torturous dreams, I tentatively unclosed my eyes-and immediately perceived a sharp and sinister light; so bright, so blinding was the light-it penetrated my eyes, my cataracts, and peered deep down into my soul, awakening the deepest and most mortifying divinities of dread. I frantically and hysterically blinked and rubbed my eyes-all to no avail; the murky fog of my vision was forever. Around me lay the other bodies, and we lay indefinitely with the agony of suspense and anxiety; for me, the fear outshone all others-frothing, effervescent, foaming!-out of my mouth, my eyes. My eyes! My eyes!-the panic swelled and burst-the sable, gloomy room, the blinding light, the dread dangling down the air-all were covered by the fog of my vision! My vision became a swarm of apprehension that gradually closed in on me-it slid through my pores and firmly lodged itself in me-a mortifying maelstrom! When I could no longer stand it-it walked in.
There entered the Blade, the Steel, and the Hand. The cold, cold hand. And the face. Oh how calm, elated it was. It carried the perfect grimace of passion, with even the pimples arranged in a pattern that produced an aura of approach. Through the vision of the ominous fog, the blade leered, its eyes burning with a hellish fire!-its lips were swollen, succulent, and spilling blood as it spoke; “vos mos intereo.” I whimpered like a helpless animal as the laughing Blade came down, carried forth by the grimacing Hand-Down! Down! Relentlessly down!
The Hand wore a smile as it swung the Blade through the air. Down! Up! Down! Up! Craving the succulent morsels of desolation as flesh succumbed in utter misery, the Hand and Blade fused under a uniform purpose, leaping from one soul to the next with a child’s delight. Pineapples shredded, the Blade and Hand leapt to their next victim-the Hand and Blade leapt! My Vision!-through the fog the grotesque corpses reached upwards towards me, groping to guide me to the gallows. I prayed-I begged!-for a change, for anything but this torture-and, out of brutality, the gods granted my wish. From the fog arose a frivolous quivering; I could do nothing as it crept into my ears-and immediately exploded forth a scream! The scream carried no earthly sensation; it chilled me to the cavities of my bone, where it spawned further dread and grotesqueness sublime. I heard everything now-from the blade as it puckered and sucked on its lips before carving another victim-to the silent whimpering as it said thanks to family and friends. I clasped my…”appendages” against my head-I slammed my head down on the counter with such force-I myself screamed a terrible scream that could only have sprung from the most guttural instinct of fear-and the sounds pressed on. Through me, through my heart-through my sanity! I lay, dilapidated, and admitted defeat as the sounds and fog, the Blade and the Hand, overwhelmed and inundated my essence. My last vision before death-the hand reaching down over me-and I thanked the miracle.
When I awoke again, I found that I rested in a large clear container, between the blades of a propeller. The gore ended during my lapse of conscious-but, I could feel something; something amiss, something-
The sounds slammed me like a wretched whirlwind-I grasped the sides of the glass pitcher as the cries, the pleads, the sound of Death, all rushed back to me; I struggled for breath-I again began begging-but nothing would change-nothing! Nothing.
And to the plethora of sounds joined a low humming as the blades I rest on began spinning. A blender-my deathbed. It picked up speed, the propeller, and the humming grew louder, everything grew louder! Louder! Louder-my mind tore itself apart!-Louder!-Louder!
And then the spinning stopped. A taller, long-haired savage walked in, holding what appeared to be several containers of drink, labeled “Jamba Juice.”
The hand grasped me, and placed me gently on the counter. The insatiable hunger of the Savage had been taken by this mysterious “Jamba Juice,” and I would live to see another day.
And then I heard the worst; “Wow, this is a great kiwi smoothie!”
Louder-and then gone.