Trapped In Skorrgatory

Chapter 5

            Once again the agonizing pain had been removed and Stephen was back to the same black speckled screen. He felt small and insignificant in the vast nothingness of dark fuzziness. It was like at night when all the programs have ended and you are left with nothing but dark static. It completely engulfed him and was magnified 1000 times over. He started to feel lost and confused. It was as though he was one of the billion speckles. There was nothing to taste. There was nothing to smell. There was nothing to feel except that he was an individual cell that made up a living organism. It occurred to him that this is what scientist has described as being left over substance from the Big Bang. So, this was how his life and death would always be, part of a big bang.

          “How depressing” he thought but he still couldn’t help but marvel at the wondrously magnificent sight before him. Despite his lack of senses, he could see and hear quite well. He heard a click in the distance and knew the viewing of his next life was about to begin. He would also be ready this time because he wanted to know who he really was and what details he could get from his former lives. It was apparent that karma had taken over and placed him on a wheel. At least that is how things seemed. He would have to ride the wheel. That is the only way to move on.

          The melting of the vast backdrop had begun only this time there was no green. It started out as gray. Moments later he could make out metal castings. No, it was pots and pans. The walls had been metal though. Stephen could feel a slight humming vibrating through the floor. He was in a kitchen but where was he? At first it looked as if all the pots and pans had been cleaned and put away for the night. At least that’s what he though until he saw the mound of dishes piled up over by a large sink. His hear sank.

          “You’ve got to be kidding! They’re going to stick me on cleanup duty!” Stephen felt the now familiar brush of life as he was getting passed through once again. He grabbed the opportunity to fully relive and held on to the figure. He wanted all of his senses back. There had been no fighting of the merger. The man he once was didn’t even realize that he was there or what was going on. As soon as their thoughts became one, he could feel the resentment and anger bellowing up inside.

          He was private Stevens aboard the USS Maine. The time and date was 9:30 at night on February 15, 1896. Their orders had been to sail to Havana Harbor just off the coast of Cuba to keep an eye on things. The day at least started out good. Private Stevens and a few of the other sailors had decided to play a prank on one of their officers just to liven things up a bit. It was a harmless prank. Stevens dressed up one of the snappers in a makeshift naval uniform to try and cheer him up. He even made sure the fish would be smiling at him when the cover to his plate was removed. They had all heard it was the officer’s birthday and they just wanted a little laugh. The man was depressed because his wife would be giving birth any time and he had to be out to sea.

          The officer wasn’t impressed. As a matter of fact he got downright pissed off. As a result of their practical joke, private Stevens had been given kitchen duty since he was the one who made and delivered it. Oh well, at least he didn’t have to tend to the hot boiler room like the others who had been caught laughing.  He at least had been smart enough to read the offended officers face. As a cook, Stevens had learned to read peoples faces. It was a necessity since they will lie sometimes to keep from upsetting you. It was also a safety hazard since you work in dismal conditions and around disgruntled men with sharp knives.

   

          Unfortunately, he was now faced with a pile of dishes from 355 men aboard a 12 inch thick nickel steel monster floating off the coast of enemy territory. Thank God she was water tight and well stocked with torpedoes and other necessary ammunition. The pungent stench of old fish caused him to gag and inadvertently spit up a small amount of bile. It could get stiflingly hot in the mess hall, especially when they were cooking. The ventilation system had been no where near as efficient at modern kitchen ventilation. Air conditioning systems hadn’t even been invented yet.

          Remembering time was short, Stephen tried to look for a reflective surface to see what he looked like as a sailor. There wasn’t much. Steel and copper lay all around him in varying forms but it was dark and corroded from too many nights on a hot stove. Searching through Private Stevens mind he found out that he was one of the cooks aboard the USS Maine. It made sense, otherwise how would he have been able to gain access to the officer’s snapper. He felt young and agile. He also felt the sting of a cut on his right hand when the knife had slipped earlier in the day while cleaning fish. It had not been cleaned properly and was now turning red and showing the first signs of infection. His crew mates teased him about the way he tried to filet a puffer fish earlier. It was a random catch in the nets. Another crew member tried to show them how to remove most of the toxic parts but al he did was to make it look like a chopped up lump of flesh.

          While eyeing the mess, he wasn’t spooked by the creaking and moaning of the vessel. It didn’t even bother him that he was the only one in the kitchen since everyone else had retired to their quarters for the night. With the exception of a few guards posted on the deck and the snickering sailors down in the boiler room everyone else was in bed. The thing that spooked him was the rumbling under his feet and the resounding boom. It wasn’t a band it was a boom. It was also accompanied by the ripping and tearing of metal. It felt and sounded as if the whole ship was coming apart.

           His head was spinning as he was knocked off balance. There was a blinding flash and the pain that shot through his lungs was intense. During the explosion, he had accidentally fallen onto some jagged piping that had broken loose and stuck up through the floor. It hurt to breath and he realized that water was pouring in rapidly. As he lay injured with a pipe sticking out of his chest, he knew what was coming. He would die there. Most seasoned sailors would opt to swim to the bottom and give up their ghost but he was pinned down by a mass of filthy pots and pans. He could hear the metal grinding and jerking beneath and around him.  All of the lights had gone out. A fire had started in the far corner of the kitchen illuminating everything in an eerie glow. The risk of another explosion would do him in for sure. He also assumed that he would be consumed by sharks while still alive if he somehow managed to get out of his stainless steel prison. It was a shuddering thought and there was only moments to act before the water would steal his precious breath and consume him in the murky depths.

          Then it came to him. The answer literally floated right in front of him. It was the dead puffer fish that had been snagged in the nets along with the snapper.  The trash can that it was in was never emptied and there it lay floating right in front of him. He had never tried puffer fish but had heard of how dangerous they could be if it wasn’t prepared right. Their toxins would subdue him in moments. He quickly scooped up the previously gutted fish and tore into its flesh with his teeth.

           It was only slightly unpleasant once you got past the smell since it lay there all evening without being chilled. His lips immediately felt numb. He took another bite and swallowed. His skin started to feel prickly and numbness was setting in. He did not know if it was the fish or the cold water trying to paralyze his reflects and he didn’t care. The water is up to his chest by now. His puncture wound stings harshly as salt water licks at the puncture wound. In the dimming artificial light he glimpses his own blood darkening the water around his chest. He takes another bite and swallows. He can no longer feel the fish and it drops from his hand with a slight splat. Then everything is dark once again.

          “Seems that I was something of a comedian and a trouble maker during the Spanish American War of 1898 and there was no real purpose there. The sinking of the USS Maine is supposed to have started the war. There was no honor in this! There is only tragedy and two countries arguing over who sunk the battleship. Yea, that war was nothing but a game of who sunk the battleship.”

Trapped In Skorrgatory

Chapter 4

            From that point on it was a seemingly never ending array of wars and his death. One right after the other and he would always felt the pain from getting shot, blown up, or tortured.
            As the smoky canvas that surrounds him transforms once more into another life that he has lived, Stephen knows he wants to gain knowledge on the man he once was and the lives he’s lived. He wished he could go back to the Indian camp and find out more about that dark skinned brave that took his life rather than face being a captive or giving up his ancestors land. He realizes that the curtain has fallen on that life and he will not be able to go back. He still wants to know his name, his real name from that life. The loss of a courageous and beautiful wife was tragic enough still weighed heavily on his mind.

           It is said that a lot of the North American Indians never told their real names since they believed this would bind them into unwanted control or slavery. To know someone’s real name is to have control over them so they often used sur names like Farting Eagle or Squatting Dog. Not really but the though still caused him to laugh out loud and helped distract him. Who would of though that you would still be able to laugh and joke about such things in the after life but you can. After all wasn’t this one huge cosmic play or joke of some kind? At least that is what he has read in the past by various philosophical heroes of old.

          Still he needed to know more about the men or possibly women he once was and started to devise a plan. He would attempt what ghost or spirits are supposed to be able to do. He would try to merge with his former self. Hopefully he would at least be able to see into their minds. Since his surroundings had been something of a large high tech movie scene, he doubted that he would be allowed to control their actions and try to change what has already happened. Really, who can change what once was? It is written that we must all face judgment of all of our deeds. Perhaps this is what is going on. He could only speculate on these things and only after he faced his transgresses would he know what was to happen to him. The thought scared him, but he knew he must be brave. All he was doing was reliving the past.

          When the world comes into focus once again, he finds himself on a war torn battle field. A young solder wearing a white shirt and dark pants runs right through him and takes shelter with his platoon behind some trees near a wheat field. This was the queue he had been waiting for while taking in his surroundings. Stephen tried to grab a hold of the man when he hesitated at the cold and turned his head to see if anything was there, but he never stopped until he reached the shelter of the forest line.

“Let’s try this again” He thinks.

          It only takes him moments to catch up to the solder. Stephen feels his target is at least distracted enough not to worry on even notice a merging. His back is firmly up against a large tree trunk to protect him against the firing squad on the other end of the field and he is loading his musket.

          “If I don’t try it now, it might be too late.” He thinks.

          Trying not to alarm the man he takes his time crouching down and tries to assume the same position the man is in. Their arms an torso mold together. Their legs become one. Stephen still can’t feel anything. Their heads merge. Still there is nothing. Wait! It was only a dismal faint odor at first but it grew. Soon it became almost over powering. Then other smells entered his nostrils as well. It was the smell of a man who had seen too many weary days without a proper shower. That wasn’t the worst of it. Gun powder permeated the surrounding air and burned his nostrils with its fumes.  The cent of death was also present. Glancing around, he could see the fallen bodies of some of his platoon members. Charlie, Zibly, Craig, and Moss had already been shot and lie lifeless on the ground. Wait he knew their names. He remembered seeing them fall. Zibly had gotten hit the worst by taking a shot right to the head. Zibly became the fallen soldier’s nick name since no one could pronounce his real last name. He was glad that he didn’t see it happen. It is 1863 and his platoon is very close to a wheat field near Gettysburg, PA.

          “Stephenson, our platoon’s done fore. We’re surrounded. What do we do?”

          His head jolted to where the voice came from but he quickly found himself dropping to a fetal position. He felt the neck muscles of Stephenson tighten up and turning to face his comrade. “Duck” he called out. The voice sounded strange and alien but he remembered it well. It was like he had gone an eternity without speaking. He closed his eyes and covered his head.

          His musket fell to his side.  And then his whole world went black and he felt as if he was being ripped to pieces. Sulfur and cannon powder burned his nostrils to the point that he lost his sense of smell once again. His hearing was gone as well but he was still alive. Light gradually returned and he realized he could still see.     Looking up he could see David. Yes, that’s right, his name was David. There was something wrong with David. He was looking at Stephenson with a blank gaze only they weren’t in the edge of the trees any more. Stephenson, David and the remaining platoon members had been blasted out of the trees by cannon shot. It had hit its mark and eliminated all of his friends except him. But David was still alive. Stephenson could see the tears dripping across his cheeks.

          David had been mobile enough to unsheathe his pistol. He pulled it up past his chest and aimed for the upper portion of his head and whispered: “They’ll not take me alive.” The sound of the ammunition firing hit him like a lightning bolt. Stephenson realized that his hearing had returned.

          David had left him and he could see confederate solder’s closing in. There was no hesitation and no regret. He had no wife or children to leave behind. True, his mother and father would miss him. He would be considered a hero back home, someone who gave their life to keep their country whole. Even if their names would not be remembered, their bravery will. With this he unsheathed his pistol and despite the pain he brought it up to his temple right above his eye. Then he pulled the trigger and everything went dark in Stephenson’s life.

          “As I fought in the Civil War sometime between 1861 and 1865, my life still had some meaning. I still had purpose and a strong need to protect those close to me. Comrades to the end, we would say. Thank God I fought for a good purpose. To bring the country together and eliminate slavery is a worthy cause to give one’s life. I’m glad we won and pray that our country will never be divided again.”