Julio has had enough for one day, and when we tire, we often relax, play or simply sleep. Julio had none of these options. The poor child has been scandalized, nearly skewered and possessed throughout the course of his first day of class. This abuse does horrors to the body and Julio was close to succumbing to them.

~~~

“How does it feel…” a voice beckoned. “The coldness of my person…” the voice said again.

Julio, who was already used to voices, screeches and other hallucinations of the ear, so he just shrugged the female voice off as another bout of what he suspects as a newly gained mental disease of his.

In a catatonic state of shock, one does not realize that they are slowly bleeding out, suffocating or succumbing to a gangrenous infection. Adrenaline floods the pain receptors, and those who die this way only notice when they finally drop dead.

~~~

“Come and find rest in my arms…”

“Let the burden be lifted…”

“You can stop now….

“You’ve made it…”

“Why fight at all…

“You are finally free….”

~~~

Julio, with the weight of a cavernous demon on his back, a lash on the stomach and back wound sustained from the very demon he carried, was losing blood at an alarming rate. As he walked through the dark, empty alleyways; he finally falls…

~~~

Many interpretations of the afterlife suggest eternal rest, a garden of eternity or a cesspool of doom; depending on your record in the breathing realm. In this version, you are put into a contract. Complete it and revive; with all your vigor and strength and your loved ones will be left with no memory of your death whatsoever. It is as if you never really died…

Fail, however, and you stay dead. Most people, notably the French philosopher Sartre and his friend Camus, preferred taking to the eternal pillow and blanket. Others prefer to run around in this dull, misty realm where consequences are an illusion for it is impossible to get them anyways.

Julio was in this place. He’s never been here, nor was it the slightest bit familiar. But he knew and in fact, all of us know this place by heart. We carry it with us wherever we go and return to it when our eyes close, whether if just for a few hours or forever.

Julio was standing, however illogically, in the plains of his consciousness.

~~~

Like waking up from a bad dream, Julio opens up and finds himself back in town. The bag was still on his back and his rigor and stiff pain had magically gone. Everything seems to be a mess, not like it already was when he left. But the town got grimier. The rats were bigger and the small muddy ponds where now cesspools of blood, sludge, and disease.

Julio walked around and found that no one was to be found. He turned to the alley where was ambushed and there he found a dead body. Broken and bloodied, the ever pious Julio walked up to it to pray for its owner’s soul.

You will never feel the cold dagger of true horror when you realize the body your praying over, is your own.

“Fear not child…” the female voice returns. “You’re dead…”

Julio turns around as his face greets that of Death. Father Time, the Fourth Horseman, the Grimm Reaper…It was the feared fate, the very aspect of life that we run away from and what science and medicine foolishly try to cure. There is no cure. If a stone statue of good constitution fell and crumbled after five-hundred years, how much so a being so perishable? Everything must be allowed to die, and in the Grim Reaper’s wake; this rot, this decay can be seen where and when it should be: everywhere and eventually…

“I’m not dead, I’m…I’m just crazy…I’m not dead!” Julio screeches as he gradually loses himself. “I am not dead!”

He bends down and clasps his head. The existential dread came in bloody red veins surrounding his sclera. His breathing became heavy and his hair rose as he went completely insane.

Death, in whatever indescribable manifestation it came to now, came to comfort the child. So young, so ambitious, so bright…he was truly a waste.

“Despite all that, your time came…” Death said. “Do you want back?” Death suggested.

Julio looked at death, his cheeks swollen and his red with tears. The child looked up the entity and saw nothing, but he was sure that he was talking to someone, to something. He nodded like a young child.

“You can, Oh, you can do so very much…” Death said. “But we die at times like this because it is our time…” Death hushed as its cold fingers ran through Julio’s hair.

Julio did not understand. He was scared and confused. This feeling was cruel. These were supposed to be the feelings that went away when you were dead. This was unfair, he thought. His sadness slowly coagulated into anger, self-hate. An immeasurable hatred built in him…

“There is a way…” Death whispered. “But it won’t be worth it…”

“And why not?” Julio said angrily.

“Trading away hours of sleep, just to go back to work is never worth it…” Death said. “Are you willing to trade your prize of eternal rest and fight for a taste of suffering again?”

“You’re talking nonsense, ghost” Julio spat back. “What do you know about living, hmm?” Julio furtively whipped. “As far as I know, you’ve never been alive! God never meant for you to!”

“And you're  saying that like it’s a bad thing…” Death spat back.

“Just tell me what I have to do…” Julio demanded, as his patience was running thin.

Death smiled a ghastly smile and stuck its boney index inside Julio’s eye. Suddenly, a rush of fabricated memories and feelings flowed in. Once the transition was complete, Death plucked Julio’s left eye out.

“You better give me that back…” Julio demanded, still in a state of shock since he felt absolutely nothing. “Or I’ll beat ye’ with your own boney leg!” Julio threatened.

“You’re ready…”Death said. “This will be your payment.” Death said as it held Julio’s eye in the palm of its hand.

“Now you better be selling me something or…”

Before Julio could finish his sentence, the ground beneath him gave way. A chasm that seemed to never end, the darkness did not engulf him. It armored him. Darkness does not become your power nor is it a source of power, you edgy emo trash. Darkness trains you, just like how hard work calluses your hand.

After what seemed like years of falling down, his body finally crashed down on a hard pavement. He then stood up, felt a bit stronger, a bit taller and a bit smarter. It seemed even a dark, mysterious chasm would still be within the jurisdiction of Death’s timepiece. He had emerged from the chasm twenty years older…

Aglupuyo was no longer a slum, his old school had become a university and the adversaries and people in his life twenty years ago were not able to escape the fermenting of time. They too grew older and far more…interesting.

~~~

He looked around his old home and found that the cellophane roofs and old concrete houses have gone. His childhood slum was now a bustling market area. On his hand he found himself grasping the bag of his horrors.

As it opened its mouth to talk, Julio could not find the means to let go. As its teeth and lips articulated the words, it was much to Julio’s surprise of what the eldritch bag said:

“Master, my master.” The bag spoke in an eloquent manner. “I serve thee…”

“You bet your leather ass you do.” Julio said, pretending to be unfazed.

“Your order my master?” Forneus said in a sarcastic, annoyance.

“Well…” Julio said as his mind wandered into the recesses of his imagination. “Well then, do turn yourself into a weapon for me…” Julio commanded.

“I’ve heard that before…”Forneus growled.

“Did I stutter?” Julio said in a strict manner.

‘Yeas master…” Forneus snarled.

As soon as the word was given out, Forneus’ black slimy tongue straightened and hardened into a black, tempered steel sword. Julio then held the bag by the straps, like a concealable dagger; albeit far larger.

“Alright then, conceal yourself…”Julio commanded.

Just like a retractable blade, Forneus’ tongue slid right back in. Julio then but the bag over his shoulder and took a stroll around his former home. The town has changed indeed! Aesthetically, that is.

Around the corner of a large building, Julio saw a crowd of people. It seemed like a mayoral campaign. The crowd went crazy and ate the candidate’s words up. The young man in the center of it all looked familiar. Relate with Julio this moment: of the times you see a friend of yours on stage or on TV perhaps. Julio felt that very same sensation when he saw the banner masquerading the candidate's name: VOTE FOR SAMUEL SER ALAS!

~~~

“Well, I’d be damned…” Julio said to himself. “It’s Samuel…”

“Isn’t he just the most brilliant young man you’ve ever seen?” an elderly woman in front of him said upon overhearing his comment.

“He will change this town!” another man in the crowd obnoxiously cheered.

As the crowd rioted into a flurry of flags and patriotism, Julio went off to find a pub. “Drinking, that’s what adults do!” he thought. He went to find a local inn or to figure out if the one from his childhood was still there. As he recalled his memories, he knows the odor of alcohol, mostly from the burps and gases of the men filled with it, but he never knew what it actually tasted like.

He soon found a dubiously named “MILK Bar”, but he reckoned the milk they were serving up there was far different from the milk he drank as a child.

He went in and ordered the first thing he saw on the large neon sign behind the counter: A shot of mastika. The bartender poured him out a bottle of clear liquid. Upon tasting it, it seemed as if he was drinking perfume.

As he was enjoying his drink, a bejeweled woman came to him. Very rich lady, anyone could guess. Her earrings were dangling from her like her breast, what a thot!

“Well hello there traveler…” the woman said. “Mind sippin’ on something far tastier?” she said in a hussy's voice.

“If it’s all the same with you, ma’am, I’ll just be minding my own business…” Julio said, ignoring the temptress.

As the lady left Julio be, Julio finished his drink and paid his bill. Alcohol tasted weird and he still preferred chocolate milk over it. As he walked out of the pub, he found the very same woman from earlier, this time with a bunch of thugs.

“Boys…” the woman said. “Sockem’” she ordered.

The men came flailing at him, and despite his best attempts to fight back, he got knocked out.

~~~

Upon waking up and regaining consciousness, he saw himself tied against the pole. Wrist bound and torso tied, he was in a hostage situation no less. Oddly enough, they didn’t bother disarming him of his weapon. His bag was still on his back, ready to take orders.

“Is this when I say ‘what do you want?’” Julio quipped, not aking his capture seriously on the outside. His act of convincing people he was tough was really good, but deep down, he felt like fainting.

“Oh? Did you forget your first sweetheart, Julio?” the strange woman said.

Julio was about to lose. He has resolved to faint and piss himself right then and there, but somehow, he suppressed his pussy side and manned up for once. He braved through his captured and gulped down his fear and talked back.

“You’re talking out of your ass, woman…” Julio said, trying to act all tough.

“Well…” she hushed sinisterly as she walked up towards Julio. “Let’s try to refresh your memory.” The woman said as she dug through her purse.

Fearing it was a stake, a knife or God forbid a dagger, Julio was done. He felt like screeching, but nothing could come out of his throat. He was ultimately relieved to see that it was nothing but a pencil. Though the woman was right; the pencil did remind him of something...but what?

“Still don’t remember? Do I have to provide audio-accompaniment? Alright…” she took a big theatrical cough as she cleared her throat. Out came from her mouth that chilled Julio more than anything that happened that night.

“Hey, Julio…Can you sharpen my pencil for me?” the woman recited as she held the dull pencil against Julio’s face.

“Anya?”