Death's Trinity
- Thread starter fisherman
- Start date
Welcome!virgin_rose
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2003
- Posts
- 103
Hi there
hope you'll have a grand time here at Lit...
hope you'll have a grand time here at Lit...
Try it again .... by jolly I got it... i think.
Death’s Trinity
* * *
Prose from Hell
Two souls of long dead soldiers met in hell. Hell, you know, is a lonely place, so a few minutes of companionship to forget the waste and desperation of eternal damnation is a welcome relief, especially among veterans. Soldiers aren’t common in hell, because most died innocent, a product of politicians fear and greed; so the two souls had something in common. One asked the other, “How’d you get here?”
“Well it’s simple”, said the first. “I was a German soldier during the blitzkrieg in Poland in ‘39. We took a village, a Jewish village. I hated Jews. They stole from my father, charged us extra rent when I was a kid, and ate beef when we ate nothing. Times were tough for us, but not them Jews. But still. There she was, right in front of me, an old woman, and my buddies kept screaming; Kill the fucking Jew! I was tired and scared, and they were my buddies, so I killed her. Just pulled the trigger and shot her in the head. Just an old woman, but she was dead. After that, after that old woman, the rest of the Jews were easy. Easy to kill, especially shooting them in the back of the head. Can’t see their eyes then. That’s why I’m here. Died in Stalingrad, froze to death, now I burn for all eternity, for killing all them innocent people, even though they were just fucking stinking Jews. So that’s why I burn in hell. How about you?”
“Well,” said the other soul of a dead soldier. “I was a Roman soldier, fought for the Emperor and was in his legions which conquered the world. I was posted to some shit hole of a place called Palestine. Jerusalem was the city, and it was full of them fucking Jews. But I didn’t kill like you did, wish I could of, but only got one chance to kill a Jew. Which I took. I nailed some carpenter to a cross on a hill, while his Mother cried, and I sat and watched him die. But still I can’t figure out why I’m here? After all I only killed one Jew.”
* * *
I’m Sick
To you who judge;
I don’t have much time, they’re coming, I have to confess. Yes, I killed her; but it’s not my fault. I’m sick.
I couldn’t help it, she so innocent, and beautiful, perfect in every way. An angel with blond hair, blue eyes and skinny milky white legs. She didn’t deserve the misery of divorced parents, a family who didn’t care. So I took her from the ice cream stand that hot summer day. I’d given her a good home of love, warmth and lust, but she kept screaming. “Mommy, I want to go home. Please, don’t touch me like that!” So I shook her, my hand over her mouth to silent her screams and before I realized she became limp.
It was then I decided to kill, sending her to heaven before I did something to that beautiful child. I kept my hand over her mouth and with the other I strangled her, my fingers such a perfect fit on her delicate, childish neck. I didn’t plan, it just happened, like someone guided my grasp. I know what you’re thinking; I deserve all I get. Your thinking I’m evil, not sick and I deserve to hang. I should' a controlled evil and not kidnapped and killed.
But answer me one simple question, “Who are you to judge?” After all, don’t you have dirty sins? All of you, sitting there thinking I’m evil; don’t you do perform acts you wouldn’t confess? How many times a day do you touch yourself in those dirty ways? Through the dark of night, aroused and erect; don’t you ponder sin? Oh, I think so, yes I do.
Soon my life will end. The hangman’s coming, I’ll meet my end. Soon my legs won’t walk, my eyes won’t see, my mouth won’t speak, my mind won’t think. I’ll burn for my sin while my body swings at the end of a rope, lungs gasping for air, legs twitching last steps.
Do you get pleasure from my demise imagining my death on the gallows? Does it generate revenge, make you smile and say, “He got what he deserved, I only wished he suffered like that nine year old girl”
If it does my friend, you’re as sick as me.
* * *
High Ride’n Heels
I’m the man in a long black coat, wearing tall black boots with high ride’n heels. I usually wear an old straw hat, my face a mask of dust and clay. I’m a man of absolutes; there is no gray. Some think me a killer, others suppose I guide the final path, but I’m only part of the plan. Makes no difference rich or poor, young or old, Jew or Christian, Moslem or Hindu, black yellow or white; I’m there at the end. I await night or day, bedside or battlefield; you’ll all spend your last moments with me.
Some embrace others quarrel how it ought to be. When ya all gonna learn there are no maps or beautiful charts guiding life’s bitter end. It’s crazy and crowded, twisted and bold holding no ultimate plan; it’s only us two. My simple instruction when it first began, was at your last moment I return what you’ve done to others. I don’t judge absolutes, right or wrong, morals or judgment. I don’t give a damn, just do my job, collect your life; and let him decide wrong or right.
You’ve given me names Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, Jehovah, even the Great Spirit. Your all full of shit, only I know the game. What I’m about to say isn’t easy to swallow and might stick in your throat. But when you pray to those names, you’re just beating on a dead horse. The boss doesn’t even control the evening sunset. All he did was kick things in gear and then sits back while I do my job. I like my career. I’m proud of my craft which is taking you away. You won’t see me hanging around, you can’t depend on deliberation being your guide. I allow no time to write a note or say a goodbye when I come to your side. There’s nothing to say, nothing to write, nothing to cry for at night. Soon you’ll vanished with the man in the long black coat, wearing tall black boots with high ride’n heels.
Death’s Trinity
* * *
Prose from Hell
Two souls of long dead soldiers met in hell. Hell, you know, is a lonely place, so a few minutes of companionship to forget the waste and desperation of eternal damnation is a welcome relief, especially among veterans. Soldiers aren’t common in hell, because most died innocent, a product of politicians fear and greed; so the two souls had something in common. One asked the other, “How’d you get here?”
“Well it’s simple”, said the first. “I was a German soldier during the blitzkrieg in Poland in ‘39. We took a village, a Jewish village. I hated Jews. They stole from my father, charged us extra rent when I was a kid, and ate beef when we ate nothing. Times were tough for us, but not them Jews. But still. There she was, right in front of me, an old woman, and my buddies kept screaming; Kill the fucking Jew! I was tired and scared, and they were my buddies, so I killed her. Just pulled the trigger and shot her in the head. Just an old woman, but she was dead. After that, after that old woman, the rest of the Jews were easy. Easy to kill, especially shooting them in the back of the head. Can’t see their eyes then. That’s why I’m here. Died in Stalingrad, froze to death, now I burn for all eternity, for killing all them innocent people, even though they were just fucking stinking Jews. So that’s why I burn in hell. How about you?”
“Well,” said the other soul of a dead soldier. “I was a Roman soldier, fought for the Emperor and was in his legions which conquered the world. I was posted to some shit hole of a place called Palestine. Jerusalem was the city, and it was full of them fucking Jews. But I didn’t kill like you did, wish I could of, but only got one chance to kill a Jew. Which I took. I nailed some carpenter to a cross on a hill, while his Mother cried, and I sat and watched him die. But still I can’t figure out why I’m here? After all I only killed one Jew.”
* * *
I’m Sick
To you who judge;
I don’t have much time, they’re coming, I have to confess. Yes, I killed her; but it’s not my fault. I’m sick.
I couldn’t help it, she so innocent, and beautiful, perfect in every way. An angel with blond hair, blue eyes and skinny milky white legs. She didn’t deserve the misery of divorced parents, a family who didn’t care. So I took her from the ice cream stand that hot summer day. I’d given her a good home of love, warmth and lust, but she kept screaming. “Mommy, I want to go home. Please, don’t touch me like that!” So I shook her, my hand over her mouth to silent her screams and before I realized she became limp.
It was then I decided to kill, sending her to heaven before I did something to that beautiful child. I kept my hand over her mouth and with the other I strangled her, my fingers such a perfect fit on her delicate, childish neck. I didn’t plan, it just happened, like someone guided my grasp. I know what you’re thinking; I deserve all I get. Your thinking I’m evil, not sick and I deserve to hang. I should' a controlled evil and not kidnapped and killed.
But answer me one simple question, “Who are you to judge?” After all, don’t you have dirty sins? All of you, sitting there thinking I’m evil; don’t you do perform acts you wouldn’t confess? How many times a day do you touch yourself in those dirty ways? Through the dark of night, aroused and erect; don’t you ponder sin? Oh, I think so, yes I do.
Soon my life will end. The hangman’s coming, I’ll meet my end. Soon my legs won’t walk, my eyes won’t see, my mouth won’t speak, my mind won’t think. I’ll burn for my sin while my body swings at the end of a rope, lungs gasping for air, legs twitching last steps.
Do you get pleasure from my demise imagining my death on the gallows? Does it generate revenge, make you smile and say, “He got what he deserved, I only wished he suffered like that nine year old girl”
If it does my friend, you’re as sick as me.
* * *
High Ride’n Heels
I’m the man in a long black coat, wearing tall black boots with high ride’n heels. I usually wear an old straw hat, my face a mask of dust and clay. I’m a man of absolutes; there is no gray. Some think me a killer, others suppose I guide the final path, but I’m only part of the plan. Makes no difference rich or poor, young or old, Jew or Christian, Moslem or Hindu, black yellow or white; I’m there at the end. I await night or day, bedside or battlefield; you’ll all spend your last moments with me.
Some embrace others quarrel how it ought to be. When ya all gonna learn there are no maps or beautiful charts guiding life’s bitter end. It’s crazy and crowded, twisted and bold holding no ultimate plan; it’s only us two. My simple instruction when it first began, was at your last moment I return what you’ve done to others. I don’t judge absolutes, right or wrong, morals or judgment. I don’t give a damn, just do my job, collect your life; and let him decide wrong or right.
You’ve given me names Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, Jehovah, even the Great Spirit. Your all full of shit, only I know the game. What I’m about to say isn’t easy to swallow and might stick in your throat. But when you pray to those names, you’re just beating on a dead horse. The boss doesn’t even control the evening sunset. All he did was kick things in gear and then sits back while I do my job. I like my career. I’m proud of my craft which is taking you away. You won’t see me hanging around, you can’t depend on deliberation being your guide. I allow no time to write a note or say a goodbye when I come to your side. There’s nothing to say, nothing to write, nothing to cry for at night. Soon you’ll vanished with the man in the long black coat, wearing tall black boots with high ride’n heels.
Similar threads
