Zero-Zero-Nine
Created | Updated Oct 29, 2002
By Tyler James Sabourin
Awaken; do not let them bereave you of your purpose. They are coming. They will find you. They are the beginning of your demise. Wake up!
As he lifts himself out of his bed, he hears the front door steadily groan open and cushioned feet slowly slide through the den. His head cocks to one side, wondering whom the person might be. He quietly slips on some clothing while listening attentively, trying to locate the intruder.
Run! They are outside your bedroom door, do not let them catch you. They are the start of your passing. Escape!
He hears the scratching of footsteps approaching his room; he hears the shiver of bronze as the doorknob turns. He opens the window and climbs through it, out of sight. The door bursts open and two men step through, two men who search the room. They do not find what they are looking for. One of the men notices the open window and goes over to it in hope of finding what they are searching for. He looks up and down the street but does not find it. As the man brings his head back through the window, the boy looks down and glimpses a cross hanging from the man’s neck.
He watches the men drive away and then lowers himself from the awning above the window. He enters his home and gets his jacket. He leaves his house and starts walking down the street. He comes to an intersection and, indecisive on which way to go, stops.
Left. They will return. They will return from some where to the right. Go left.
He turns to the left and walks along the sidewalk, striding unwaveringly towards an unrevealed destination.
Right.
He turns right and follows the meandering road.
Left, left, right, straight, left. Stop!
He finds himself outside of a dilapidated apartment building, the sign above the doorway reading Sunset Suites. He walks up the stairs to the doors and to the intercom device.
The room number is the number of days They fell.
Without thinking, he punches in the number zero-zero-nine. The intercom buzzes for a second and then the latch on the door clicks open. He walks through the garishly decorated lobby into the first-floor hallway. He finds apartment number zero-zero-nine and knocks.
Enter.
He enters. The room is ominously dark despite the fact that the sun was just beginning its downward crest.
Leave the lights off. Sit down and relax.
“Who are you?” he asks as he sits down on the bed.
I am nobody and everybody. I am real yet imagined. I am seen yet not discovered.
“What do you want of me?”
I want what you want. I want release. I want entrapment.
He looks around the empty room, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. “Where are you?”
I am here. I am in you.
“I don’t understand! Who are you and where are you!” he screams into the deserted room.
Excellent! The anger within you is strong and menacing. You will become an immense tool in the days ahead.
“What are you talking about? What is going to happen in a couple of days? Why did you call me a tool?” he howls.
You are desperate for answers are you not?
“Yes I am. Tell me what’s going on!”
You are frantic and want to know the truth?
“Yes I do!”
Fine, you will get your answers and you will get your truth.
As soon as the inhuman voice ends, Gabriel’s heart stops beating. His body lifelessly crumples on to the bed. As his eye’s cloud over like frost on a cold winter’s day an unnerving moan escapes from his bowels.
I’m falling, tumbling down through an infinitem of colours and shades. Blood red swirls with pine green while ghastly shades of purple splotch on a multitude of fluorescent colours, which reminds me of the early 90’s. Colours all around me tumbling, mixing, and fusing, into a sensational ballet of wonder that awed me.
Now the colours have all given way to a sterile hospital white. It surrounds me and encompasses me. There is no limit to this falling plane of whiteness. There is nothing except for me; even the voice has left me.
“What has happened to me? I don’t understand what is happening. Where am I?” I yell into the void.
No one answers my hollow questions. The whiteness just stares back at me with a blank expression. If I were a religious person I would probably think that this is some kind of purgatory.
“Too bad you’re not a religious person, because you just nailed it on the nose! You are in the plane of Purgatory! The void where restless souls wander for all eternity until judgement is passed upon them.”
“Hello? Where are you? Who are you?” I anxiously inquire.
A black dot in the distance appears, flashes and then is gone. “I am right behind you Gabriel,” a voice from behind me states “And I am one of the Grigori named Suriel.”
“Hello Suriel. What exactly are the Grigori? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Well, the Grigori are angels that watch and help mankind. We have taught you many things such as writing and metallurgy. I am actually the benevolent angel of death, which just means that I will be kind when I chop off your head! “
I gasp at his last comment and take a step back. In response to my reaction he laughs and motions me to follow him.
“You see, when you have lived for all eternity you acquire quite a sense of humour. I love to use that one on newcomers.” Suriel says to me.
As we walk through the white void, shapes start to form. A cobblestone pathway and a babbling brook run off into the distance. Great Oak trees start to materialize and jays fly across a sky which looks like it is being painted as we walk. I look over at Suriel and see, to my surprise, that he has turned into a majestic stag.
We walk for what seems like hours with a whole world being created before ours eyes until we come upon an enormous golden archway. Suriel motions for me to cross underneath the arch. As I step bravely through it, the world around me starts to melt! The trees that surround me crumble and then dematerialize. I can see patches of the heinous white protruding from hills. I turn to Suriel and find him lying on his stomach, a wicked spear protruding from his back.
“Hehe, the righteous b****d has finally met his doom.”
I look over to the voice and see another angel with an amazing wingspread and a flaming spear by his side. “Why did you slay Suriel?”
“Oh! Hello, I am Azzael, one of the Fallen. I killed Suriel there because he was about to take you into Heaven, and well, my lord really does not want that. He can’t let our greatest tool be captured by the enemy, now can he.” The angel grabs my hand, “If you will walk this way please.”
Instantaneously the whole world reverts into the repulsively white void, except this time there is a blotch of black directly below us, which we soar towards. As we come closer details of the black shadow become clearer. It seems that it is actually a great city, one with huge temples and grand buildings. A statue comes into view; it looks to be made of cast iron and has been sculpted in the shape of some person with two little stumps coming out of his back.
We fly towards the biggest temple in this ancient city and enter it through one of its many archways. Azzael walks by my side directing me by pillars and columns. We pass by a group of people, which are admiring a painting of some great holy battle. We come upon two doors guarded by spear wielding goblins. Azzael says something to them in a brutal tongue, they respond by opening the doors that let us pass.
“Hello Gabriel. Welcome to my home and kingdom, come and sit down.”
I walk over to an angel lounging in a frivolously decorated lounge area and sit down on a stiff leather chair.
“Azzael, you may leave us, thank you.” The angel exclaims.
Azzael leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. I turn towards the angel; he is very impressive with a muscular build, roguishly good looks, and a smile that could persuade even the mightiest of kings. His only major flaw is that he has scarred stumps instead of wings.
“I see you have noticed my wings… they were taken from me in the first Holy War. We had rebelled against Jehovah and he sent many angels to fight us. We were defeated and cast down from heaven. Before I could be cast out on the ninth and final day, Michael, by order of Jehovah, cut off my wings. Now I am sure you are wondering what the heck you are doing here, in the Temple of the Ninth Gate, talking with Satan, and I assure you all of your question will be answered.”
“What the hell am I doing here? Why am I talking with Satan? What the f--- is going on?” I scream into Satan’s face.
“You are here to fulfill a purpose, a prophecy. You are talking with me because it was I that brought you here and well, the last one is a bit harder to explain.”
“Well, I have got all the time in the world! So explain everything!”
“No, you don’t have all that much time, but here, let me explain.” Satan adjusts himself and then begins. “There is an ageless prophecy, one which states that Jehovah will rule the earth for two thousand years, and then, at the end of that time I will rule the earth. After two thousand years of my rule, the people will decide whether they love Jehovah or me. Jehovah had his Christ, Jesus, who spread the teachings of God. I too have a Christ, or you could call him the Anti-Christ, who will help spread my teachings to the masses. That Anti-Christ is you.”
“WHAT? How can I be the Anti-Christ? I’m just some kid from Nazareth, I am not evil!”
“You are my Anti-Christ! You were the only one that responded to my summons. You were the only one to escape from Jehovah. You are my Deliverer from Nazareth!” Satan yells at me, his face distorting, morphing into something else. Little bumps form on his forehead, the get larger and break through his skin. The horns sprout from his forehead and grow until they are half the height of himself. Slick dragon-like wings unfold from within the stumps of his old wings and spread until they are each three times that of Azzael’s wingspan. Satan launches into the air and circles around me.
“I will never help you Satan!” I scream. Suddenly Satan snaps his fingers and everything disappears. Once again, I am falling through the deathly white void.
“Here, I want you to see something, young deliverer.”
I am back in my neighborhood, right in front of my home. I walk inside to find it ransacked. All of the cupboards are ripped open and paper is everywhere.
“Oh s---! Mom!” I launch myself through the den and into my mom’s bedroom. I slip on something slick and fall face first into a pool of red liquid. I wipe the liquid out of my eyes and look around. To my left, my mother’s bedroom had been trashed. I look to my right and see my mother standing by the wall. I get up and go over to help my mom; I then see the spikes protruding from her wrists and her ankles. Blood has spilled all over the floor and has stained everything a dark crimson. I get to my mom and take a crown of thorns off her eviscerated head. I drop the crown onto the ground and weep on her crucified body. I wrap my arms around her neck in a final embrace. I remove my arms but my hands feel something around her neck. I take off a golden chain, a golden chain with a cross on it.
“Now you know, now you know what that b*****d will do to gets his way. He will do anything to stay in power, to rule all of mankind.”
Something inside of me snaps, and it feels as if I have lost my soul.
“You are now truly my Anti-Christ! Hehe, muhuhahahahahahaha!”
As he walks out of his mothers desecrated room his foot disturbes an object, a spear rolls out from beneath his mother’s bed, he does not notice and wanders out into the den. He trips on a broken coffee table and smashes his head on the corner of his television. His heart stops beating and he is encompassed in a pure, white light.
Epilogue
Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub… a figure walks towards the Vatican and stops in front of its doors. He looks up at the golden arch that adorns the front of the holiest of churches. He takes something from his pocket and puts it around his neck. As he passes under the arch and into the church, a bloody cross is visible hanging from his neck.
