by rob bexley
track i
i've been awake for eternity. it must be that long, for there is no time in hell. the pain
comes in waves. right now the pain is at full blast. the hooks tear into my oil soaked skin.
my bowels are pulled endlessly by scores of hooks, each one burying itself deeper than the
last. yet there is no end. never is enough skin ripped from my muscles and my intestines
are as long as infinity. the pain subsides for the moment. that is another of the horrors
here: the pain ceases so that the next wave of pain hits twice as hard. when confronted
with eternity, insanity sets in quickly, but insanity becomes your intelligence. that insanity
is the quietness that allows you to think. oh and all the things i have thought. the dreams i
see here. the lies i realize. the first lie that you realize is that there is no escape from
oblivion.
track ii
escape is easy, but only for those willing. will power is always the key to any success.
can you withstand the pain long enough to unleash your self? are you able to take the
hooks by your hands and wrench them from you flesh? after eternity, will power ceases to
mean anything. self-inflicted pain is a means, that is all.
track iii
releasing yourself is the easy part, it is escaping that is such a challenge. temptation from
the trees. all around are the trees. and they tell you things. all sorts of wonderfully
horrible things. they tell you of what you can have and what you fear. they reach out for
you with their human hands. the harpies watch on from the branches. the men of wood
and the women of feathers. they all want more than the taste of your skin and the warmth
of your blood, but you mind as well. the one thing that they cannot take but have to be
given. that glorious delicacy. they call you and tempt you. the harpies swoop down and
look at you and tell you of what loves you have given up on, and how they can replace
them. they're breasts swell with lust and the sweat on their beaks tell you to touch them.
to feel them. to fuck them. to satisfy them. to whisper sweet secrets in their ears.
temptation has always been hell's biggest advertiser. no matter how many harpies you kill,
no matter how many times you eat from their chests and run your fingers across their
swollen ribcage, they always return with more voices. you push through this forest of
temptation. past the trees with anguish in their tearful eyes.
then the discomforting silence. but it is never silent here. even in darkness, there is still
the hum of something watching.
track iiii
after the forest, no matter what direction you go, is the pit. made of stone it leads deeper
into oblivion. steam from some boiling river bellows from its depths. echoes of vague
creatures, maybe crickets, maybe men, flutter up, bouncing off its infinite walls. that is the
horror of this site: an expanse that has no end. it may be four feet across or the universe
may tumble down it like a marble in a canyon. you'll never know. blood creeps up its wall
by where you stand. it pools up around you feet. from this spot the another temptation
known only to men crawls up your spine. suicide. plunge down deep into it. and why
not. no one has ever seen another edge aside from the place your feet are at. at least i
have never seen another edge. faced with utter ominous oblivion your choices are limited.
i've always plunged.
track v
the odd thing about the pit is that you always fall for a portion of a second. the bottom is
right below the edge, but the edge is infinitely above the bottom. the bottom isn't really
even a bottom. it is more like a pleasure people never get to enjoy on earth. that pleasure
is that of breathing blood. all around you a black and red streaked mass of coagulated
blood. it flows in your ears and up your nose. you choke on it as it gurgles down you
throat. but it isn't as awful as it seems. but i suppose that is the awful part, is the pleasure
i derived from it. i always loved it. the warmth the blood put in your stomach as it forced
its way through your intestines and eventually out your anus. eventually you totally
subside on the blood. you become as attached to it as you did air, but air fortunately
never tasted so salty sweet. that is another part of the irrepressible desires in hell:
cannibalism, the sheer desire to consume flesh and swallow blood is so constant that it is
maddening in of itself. through it all, however, is a pulsing machine that reverberates
through your ears.
eventually you become so immersed in the blood and so fulfilled by its glorious flavor that
you become totally oblivious to the fact that you are slowly sinking. then you fall to the
ground through the ceiling of blood. it doesn't drip, but it just sits there, suspended in its
magnificence.
track vi
after subsisting, subsisting in every sense of the word, on blood for so long, eating and
breathing and drinking and excreting it, the shock to the system is intense as your soaked
corpse plummets to the floor. breathing air after living off of blood is like drowning, only
far more painful. the pain hits the body as much as any pain i've ever felt for it is not
drowning but living that is painful. eventually though you either vomit or shoot blood
from your anus so that your body can once again adapt to the air. the body's heart seems
to be extremely loud, as if you are hearing it from the outside of the body instead of from
the inside the eardrum. then another realization sets in: you aren't listening to your own
heart.
the machine was the huge pumping of a gigantic Heart pumping blood through tubes
extending out into darkness. the Heart is huge even at such a distance, for it is very far
away. you get up and cannot help but to be attracted to it. it's constant, steady echoes
and vibrations. mesmerizing and hypnotized you move towards it, but never getting any
closer. however, the Heart does become clearer. demons crawl all over and in and out of
it through pores and openings that are far to small to see. they drag rotting corpses into
the invisible openings but come out with nothing. like a enormous anthill. is the Heart the
home of the queen? or is it the queen? terror and love have never been so intricately
intertwined as in the sight of such an entity. warmth and bitter cold. the skin melts and
wrinkles. the eyes smoke and implode. the ears bleed. this is the ecstasy. this is the
agony.
track vii
in your trance, you never realize that your are being pulled into the Heart by a demon. the
Heart is a living machine. a work of art like none that any mortal or non-infinite being
could ever conceive. in it you see your end, your beginning, what ever was, what is, and
what ever will be. faced with infinity you claw your eyes out. your finger tips pierce the
delicate and fragile outer lining of the eye and dig into the muscle that attaches it to your
ocular cavity. with a light wrench, they come out with an audible pop. you open up your
hands and realize that you can still see into the infinite black light before you. your eyes
float up from your palms and stare at the light that illuminates nothing.
track viii
you stare at the child of light. the one that wanted to be god. throughout your childhood
and worthless life, horned and pitchfork laden men always represented a word that should
never have existed. to say Lucifer was merely a word without substance, to look
upon Lucifer was existence without substance. you open your sunken eyelids to
realize your eyes are back in their sockets. you are no longer in the presence of it any
longer. it's odd: i can never say its name out loud or speak its name, but that blackness
you never forget. it never leaves your memory. if nothing else were to slice my flesh or
pierce my skin or consume my bones, that absence of light, that momentary glimpse of all
that used to be pure, is the worst punishment that any entity should ever experience.
track ix
i always end up standing in front of two unmarked passages carved into a wall. wind
rushes out of the passage on the right, blood drips from the other. the sweet smell of
honeysuckle and irises flow from the right, maggots drip from the ceiling of the other.
you stand before both paths. one leads to light, the other to obliteration. however, as you
slowly drift towards the warmth and comfort of the right hand path. a calm comes over
your flesh. a sudden, final realization.
track x
i always make the same decision. of the uncountable times i've arrived at this point, my
feet have never failed to tempt me back to same path. i slowly walk down the left hand
path. maggots and other creatures of decay and death drip down from above me and fall
over my naked flesh. they crawl and bury into my skin and travel through my muscles and
chew through my bone to rest in the marrow. i lay down on the ground and face the
ceiling that lived. i open my mouth to accept my final meal. i cross my legs and open my
arms. i am once again crucified with chains that pierce my wrists and ankles. the hooks
once again dig into my stomach and spine. my eyes are once again dug open by the
worms. i have once again entered my peace.
end transmission.
this short story from the music to quake was inspired by the following:
2001: a space odyssey
event horizon
hellraiser and hellbound
the song "fist fuck" from the nine inch nails ep fixed
dante alighieri's divine comedy: inferno
if you like this story, then you'll love this short storyby my dear friend alexa.
mucho gracias to mistress alexa for the pretty pictures on this page!
[pretty hate machine][broken][the downward spiral][other songs]
[video interpretations][quake][what trent
says][art interpretations]
[submit
interpretation]
