Rough draft of a story written six months ago

[Barry]

Asleep and Dreaming

Osiris came awake slowly, without opening his eyes, only absorbing the fact that he was awake, his consciousness fully back from where it had been, in increments, bit by bit.
Loving sleep more than waking consciousness, Osiris tried to prolong his peaceful dreaming, putting off the inevitable. In time, though, he no longer could. He was awake. There was no denying it any longer.
His first thought upon awaking from his long slumber was a dismal one: “Today is the day. Man, this is the part of my job I hate the most.”
Wondering where Isis was, missing her heat, deciding she must have woken early, must already be about her work, Osiris reached over to the bedside stand, fumbled through the accumulation there for his lighter and smokes, fished one out and lit it. Only after taking a heavy drag, while blowing it out toward the ceiling in one long, slow exhalation of breath—only then did he open his eyes.
“Oh, why do I have to do this?” he asked the empty room. “Why me? Why not someone else?”
But it was a rhetorical question. He knew the answer: because it was his job. No one else would do it. No one else could No one else could judge. He was the judge. The judge of the dead.
He butted the smoke in the ashtray next to his bed, then he got up, put on his formal robe, that silly crown, and he went downstairs to do his duty.
He would need no shower for this. It would be dirty work. He would shower after.
On his way down the long spiral staircase, Osiris ran his fingers along the dank bare stones of the wall, passed them casually through the flames of the torches set in sconces along the way, marveling at the strength of the illusion.
Ra’s power, old as he was, was wondrous still.
Osiris idly mused who might have arrived since his last shift. So long ago, it seemed.
Having descended to the final step, Osiris paused, staring disinterestedly into the murky gloom before him. “Oh well…” he murmured, stepping down onto the dirt floor of the deep, high-ceilinged subterranean chamber. Instantly his vision cleared, and he could see the huge black iron cauldron—the kettle, he thought of it—in the center of the dark space, flames licking up teasingly along its sides.
Looking beyond the pot, Osiris saw the line wending its way back into the darkness. Quite a crowd today, and more than a few familiar faces.
Right in front, first in line, was Doug, a man he’d never actually met in the flesh, but whom Osiris had come to know well through something called a website, on the Internet. By the time Osiris’ long weekend was over, he had come to think of Doug like a brother, estranged though they may have been at the end. Their relationship while Osiris had been in his flesh-bound persona, cloaked in anonymity, had passed from unknown to each other to mere acquaintances, to compatriots, to adversaries, to outright enemies in Doug’s eyes. Osiris had never seen Doug as his enemy. He had no enemies. But Doug had come to see Osiris, in his flesh-bound persona, as his enemy. After that, what relationship they had was never the same. Doug sought to discredit and otherwise attack Osiris at every opportunity. Sort of a when-you-find-your-servant-is-your-master kind of effort. Osiris had taken Doug’s petty, infantile jabs like a man will tolerate an unruly dog without kicking it, but in his flesh-bound persona he was human; it had been less easy. In the end, Doug had been successful in his campaign to get Osiris banished from the arcane medium in which their relationship had taken place. As if this hurt Osiris in any way. Osiris was hurt only by the fact that he had failed, had somehow provoked Doug to shoot himself in the foot in this very big way without realizing it. Osiris did not look forward to what he knew he now must do. He certainly took no pleasure in it. “Damn, this is messed up,” he muttered under his breath.
Ambling over the low dais beside the pot opposite where the line ended, Osiris stepped up and began to do his work.
“Hello,” he said dully to those assembled. “We all know why we’re here. Let’s get this thing started.”
Making eye contact with the first in line, with Doug, without preamble, Osiris asked, in a voice that sounded to his own ears tired and not really into it, “To what purpose did you strive?”
“I…” Doug began, and Osiris felt an interior scowl trying to come to his features, his hackles attempting to rise. He felt the lie coming.
“…strove to serve my community over myself.”
Now a smile wanted to rise, which Osiris almost could not suppress, not at all surprised by Doug’s clever yet disingenuous rely. At the very least, he had been paying attention in class, even if he’d learned all the wrong lessons from his tutelage.
Putting himself firmly back in character, Osiris spoke sharply: “You lie! You think you can lie in this place! To me!” And Osiris, just briefly, so only Doug could see, allowed himself to change into his flesh-bound persona, seeing the flash of fear, then anger, then arrogant contempt—the pretense—in Doug’s eyes. “You don’t know what’s about to happen, do you?” He spoke quietly. He often felt sorry for the first in line, whose experience served as an example for those behind. “You think you do, but you don’t. That was always your problem: thinking you knew when you didn’t. Because, you see, not knowing is no big deal, no sin. Everyone suffers from not knowing. But thinking you know when you don’t, this is a problem. It prevents you from learning what you don’t know. Your feigned knowledge blocks your acquisition of genuine knowledge. This is very sad.”
Doug’s contemptuous expression was still evident, but it looked more held in place now, not so arrogantly natural as before.
Osiris continued, “You think you know what’s about to happen to you. You believe you have provoked me, that you will now be released, that you will finally get off the wheel, no more endless cycle of life, death, and rebirth.”
Osiris had gone from a compassionate, conversational tone to a voice of more authoritative projection as he spoke. He wanted those in line behind Doug to hear as well. “Nothing could be further from the truth!” he exclaimed. “Because what you don’t know is that this…” gesturing to the pot of simmering liquid between them “...this hurts!”
Osiris paused, to let that sink in.
“What happens here is you get rendered, all the pieces and particles of your being, spirit and flesh. You get boiled down into nothing. It takes a very long time. Eternity. And it hurts. It’s excruciating. This is no release from torment. It is torment beyond your imagining. It hurts very, very badly. And it goes on forever.”
Osiris paused again. Doug did not move, said nothing, showed nothing. Not even fear. Osiris changed his angle of approach.
“Do you think everyone comes here? That this is the only means of judgment? It is not. Look around you. Where are the others? Those you know. Those you love. Those who know and love you. Why are they not with you?”
Doug’s expression had shifted. It was no longer a scowl. Now it was more like...blank. Neutral. Not fearful or contemptuous. If anything, it looked almost thoughtful. Perhaps awareness was dawning.
“You didn’t know that, did you?” Osiris asked with kindness. “And now you do. Your blockage has been removed. The others are not here because they have not earned this judgment.”
Osiris paused again.
“And neither have you.” He stepped down from the dais, circled round the pot to where Doug stood. “Step out of line,” he said. When Doug did nothing, Osiris said, with more authority, “I said step out of line.” After another moment, his bearing all questions, Doug stepped out of the line. Osiris put his arm around Doug’s shoulders. “Walk with me," he said. They walked, Osiris smooth and sure, Doug more awkwardly, away from the pot and the line, toward the stone stairs from which Osiris had entered the chamber. “Doug, you know why I am now, right? Who I was?”
“Yes.” Doug answered.
When they had come near the bottom step, Osiris abruptly stopped walking. Doug halted his stride in mid-step, placed his foot slowly on the dirt floor. Osiris turned toward Doug, gripped his shoulders and turned Doug to face him. “Doug,” he began, “I made myself plain to you. I dropped my cloak. To you of all people, I revealed myself. I thought you were ready, that you could handle it. I thought, not that you would serve me, but that you could serve your community. I thought that you were ready. I thought the community was ready.”
Osiris turned, looked back to the pot—the kettle—the line and all those eyes upon them. “You don’t deserve this, Doug,” he said, gesturing at the work waiting for him,” The fault is mine. The error is mine. The sin. I have been haughty. It’s a failing I have. Probably what drove my brother to kill me, all those long ages ago.”
Osiris turned, sat on the first step of the staircase, looked up to Doug. “I am given some discretion in these matters, you know.” Osiris smiled. “I am allowed to deviate from the script on occasion. This, I judge, is such an occasion.” He stood once again, his knees popping in the silent space as he did so. He took Doug round the shoulders again. The both looked to the stone steps spiraling upward. “I’m going to have to send you back. That’s really the only choice I have, the only leeway I’m given. I can send you back. You’ll have to start fresh. Probably as a fly. That means spending some time as a maggot. I hope you’re up to it. I know you are. It won’t last long, though. Then you can begin to re-advance.”
Osiris turned and gripped Doug by the shoulders once more, turning them face to face again.
“It is my fondest hope never to see you here again.”
He waved his hand at the steps. “Go on upstairs. The techs will know what to do. They take care of everything.”
Looking firmly into Doug’s eyes, Osiris said, “Good luck, Doug. Peace to you. I am sorry this has happened.”
Doug turned from Osiris and stepped tentatively onto the first stone riser, then proceeded up the long spiral. Osiris turned back to his work—the kettle—and thought about begging off work for the day. He sat again on the first step. He thought of Isis, how he longed only to be back in her arms. But he had seen another pair of eyes he recognized far back in the line. He thought of his wife, his love, and of pain she had suffered while in her own flesh-bound persona along with him. Her victimizer was back there in the gloom at the back of the line. He would have to work long and hard to get to her. But it was Isis he would be going through those labors for. Thinking this, his purpose renewed, he stood and walked back to the dais, stepped up and announced, “Next!”
The job became mundane after that. One pair of eyes after another. All stepped to the front of the line and lied in answer to his question. All received his judgment. One after another they all climbed into the pot and slipped silently, dispassionately beneath the bubbling liquid. Some closed their eyes before their faces became immersed. Some did not. None grimaced. None smiled. All suffered. All became nothing. And the whole time Osiris thought only of Isis, of what she had gone through, what she had been put through, what she had suffered on his behalf. He thought of the torment, the uncertainty, the pain she had endured in her flesh-bound persona, simply because she had been with him. He thought of what had been done, what she had done, of her strength, her endurance, her steadfast resolve. And he was proud. He was grateful, and he was proud. She had prevailed. She had stood up for herself, stood her ground. She had prevailed against her tormenter, her tempter, her victimizer. Osiris was both thankful and proud.
And he was angry.
Toward the end of his shift, she stepped up before him: Lexie. Lexie Gorgon, the tempter and tormentor of Isis, Osiris’ wife, soul mate, his love. Osiris seethed inwardly. The bubbles in the pot momentarily boiled with fury. He stared at this woman, probing her visage for any sign of recognition. He knew she knew him—he’d always known she knew—but she gave no outward sign. Departing from the script, enjoying his work now for the first time all this shift, he dropped his cloak, as he had done for Doug, fully revealing himself to her in his most recent incarnation. She gave no sign of knowing or surprise. “Hello, Lexie,” he said.
“Hello yourself’” she shot back.
“You know me.” not a question.
“Uh-huh.”
“You knew all along.”
“Yep.”
“That was why.”
“You got it.”
“You know what’s about to happen.”
“Yes.” A hiss.
“You think you want it.”
“I do.”
“No! You don’t. It hurts. It hurts forever.”
“She’s worth whatever I suffer.”
“Oh, Lexie… Lexie, you just don’t get it, do you? She’s not for you. She was never for you. She never will be for you. She’s with me. Always and for all time. In all ways. We wanted to save you from this. We did. She and I. Both of us. Did you think we didn’t know? Did you think we didn’t know you? Lexie? Us? Did you truly think so?
“Lexie, we knew. We knew you knew. That’s why we came to you. We knew you knew. And we wanted to save you. We wanted to save you from this. This judgment. Which we both knew I would have to carry out.
“Look around you. Where is she? She’s not here with you, not with me. This is my work. Not hers. She is not here now with either of us. And we wanted you not to be here, too.
“Did you know that?
“You knew, Lexie. You knew all along. You knew this would happen, that you would be brought to this place; that you would bring yourself to this judgment.
“You knew!”
Lexie’s face revealed nothing.
“Did you hear me with Doug, Lexie? The first in line? Did you hear my warning?”
When she did not answer, Osiris went on, “Not knowing is no sin, Lexie. All are guilty of not knowing. All except you. You knew. And you did what you did anyway. Even though you knew. You knew better. And you still did worse. That, Lexie, is unforgivable. It’s the one sin that is unforgivable: knowing and doing it anyway. Do you understand? Did you know that?”
Still, Lexie remained silent.
“I suppose you think you did it for love. Because you love her. Because she loves you. So you think. She does love you. But not in the way you think. Just as I do. But not in the way you think. Lexie, neither of us ever wanted to fuck you. Both of us wanted only to save you. Save you from this.”
Osiris paused, looked down to the bubbling surface of the liquid simmering in the pot, still clear as when he started his shift. He took a deep breath, let it out, his shoulders slumping.
“You just don’t want to know the truth, do you? You just want to be right, to know what you know and the truth be damned. Just like you. Damned.
“Step up to the pot.
“To what purpose did you strive?”
“I strove to get through my life best I could like everyone else.”
“Oh, Lexie…” Osiris moaned. “Those are my words. I told you that long ago. Do you really think you can turn my own words against me? That you can save yourself this way. Lexie, those words were my gift to you. So that you might ask for my forgiveness while I was still in my flesh-bound persona. For then I could have given it to you. Now I cannot. Now I am bound in my spiritual persona. I cannot now forgive you. I am truly sorry, Lexie. Into the pot! Now!”
Lexie Gorgon placed her hands resolutely on the thick rolled edge of the big, black iron pot—the kettle—staring Osiris defiantly in the face as she did, her expression of insane conviction causing him genuine pain on all levels. She climbed inside, began to lower herself into the simmering liquid without show of pain or any other sensation, fear or any other emotion. Nothing but her defensive gloating.
Her eyes remained fully open, staring him down, as her face disappeared beneath the bubbling surface.
Osiris closed his eyes, bowed his head. A single tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. Muscles failing, he sat down hard on the low dais, waving his hand over his head and muttering wetly, “All of you can go back to where you were waiting before, to the black beach. All of you! Work’s cancelled for the day.”
And suddenly he was alone. All he could think of was Isis, and of how much he longed only to be back in her arms, asleep and dreaming.

[goldenmyst]

Barry, this was a moving story. You expressed your emotions with verve and depth of feeling which pulled me into the tale as it unfolded to it's powerful end. This was quite a journey through your inner space. I commend you for writing this.

John

[Barry]

Thanks, John. You know some of the backstory to this. Others may not be aware. The one thing they said in writing class that sticks is "write what you know." I know myself pretty well. So I take my life and work it into the fiction. And I like the idea of personification of deity, gods as human beings, as done well by Neil Gaiman and others. So yeah, there's some of my inner space in there, but mostly it's Osiris's story. Like I channeled him. And anyone foolish enough to think they can fuck with the judge of the dead is truly fucked indeed. As Lexie Gorgon could attest, were she not boiling away to nothing for eternity.
Thanks for the comments, John.

Peace,
Barry

[alienpoet]

excellent read! i love it , i have to read it again ...Sevens Barry.

[alienpoet]

i read it again. wow. it's so moving and sevenly ...absolutely ...more...

[Barry]

Thanks, AP. You're good. May the Pleiades shine on your forever.

Peace,
Barry

[alienpoet]

no ,i'm not good...but this write of yours is Barry.i really got into it..