02-27-2016, 11:53 AM
You ever wake up in the hospital after a long night of debauchery and alcoholism? Everything is so damn quiet and peaceful, except for the damn hearbeat monitor reminding you that you're not yet dead. The first thing that hits you is the realization that you are indeed alive, followed by the cold panic of not remembering how you got there. The hole bored in your chest from a small-caliber weapon gives you a rough idea of what happened. But, the hole in your memory proves to be a pernicious source of worry, what exactly happened? So the next step, after the realization and after the panic is damage control. Who was with you? What did you do? When did it happen? Where did it happen? Why did someone plug you in the chest? The five “W”s. It feels like a police investigation... well, it probably will be.
Perhaps this analogy isn't very relatable.
Regardless, its what I imagine waking up in the Underverse feels like. At least that's how it felt to me. The realization of being in hell, followed by the panic of memory loss, and lastly damage control. My mouth tasted like ash and all I could smell was the pungent stench of sulfur. Every muscle ached and every bone felt shattered, but every heartbeat reminded me that I was painfully alive. The Empire had a nasty way of dealing with dogs that dared pull against their leash. You see, I've got an issue with authority. I know, I know, bad trait for a soldier right? The higher ups didn't like that I had a mind of my own, and this was my penance for daring to disobey them. This one way trip to hell was sponsored by the greatest minds within the Empire's fold. A special harness, designed to establish a link between Coruscant and the Underverse, and to allow relatively safe travel between the two verses. Well, it didn't work.
Timothy was a friend of mine when I was very young. Real young, like first or second grade young. We lived in a small midwest suburban town, the sleepy kind of town where everyone knew each other. We played the kind of games that little kids would. Our domain was the entire block on which we lived, crossing the street was strictly forbidden by our parents. Well one day little Timothy grew some balls and convinced me to cross the street to explore the rest of the neighborhood. We stood at the edge of the road, near the crest of a hill. This spot was a sort of sanctuary, the hill concealed the view of our houses, and subsequently the watchful eye of our parents. Our first foray into the unknown was cut short, little Timmy started to cross and tripped over his own shoelaces. He faceplanted into the asphalt and I began to laugh at the poor kid in the way that good friends laugh at each other's slight misfortunes. The bright chrome grille of a 1993 Cadillac Deville peeked over the crest of the hill and came barreling towards my downed friend. It would be ruled as an accidental homicide, the angle of the sun and hill more or less blinded the driver and Timmy's fallen frame was already impossible to see. Waking up in the Underverse is what I imagine little Timmy must've felt as his mother ran him over and his best friend laughed.
Unmitigated fucking shock.
I try not to think about Timothy, but every now and again, when I'm faced with the absurdity of existence, I remember that hot summer's day. The horrible pained expression plastered across Timmy's face as he expired in the middle of that suburban road. The panicked hysterical face of a mother who had accidentally killed her own child. Yeah, I try not to think about it, but it does remind me that death happens and it isn't fucking pretty. If you're a fan of Judeo-christian theology, then little Timmy would be smiling down upon us from his bed made of clouds. Unfortunately, not all of us are so lucky. Some of us wind up down in the pit of eternal torture, Dante Alighieri's Inferno. At least that's where I found myself after pulling against my leash and going where I wasn't supposed to go. To me it doesn't seem fair, Timothy pulled against his parent's wishes, and subsequently died for it, but he's the one that gets the pearly gates? Sounds like bullshit to me, lucky little bastard.
The most important step after panicking and realization is damage control. There isn't much to do for damage control if you wake up in the Underverse, the damage has already been done. Still, the Empire bastards let me keep my gear and weapons for this fun little vacation. Several days worth of rations and basic survival tools, along with my trusty Flak cannon and retractable spear. The earth was cracked red clay and the sky was a sea of ash and cinders. Around me pillars of red stone stretched upwards each of them covered in sore-like geysers belching smog into the atmosphere. This place was no doubt the machinations of some devil or spiteful entity. Life wasn't allowed to exist without paying a toll measured in pain and suffering.
I had yet to pay the toll for my audacity to live in the Underverse
Perhaps this analogy isn't very relatable.
Regardless, its what I imagine waking up in the Underverse feels like. At least that's how it felt to me. The realization of being in hell, followed by the panic of memory loss, and lastly damage control. My mouth tasted like ash and all I could smell was the pungent stench of sulfur. Every muscle ached and every bone felt shattered, but every heartbeat reminded me that I was painfully alive. The Empire had a nasty way of dealing with dogs that dared pull against their leash. You see, I've got an issue with authority. I know, I know, bad trait for a soldier right? The higher ups didn't like that I had a mind of my own, and this was my penance for daring to disobey them. This one way trip to hell was sponsored by the greatest minds within the Empire's fold. A special harness, designed to establish a link between Coruscant and the Underverse, and to allow relatively safe travel between the two verses. Well, it didn't work.
Timothy was a friend of mine when I was very young. Real young, like first or second grade young. We lived in a small midwest suburban town, the sleepy kind of town where everyone knew each other. We played the kind of games that little kids would. Our domain was the entire block on which we lived, crossing the street was strictly forbidden by our parents. Well one day little Timothy grew some balls and convinced me to cross the street to explore the rest of the neighborhood. We stood at the edge of the road, near the crest of a hill. This spot was a sort of sanctuary, the hill concealed the view of our houses, and subsequently the watchful eye of our parents. Our first foray into the unknown was cut short, little Timmy started to cross and tripped over his own shoelaces. He faceplanted into the asphalt and I began to laugh at the poor kid in the way that good friends laugh at each other's slight misfortunes. The bright chrome grille of a 1993 Cadillac Deville peeked over the crest of the hill and came barreling towards my downed friend. It would be ruled as an accidental homicide, the angle of the sun and hill more or less blinded the driver and Timmy's fallen frame was already impossible to see. Waking up in the Underverse is what I imagine little Timmy must've felt as his mother ran him over and his best friend laughed.
Unmitigated fucking shock.
I try not to think about Timothy, but every now and again, when I'm faced with the absurdity of existence, I remember that hot summer's day. The horrible pained expression plastered across Timmy's face as he expired in the middle of that suburban road. The panicked hysterical face of a mother who had accidentally killed her own child. Yeah, I try not to think about it, but it does remind me that death happens and it isn't fucking pretty. If you're a fan of Judeo-christian theology, then little Timmy would be smiling down upon us from his bed made of clouds. Unfortunately, not all of us are so lucky. Some of us wind up down in the pit of eternal torture, Dante Alighieri's Inferno. At least that's where I found myself after pulling against my leash and going where I wasn't supposed to go. To me it doesn't seem fair, Timothy pulled against his parent's wishes, and subsequently died for it, but he's the one that gets the pearly gates? Sounds like bullshit to me, lucky little bastard.
The most important step after panicking and realization is damage control. There isn't much to do for damage control if you wake up in the Underverse, the damage has already been done. Still, the Empire bastards let me keep my gear and weapons for this fun little vacation. Several days worth of rations and basic survival tools, along with my trusty Flak cannon and retractable spear. The earth was cracked red clay and the sky was a sea of ash and cinders. Around me pillars of red stone stretched upwards each of them covered in sore-like geysers belching smog into the atmosphere. This place was no doubt the machinations of some devil or spiteful entity. Life wasn't allowed to exist without paying a toll measured in pain and suffering.
I had yet to pay the toll for my audacity to live in the Underverse