Death Journals by Svetlana Seferović

Author:Svetlana Seferović [Seferović, Svetlana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788663292154
Publisher: Agencija TEA BOOKS
Published: 2015-09-24T22:00:00+00:00

5

… All souls pass through the Waiting Room. Some remain there, some move on… At least that is how it is supposed to be… But I came to see it is not always the case. The lists did not match up… I dared to track them down—

…The first time I went through the Shadow Hallways, inhabited by nightmares, I was following a child’s soul, then through the Gray Fields, inhabited by fears and through the Woods of Woe through which I was led by the Lord Himself… After which I followed it into a white room. The soul was immediately subjected to torment in some strange gadget… My role of a passive notary had become a heavy burden—

… The next time I was following a big line of people whose path towards the Waiting Room was intercepted, contrary to all the rules. We set off on the same path, but found ourselves in a tiny room, plastered with a blue film coating which no one could get out of… I began listing them along the way… My disappointment matched the one I felt when, in the White Room, I saw Georgina on the other side of the door. Luckily, she did not see me… From then on, they were ushered through the enormous hallways made up of memories and human passions, that burned like opened wounds… Some of them proceeded into the Metasphere, others into the Machineries, that could be compared to Hell itself—

… Good Lord, forgive me…

(An Extract from the records of The Archive of Souls, Summer, 2073)

§ § § § §

After an hour I actually did drift off to sleep, despite the fact that my joints ached, from the hardness of the operating table. That’s how long it took her to sing a lullaby, while she tickled me with the tips of her flaming red hair, which felt like nettle whips. All that gave me a masochistic sense of pleasure. Blood was thicker than water after all.

“Alright,” she said finally. “You play there, I’ll see you later.”

And then she disappeared. As soon as Lucia Senior was out of sight, I pulled the book out from under the operation table. I liked it instantly. It was smeared with dust, just like I was. Its leaves were stiff and yellow. It was actually a kind of a hard-covered notebook, with no lines or squares; the kind that one never sees anymore these days. It wasn’t really a book—another thing you never see these days. Not in hard cover; nor in any other form. The handwriting inside was of someone who appeared flashy and self -assured, and it had an archaic edge to it, beginning with April 21st, 2050:

I, Deacon Leontie, do hereby confirm that I write this in my own hand, and in full consciousness, being of sound mind, and that I witness the events that took place in my time.

…The times were hard, but harder are yet to come. These lines, I write on an improvised parchment, having fashioned it myself in the bathroom of my humble apartment, and using a primitive quill and some ink.

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