Three Strikes and You Wake Up in Hell

Three Strikes and You Wake Up in Hell
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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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