Dark Heaven

By Ofelia M Tercilla

Dark Heaven encourages the reader to journey through and meditate on some of the darkest horrors that can only be found hidden deep within ourselves. These shadowy terrors torment us relentlessly while hiding in obscurity. Dark Heaven is a story about a nameless person who struggles with these shadowy tormen

• Language: English
• Publisher: O & O Tercilla Publishing
• Release date: May 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781737628125

Book preview

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Chapter 1 – Now It Was Me

Now it was me. At first, I was the man though he would not acknowledge me. I was there along with him only as an observer. He was scheduled for death, alone in a foreign land. Alone except for me, but still alone as he would not concede my existence. Somehow the man, I, had done something noble even through his acts, our acts, of terrorism against the government of the people. As a reward, the high command had granted us a quick death instead of a lifetime in the labor camps. That is where we were now. In the middle of a muddy, rock-strewn plaza waiting for death to be delivered. A crowd of ordinary citizens bobbed around this soupy mixture of mud and death, hopeful witnesses to this macabre undertaking. Death witnessed, the final component in this recipe. Of course, I was there too. Hidden from everyone but myself and the man who would not accept me. I was merely an observer whose only power was to stand witness to the horrid event.

The whole scene seemed bathed in a mixture of grimness and drabness. The executioner’s face was lifeless. Even my senses were dulled. I could see and feel, but I could not sense what the man was feeling. He would not allow me such intimacy. I imagined he must have missed home. A home that never really knew him. Never knew us. A home that had prided itself in being very advanced yet had been more primitive than this place in many ways. This home sent him here and then abandoned him to die a terrible death. His home would always remember him as a hero for obeying their rules. The man had always done what was right; at least what was considered right by others back where he had once lived. He had always followed the rules and kept his inner self hidden from the world as was required. Even now, facing death together, the man did not acknowledge me or allow me to comfort him.

The executioner stood close to the man and slowly walked around to stand behind him. His body so close he never lost touch with the man and the man did not try to move or run away. Like partners in a dance, the two moved harmoniously in this final act. One last dance before death. People absorbed by the solemnity of the moment, stood silent. Even time seemed to stop. A well-rehearsed actor, the executioner took his cue and lifted his hands to the man’s head in an intimate caress before quickly turning the man’s head and snapping his neck. Just before the neck snapped, I was set free, but there had only been enough time to feel the fear and apprehension the man felt and no time for me to offer comfort.

In death, it became very clear that the man had joined the others out of fear. For survival, he had joined the many to oversee the few. For survival, he had denied and resisted the life he desired. For survival, he had denied himself. The man had once stood apart from this group of the many – the overseers – only to later join them and become a most fervent advocate of their values.

Now it was me, as I said earlier. I was freed from the man. Now I was me, a young woman on the outside and old on the inside. Somehow, I knew I was meant to be this young woman. I was dead, yet alive. Could this be?

Was this heaven? If it was heaven, where was the bright light? As if summoned, my eyes were blinded by a brilliant light so much so that I had to shut them tightly. As quickly as it came, the bright light left; or rather, diminished in brightness. I opened my eyes to a circle of soft light where I could make out shapes. I was not alone.

I was still the center of my story, but now I felt in control. The young woman, me, was in control and alive.

Was I alive? No, I had died. The man and I had died. Or had just the man died?

So, was this heaven? I thought this must be heaven, surely. But does anyone really know what heaven is like?

A young woman to my right came closer out of the darkness that was slowly dissipating. She was older than me, but still a young woman. Slowly, more shapes came into focus in the ever-brightening circle. There were many others with us. They were about my age. They were all different sexes. Although I was aware of the different sexes, I did not focus on their gender or perhaps I could not. Gender didn’t seem as distinguishable here – more like a fluid concept that kept flowing and changing.

The woman, who no longer seemed young or old, approached me. She would be my teacher. How I knew this I could not say. Perhaps I really didn’t know this and just thought that way so I could make sense of what was happening. Ever present, like an obsession that holds your thoughts hostage in an unending loop, was my desire to know if I was truly dead and more importantly was I in heaven? Was this really heaven? I did not ask. I don’t know why I didn’t ask, but somehow, I think I was afraid to ask. Was I afraid to know the truth?

As the curtain of darkness continued to lift, I could make out other circular pods of light encapsulated against the surrounding darkness that was slowing fleeing from the encroaching light. Each circle of light had a group of people in it. Cones of light submerged in a sea of darkness. Suspended, connected, and separated by the darkness we floated in. Images of well-lit classrooms led by teachers skimmed the outer edges of my mind but could not find a foothold. Perhaps my mind was again trying to make sense of these new experiences and file them away in neatly labeled drawers. I tried stuffing these images into a drawer labeled classrooms and struggled to shut it. The little perfect cones of light surrounded by darkness demanded my attention and refused to be shut away, each displayed its own intriguing vignette, populated by the writers and producers of their own stories – us.

My teacher, as I came to think of her, seemed to focus all her attention on me as if the others already knew the lesson. She approached me with a smile.

Smiling lips crowned with unsmiling eyes.

She stood next to me and waved her arm much as a magician might wave their arm to reveal a trick. Her eyes looked appraisingly at what she had revealed. I followed her eyes and stood still as I studied our surroundings.

Looking about me, I realized that the ever increasing light did not reveal its secrets to me. I really didn’t know more about