A devil's dream.(Kevin Hughes) Sweat poured off his head. Tears streamed unnoticed from his eyes. Smoke rose in lazy swirls from his bed.
Stil he did not wake. The dream held him. It was horrible. It kept coming in Flashes.

Item: He told his Mother he hated her. She cried. He laughed.

Item: His fiancé sat stunned on the edge of the bed. Next to her a girl with no clothes on and a blank expression on her face.

“How could you? My sister? “

She cried. He did not. He just took the ring from her finger.

“This is mine.”

Item: The man barely looked at him. Even in that short look you could see the betrayal, the hurt, the anger. The man spoke in a gentle whisper that floated like a curse to his ears:

“You snake. You lied. You cheated. You ruined a good man’s reputation.”

He laughed at the words he heard. He answered them with his own:

“No... I won!”

Item: The little girl stood in stunned silence. Her bike broken and twisted on the ground in front of her. The angry man in front of her yelling with a smirk on his face:

“I told you, don’t ever leave your bike on my driveway again. Now you can’t.”

Item: The man was watching his own funeral. Everyone was there who he lied about…and to. His ex-fiance was there with her hubby and their three children. The little girl (now a grown woman) who’s bike he bent and trashed was there too. People who lived near the Church wondered at what a loving kind person must have died to have that many mourners show up. Everyone he ever wronged was there.

Item: As each person passed his casket…he felt what they felt when he wronged them. He felt the impact of his actions, misdeeds, and ugly words. He felt the tears of shame, frustration, helplessness. He wanted to apologize. He wanted forgiveness. He wanted a chance to right his wrongs. He got none.

He screamed as chains seared welts into his wrists. Those screams doubled as he looked down at his body, a body burning, bubbling, smoking in writhing agony. He turned his head to see a strange bottle…shaped like a fire extinguisher. On it was written one word in big bold glorious letters:

FORGIVENESS.

He knew if he could just get to that bottle, he could spray himself with its contents and be saved. He struggled mightily. Hercules himself couldn’t have expended a better effort. It wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t reach. He got as close as brushing his finger tips (now covered with blisters filled with fluid) close enough to break a blister or two on the container. Water ran down his hands, and pus.

He leaned back into the mattress…a moment’s respite. Then the dream started over. Again.

This time when the funeral scene came up (again) he looked to the other side of the bed.

The Devil stood there smiling.

Now his screams were of terrible power. The screams of a man who has no hope. Who knows what is coming. Who knows that he can’t stop it. Smoke and fire mingled with regret and guilt. The burns intensified.

Item: The man on the Bed knew it was no dream.

Item. The Devil walked away from the bed. In both his hands he held bottles similar to the one the poor soul kept trying to reach. The Bottles were clearly labeled:

“KINDNESS. MERCY”

The man’s tears turned to steam.

Item: Sweat poured off his head. Tears streamed unnoticed from his eyes. Smoke rose in lazy swirls from his bed.
Stil he did not wake. The dream held him. It was horrible. It kept coming in Flashes.

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