“Whats happening? Where am I?”
Nothing was clear to my eyes. Just a blurry mess of colors. The sky above me was a blinding white light that seemed to flicker. Was that, the lights of a building? If so, what building am I in? Questions continued to flood in. Eventually, the floor formed to my eyes. I stopped floating in a suspended form. Stuck in the air. I landed on what seemed to be a tiled floor. The tiles themselves were fairly rudimentary. The general pattern was a blank titanium white with small splotches of grey sporadically placed throughout each tile. Some tiles were turned into a deep blue. Perhaps Cerulean Blue. That was a nice thought. I still remember all those colors. This was a memory back to my old life. An upcoming artist in the world. A vast creative mind, brewing ideas at every moment. It was an almost, eccentric life. The vast lexicon of knowledge regarding colors, painting styles, and geometry I held, never failed to impress my peers. I had a knack for that type of memorization. It came to be incredibly useful in following my passion to create.
The scene fully materialized. Before my eyes was a blank canvas. Not a single drop of paint. I turned my head to view the others around me. All were friends from school.
“This was my old art studio. Where I met my mentor. The one who taught me everything I know.”
Memories of the complex colors showing in the Northern region’s style. The emphasis on realistic depictions of the world. Many of which held glaring religious symbolism. Angels delivering the messages of god. Humans kneeling and praying. Some showed scenes of wars. Old wars. Where men felt they were fighting for gods, against gods. Others showed scenes of peace. People, creating ideas, and building philosophies. A particular depiction is retained by my mind. Two men standing in the center. They stood in what looked to be a vast architectural marvel. One of them was adorned with a red robe, over purple clothing. He was bald on the top, yet held onto a vast, white, wispy beard. The other stood beside him. Dressed in a blue robe. Surrounding them, was a crowd of people. Some were debating, others solving. This scene showed all types of people. From aristocratic scholars, dressed in the finest silks of their time, to the soldiers, clad in gold and copper, held together with ropes, around their chest, and helmets over their heads.
“What was it? What was the name? I know the time period was of the rebirth. A renaissance. A time of cultural reawakening as people began to remember the days of old.”
With that, the scene vanished into the white abyss that was his conscience. The world around him warped into reality. The luscious green jungle once again stood before him. As his senses recovered, he felt a throbbing pain in his head. His eyes, opened slowly as they adjusted to the light around him. Although blurry he could see the small pokes of light piercing the dense double canopy jungle. With his head still throbbing, he slowly pushed himself up from the ground. The leaves rustled and the mud sloshed around his feet as he stood up. His nose began to smell once more.
“Ugh. What the hell is that smell? It’s like, a combination of sulfur and rotting fruit, yet still a hint of sweet. Like, sugar almost”
He looked around the scene. His friends. His brothers. Most lay dead. Others looked burnt. Some had bullet holes in their bodies. Others had stab wounds. Some had lost their legs. Others had faces blown off. He saw more corpses. These he didn’t recognize. They wore a different clothing. Not like his green, but a brown.
“These have gotta be those demons who attacked us. damnit. Our specters and phantoms can’t help us at night. They used it to their advantage and took us by surprise. Cowards. What. Can’t deal with a bit of fire in the day?”
His mind wasn’t clear. His friends lay dead around him. Those boys who played pranks on him as children, who saved his life to many times, those friends of his. Tears began dripping from his eyes. Nothing could hold back the sorrow he carried. The weight he would have for his entire life. This is what the jungle does. This green hell.
Why couldn’t I have been awake? Why’d I have to be knocked out?
His mind flooded with guilt. He could’ve done something. He should’ve. But, alas, in his state of unconscious, his body simply wouldn’t.
“I can’t live like this. I can’t go back to the world like this. No. I won’t. I refuse to leave hell. I’ll join them in hell”
He took his weapon.
“If this is supposed to be hell to mortals, then what does hell to internals look like?”
He aimed the weapon for the last time. His hands would feel that weapon as the last thing they touched.
With a bang. A short small burst of energy and fire. Lightning and metal. Powered explosions His face blow back and his head snapped. With a thud, his body fell to the ground. Blood came pouring out of his skull. His frontal lobe was torn by the power of his weapon. Charred and burned by its fire. He would lay there, or his body would. Consumed by the jungle. Over him would sprout a tree. Beautiful tree. Home to many animals. The ones who lived this hell
This green hell.