Turbinio

Some More Whiskey

You were dead. However, your body throbbed painfully, a fact that you considered strange under the circumstances. Though you placed great trust in God's mercy, you still had that residue of primal guilt that made all people dread the possibility of hell. Still, you were raised by two people who never really believed in any kind of eternal punishment, and everything you knew about hell made you think it unlikely that the torments in store for you could be restricted to a sore back.

On the other hand, that couldn't be heaven, for several reasons. First, you didn't deserve it. Second, it didn't feel like heaven. And third, you doubted the reward of the blessed was a sore back.

You couldn't feel anything but pain. The cold had made your whole face numb and your eyes stuck together with frozen lashes. Although you had always imagined purgatory as a gray and lifeless sort of place, the sound of the blizzard was fitting. Your mind gradually cleared and the ability to reason returned, albeit slowly. Someone, you thought a little irritably, should come to you soon and tell you exactly what your sentence was, until you had suffered enough to be purified. You weren't sure if you were expecting an angel or a demon, you had no idea of Purgatory's recruitment requirements; Reverend has never spoken on this subject before. But for sure, a strange man was not what you expected.

''You're alive?''

No, you thought dazedly. I'm not. Wherever you had been while you were unconscious, it was a better place than this.

The voice sounded like a hallucination, so you ignored the strange face that loomed over you. Meanwhile, you began diagnosing all the torments you were being forced to endure. There were many cuts, scrapes and bruises on your body; besides, you were pretty sure the cut on your rib had opened again and maybe a finger or two was dislocated. But none of that was too serious. What else?

Diego, Johnny and Gyro. Those names cut through your heart like a knife, inflicting pain more excruciating than any suffering your body had ever endured.

Perhaps that was the condition of purgatory: the anguish. Enough to make up for any of your sins; including murder and betrayal.

''Wake up!''

This time, you were sure it wasn't a hallucination, because the voice was accompanied by a slap.

''Wake up, woman!''

You shivered and sat up abruptly and, with some effort, broke through the layer of ice that glued your eyelashes together. The memory came back suddenly and you screamed, pulling away from the man. You were wrong. That was hell. But you, (Y/N), weren't dead.

The man before you was by no means familiar. He was wearing what appeared to be a strange uniform colored in shades of orange and yellow. The most notable thing about the man was his hair, cut short and shaved into a checkered pattern, as well as his beard. It was still too soon to trust your mind, so you rubbed your eyes to make sure he was real. He had the posture of a military man, and he was unattended.

''What?'' You crawled away from him, and he didn't try to come closer. ''Diego! Where is he?! Diego!''

''He left with Magent right after you lost consciousness.''

''Who are you?! Oh, shit... Whatever!'' You looked frantically around you, panting. ''Cadichon! Where is she? Agno!''

Squirming, you turned on your side. A little heat hits your body, then the dizzying snow hit your skin, and you shivered violently with the cold.

As you squirmed on the floor, struggling with the snow-crumpled clothes, you got to your feet.

''I saw everything. I thought about stopping them, but I'm in no position to risk myself. I stayed by a thicket of heather, so I came to see if you were still alive.'' The voice sounded far, fading as you walked away to crawl to your mule.