Three Strikes and You Wake Up in Hell
He hissed while passing close to me, “…Sorry Mate, but that’s strike three…”
How strange, I turned to look and that was the last thing I remember
Random, dark and sinister, but also a clever gentleman in his own way
His tiny lapel pin read, Three Strikes and you Wake Up in Hell
But how, how is this possible, what were my strikes?
Who, Why, How and when and is this really happening to me?
My head gaining clarity with each passing moment, that is
Until the first sharpened claws of the angry west winds ripped through the forest
An icy shudder ran through my entire body and back again
Whipping, slashing, tearing, gnarled gusts punching through the trees
Again and again she pounded a vicious echo of monstrous ferocity
With much pain, the ancient branches hold fast against the torment
While the youth quickly ceded, being splintered unmercifully into tiny daggers
Then the swirling began, matted detritus rose high above the landscape
While a dirty infested wind stirred heat into this great growing cauldron of fury
And then all at once…silence…the forest once again is conditional and still
Then the whispers came; at first but a few. I strained to hear their message
And another and another, faster and faster, a dangerous rising cadence
Voices, coming from every direction, every voice getting louder and louder
Assaulting your consciousness with screams, orders, chaos, and misery
Echoes of long slain archers shouting loose as pointed shafts take flight
As they strike the ground, the awakening commences; sounds become actions
While overhead a jagged flash of lightning races across the night sky
Another storm is brewing; still far in the distance but it would be seen soon enough
Without warning, the first all-encompassing bellow erupted from above
Bellowing and then a deep soul-crushing rumbling of a black thunder
Chaos begins in a deafening roar which quickly contracts
And suddenly a great steaming pit opened in the land
The air shifted, it quickened with a stale heat, pulling hard into the abyss
Tortured souls, debris, filth and human suffering, effortlessly slip away
A paralyzing screech and in turned above brought my first pain
Deep, piercing pain radiating into a profound aching of my joints
Breath came with a great conflict as this borderline surrender pain coursed
My skull throbbed and my jaw clenching as it culminated in my temples
And then a great and mighty noise, a voice, a shouting to all
The gates of the Hell have just slammed closed
Remember, Three Strikes and you Wake Up in Hell
My pulse quickened, head pounding, memories racing, trying to put it all together
Suddenly the understanding took hold; This is really happening
It’s not a nightmare, it’s the end of the line and it’s only just begun
Evil from across time and world are gathered here
Damned souls of the ancient armies of pestilence, torture, and pain
Slavers, mercenaries, sluts, whores, killers, sadists, and thieves
And then the panic set in, the noise, the wind, the darkness growing
Spinning directionless as the first icy drops of acid rain pelt the landscape
Each slipping from a damp conductive current high overhead
Ready to claim an etching on flesh or the ground
Barren trees offer no cover, while flesh sizzles but does not bleed
From the north a caustic fog slithers in like a deadly beast
Dripping tendrils seek out anything that dares move
Without warning, the land rumbles and shakes, stones tumble, trees fall
Mayhem holding court as the darkened land grows darker
By the shrill pitch of bloodlust, the flying winged stingers are starting to rise
Bloodsucking, ravenous swarms carve though the trees at breakneck speed
Fight or flight, fight or flight, and my legs just started moving
Looking, seeking, ,my eyes scanning, searching, somewhere to hide
The plain now shifting, mountains emerging in the distance, holes opening
Astonished I watched the great elms pull up their roots and walk
As stone reclaimed soil, fire shall reclaim wood
When the last splinters of light are hidden in the shadows
Darkness rules without mercy, the wicked shall feel the lash
Death would be welcomed and yet there will be no pardon
Heat growing as the stone melts to lava and the air fills with ash
Beasts emerging from caves and underground lairs
Leathery wings and hot winds lift them over this great horror
A second bolt of lightning rips through the darkness
Electricity prancing with a dangerous grin
Smoke cascading while glowing sparks suddenly become alive
Flames demonically leaping from stone to stone
A deafening flashover and the darkness is silenced with a great unholy light
Discarded branches, ground debris, it all turns to liquid
From torchlight to raging bonfire; white hot
Sweeping across the everything with a great wall of searing pain
And the black lightning strikes again and again, stabbing and punishing
The acidic rain laughs and gathers darkness from high above and marries the fray
Flesh searing and the pain, so much pain, breathless pain
Falling, stumbling, senses abandoned, disorientation, screaming!
Is this the end, will the pain ever end, make it STOP!!!
And then silence, and relief, but only for a pause
In the distance, a great hammering reverberates
The pull of the bottomless pit never ending
Wicked souls pounding molten iron into hideous chains of submission
Pain of millions, screams of a thousand generations
The great burden is brought to the unjust and brought with a vengeance
You had your chance, but failed times three
Three Strikes and You Wake Up in Hell
You may run mortal, and you may seek the shelter of a temporary hiding place
But the eyes are always watching, and the master grows fond of entertainment
The whisper creeps into your mind, blinding you with lucid clarity
Pain, great pain, but death never comes
One, Two, Three strikes and you’re out
It’s a deadly kind of game
Additional Reading
If you enjoyed Three Strikes and You Wake Up in Hell and would like to read more from this author, here are some suggestions.
R.J. Schwartz is the owner of The Gypsy Thread website, and the author of all of its content. Use this link to go to the main page and explore articles on the unexplained, poetry, witchcraft, pagan history, and to find Full Moon and Pagan Rituals (all of which are free to use). It is his belief that our history as pagans should be shared freely with everyone in hopes that more people return to the old ways.
If you are a fans of poetry, creative writing, short stories, and more, visit the Creative Exiles website at this link. R.J. Schwartz is a writer and also owns the website. If you are a writer looking for a place to get started, contact him.
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Wow!!! Chilling! Very tense and excellent phrasing.