Under the Black Light - 782 Words

“Out in the West Texas town of El Paso…,” the old man sang, his voice trailing off to nothing. His head, however, continued to bob left and right as if he was really hearing the melody.

“Oh no, he’s doing it again,” the teenager in front of me whispered to the woman sitting to her right.

“Some people just can’t be quiet, try to ignore it,” her mother said.

“Try to keep your voice down too, okay? If they hear you they’ll take another ten years.”

“Who is ‘they’? I don’t even know who you are and why should I do what you tell me to do?” the older woman said, looking annoyed.

“I’m Tracy, your daughter. Please be quiet,” said the teenager pleaded, looking toward the monitor who sat at the front, facing the passengers.

“Daughter? I don’t have a daughter,” the woman said with a laugh. “I only just got married a couple months ago.”

“Shhh, they’ll hear you,” the teenager said, a touch of panic in her voice.

The woman frowned at Tracy but fell silent.

All around me, I can hear passengers attempting to keep others from talking or crying. It’s hard to cry without making a sound but it can be learned. I cried silently for several millennia but I no longer cry.

“Out in the West Texas town of El Paso…,” the old man sang again.

Tracy leaned forward and whispered to the old man.

“Quiet now, Grandpa,” she said, her hand gently patting his shoulder.

“Excuse me. Conductor?” the woman said in a loud voice. She stood and crooked her finger toward the monitor.

“Mom, no!” Tracy hissed the words from between clenched teeth.

She reached toward her mother in an attempt to pull her back to a seated position. If she could quiet her, and get her seated quickly before the monitor observed their side of the tram it would avoid what I know is ultimately inevitable. Tracy, unfortunately, doesn’t yet realize that no matter what she does, they will take everything away in the end. I’ve seen this a million times.

The monitor’s head began its thorough perusal of the tram occupants. When the monitors gaze was almost upon them, Tracy quickly sat back and put her hands in her lap. From behind, I can see that she’s trembling.

The monitor didn’t say anything when he saw the woman. They never do and there are no second chances.

A spear of black light flew out of the monitor’s body and into Tracy’s mother, entering through her forehead then disappearing into her skull. The top half of the woman recoiled then recovered, springing forward. With a newly acquired far-away look in her eyes, she blinked several times and sat down.

She looked at Tracy and smiled pleasantly.

“Hello dear, I’m Joanne. What’s your name?” she said, offering her hand to Tracy.

“Tracy, I’m Tracy,” the teenager managed to choke out, her voice thick with emotion before shaking her mother’s hand as her tears streamed down her cheeks.

You would think that people who die together would be happy to go through purgatory together, but purgatory finds a way around that. Nobody on earth has any idea that it’s not meant to be a happy place. I suppose they don’t really think about it at all. I know I didn’t.

No talking, crying, standing or hugging, among others. They don’t inform us of the rules and they make up new ones all the time. Break a rule and you take the chance of losing your memories in ten-year increments by having a spear of black light plunged into your brain. That might not be so bad if you’re on the receiving end, but if not, you get to watch your loved ones be reduced bit by bit until they’re slobbering idiots, forgetting you and any memories of you, which is perhaps the point of it all. Too many infractions and the person disappears, literally I mean, just slowly fades to nothing except for a bit of fog hanging in the air. Nobody knows where they go next but my guess is it’s probably someplace worse.

If you die alone like I did, I suppose purgatory is being made to watch other people suffer. I don’t try to help people and I never talk to them. I didn’t when I was on earth and I’m not going to do it now, I’m too busy surviving. I don’t know how long it will take to atone for whatever sins the universe believes I’ve committed; that’s something else they don’t tell you.

All I can do is sit here and wonder what those sins might have been.