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A Strange End (Part One of Two)

© Emily Woodward

By 5:00 a.m., the sun had climbed to its rightful place in the heavens. With vengeance, it beat down upon the inmates who were assembling for roll call. Never before had I seen such eerie, vacuous men. They seemed - and were - less than human. I shivered, despite the intense heat. Then, as the warden rattled off our names, I gazed wistfully at the Gates of Purgatory.

Having only been dead for forty-six hours, I was surprised at how bleak my surroundings seemed. It was not at all as I had imagined the end of the world. My interpretations of Revelation had led me to expect a Holocaust; an Armageddon, where my true nature as redeemer would be realized. Instead, I was simply a faceless prisoner held in limbo between Heaven and Hell. My anonymity was such that I was scarcely certain of my identity. Could it be that none of these spirits were under my domain; had they never even heard of David Koresh?

The warden's flat monotone had lulled me into a stupor that was sounder than sleep. Questions which accosted my brain like nightmares were pitted against images of the flaming compound. Through the surreal inferno emerged two dark eyes. I started, and my imagination was restrained. One of the prisoners was moving toward me; his eyes were blacker than the ashes at the Waco site. It seemed that he and I were the only two prisoners who really existed. Our souls alone had endured the journey between mortality and this...nothingness.

As he drew nearer, I became conscious of other features besides his eyes. He was rather short and stocky of build; on his face he carried a roguish smile that, in this world, suggested friendship. The earthiness he exhibited formed a vacuum that isolated him from his surroundings. For this reason, perhaps, I felt that I was entering a different and more familiar dimension.

"Mr. Koresh?" The question was whispered and vibrant. It was the first time that I had heard anyone speak here, excluding the monotonic warden. I nodded, and again he opened his mouth.

"A. Burr!" We both looked up, startled by the warden's address. My companion smiled and bowed graciously.

"Pardon me, Warden, for interrupting the roll. My chief vice has always been loquacity."

"And it'll keep you down here for another two hundred years. Now, Quiet in the Ranks!" The warden, having imparted his impassioned warning, continued to take roll.