Reddit Account: u/Jon_Reid
Discord Tag: roylion44
Name and House: Damon Manderly
Age: 34 Cultural Group: Andal
Appearance: Damon has dark long shoulder length hair, a full beard and dark eyes. Tall, broad shouldered and muscular, the Lord of White Harbor is often seen in his dark armor and a trident as his staff of office. :max_bytes(150000):strip_icc():format(webp)/jason-momoa_0-da8e73e0459d48ba92735e84d4aa4fea.jpg)
Trait: Mariner
Skill(s): Admiral, Merchantman (e), Architect, Avaricious
Talent(s): Swimming, Play (Lute), Navigation
Negative Trait(s):
Starting Title(s): Lord of White Harbor, Warden of the White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lord Marshal of the Mander, Knight of the Order of the Green Hand, Knight of the Order of the White Hand.
Starting Location: Opening Event
Alternate Characters: N/A

AC

Name and House: Alaric Manderly
Age: 22
Cultural Group: Andal
Appearance: A younger version of his elder brother with dark hair and closely cropped beard.
Trait: Inspiring
Skill(s): Vanguard (e), Ambusher
Talent(s): Heraldry, Hawking, Horse riding
Negative Trait(s):
Starting Title(s): Ser, Knight of the Order of the White Hand.
Starting Location: White Harbor
Alternate Characters: NA

Archetypes
Wyman Manderly (uncle) - Castellan
Desmond Manderly (uncle) – Master-at-Arms

Biography

Lord Damon Manderly was born in 9 BC, the eldest born son of Lord Medgar Manderly and Iolande Ashford, the widow of Ser Torgen Tallheart and the mother of two small sons. At some point after her husband’s death Iolande returned to her parents’ home in Ashford, a rather impoverished widow and berefit of financial support for her two young sons. Iolande petitioned Medgar’s friend Lord Torrhen Stark of Winterfell for help in working out her financial plight. Lord Stark sent his friend Medgar the Lord of White Harnbor to investigate and the two fell in love and married in 10 BC, a year before Damon was born.
The birth of Damon was followed by that his younger brother Daron two years later in 7 BC during which his mother died in childbirth. In 2 BC when Damon was seven years old, he was sent to be fostered in Winterfell while his brother Deron was sent to the family of their grandmother - the Ashfords.
Damon was raised in the court of Lord Torrhen becoming familiar with the culture, education, and institutions of his host and making friends with the grandsons of Torrhen Stark who was of age. One of those was his cousin Rickard Snow, the son of Eddard Snow, one of the bastards of Lord Torrhen who had married his father’s younger sister Margaery Manderly.
In 5 AC when Damon was fourteen and still a squire, Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. The resulting rebellion called The Son’s War - a rebellion in the North against the surrender of Torrhen Stark. Led by the Heir to House Bolton, thousands of angry Northmen are crushed in battle by Torrhen Stark. Several of the defeated members flee east to form the Company of the Rose, including Eddard Snow and his son Rickard.
In 9 AC Damon was knighted by Torrhen Stark, as per his father Lord Medgar’s request, but despite this Damon, as his father’s heir, remained at Winterfell. His father, who had remarried to Myrcella Waynwood of the Vale by then had many more sons, and hence made no overtures for his oldest two sons to return. Instead, Eddard, the eldest paternal half-brother of Damon, egged on by the support of his father’s second wife Myrcella, had been designated by Lord Medgar as heir to White Harbor, in his absence. Despite Lord Mefgar’s violating of the laws of inheritance, Lord Torrhen chose not pursue the matter for the moment.
Damon notably chose to stay with his foster family, partly due to the influence of his raising at the court of Torrhen Stark and partly for the opportunity it would present to advance his career, though he may always have had in mind that one day he would become White Harbor’s lord, like his father and grandfather. To that end he developed an interest in architecture. Lord Torrhen assigned him to his team of engineers who were responsible for maintain Winterfell’s fortifications and other structures. (Architect). At the same time Damon’s work in this area developed his aptitude for driving a hard bargain (Avaricious) in negotiation.
In 14 AC, when Damon was 23 years old, Lord Torrhen Stark was overthrown and assassinated, after he informed his children of his intent to back one of the Dragon Queens. Damon’s father Lord Medgar, suspecting foul play from one or more of the Stark siblings loudly called for justice for the late lord, a close personal friend of his, prompting Damon to fear that he was no longer welcome in Winterfell.
The next year, Lord Regent Orys Baratheon called a grand hunt in the Kingswood. For the first time in many years Damon met his father Lord Medgar, his full brother Daron and his younger half-brothers and sisters when the Mandely family accompanied the new Lord Alaric south. The grand hunt would end in disaster as bandits would descend upon the hunting parties and kill or carry off many nobles. One of the victims was Damon’s brother Daron. The disaster in the Kingswood would eventually lead to most of the Starks returning to Winterfell but Lord Alaric remained along with Damon himself in order to exact revenge on the bandits.
As a youngster, Damon had always had an aptitude for the sea, something he had missed with his time in inland Winterfell. (Mariner) Now with his journey south first to White Harbor and then travelling by sea to Kings Landing he rediscovered his youthful passion. He began spending his time down at the docks in Kings Landing and much of his time on some of the warships of the royal fleet. He found that he had a natural aptitude for naval manoeuvres and over the next few years he commanded a small contingent of royal ships, refining and improving these skills (Admiral).
In 23 AC, Lord Medgar and his eldest son by his second wife and designated heir Eddard Manderly, a young man of 23 years old, were ambushed by crannogmen when they went to investigate the ruins of Moat Cailin. Medgar was killed and Eddard was mortally wounded in the same fight and died some days later. Medgar’s other sons 22 year old Emmon and 19 year old Edgar managed to escape the crannogmen and with the help of retainers and Lord Medgar’s brother Desmond returned safely to White Harbor.
A power struggle for the control of White Harbor now ensued. Lord Medgar’s younger brother Desmond Manderly took the opportunity to seize White Harbor attempting with Lord Medgar’s widow Lady Myrcella to make young Emmon Manderly the new lord of White Harbor with himself and his sister-by-law as regents and ruler. His father’s death allowed Damon, as Lord Medgar’s eldest son to lay claim to White Harbor attempting to depose his uncle. Concerned about the growing power of White Harbor Lord Alaric, now serving as the realm’s Master of Laws in exchange for an oath of fealty to his person, Lord Alaric publicly invested Damon Manderly as Lord of White Harbor. Lord Stark placed Damon in charge of a force with the task of securing his claim. Defeating his uncle in a pitched battle, Damon deposed and imprisoned his half-brother Emmon, his uncle Desmond and his sister-by-law. Not wishing to kill his younger brother and uncle, Damon kept Desmond in close but comfortable confinement at White Harbor, while Emmon, (now effectively his heir) was exiled, so as not to be tempted to make another attempt on ruling White Harbor. Emmon went to King Landing south where he was stabbed to death in a brawl in Flea Bottom by a Westerlands knight of House Clifton. Shortly after the Lady Myrcella died of illness, but some say of grief and despair at the loss of her husband and two eldest sons.
Since his elevation to the Lord of White Harbor, two years ago, Damon has made concerted efforts to further develop White Harbor’s trade links. A trade fleet has been constructed and Damon has sent out feelers to some of the city states of Essos (Merchantman), in particular Braavos. Seeking further links Damon has now travelled south to Kings Landing for the princes’ 18^th name day celebrations.
Timeline

• 9 BC – Damon is born the eldest son of Lord Medgar and his first wife Iolande Ashford.
• 7 BC – Damon’s younger full brother Daron is born, but their mother dies in childbirth.
• 2 BC – Damon is fostered at Winterfell while his brother Daron is fostered with his mother’s family.
• 1 AC – Lord Medgar marries Myrcella Waynwood. Their eldest son Eddard (Damon’s eldest half brother) is born the same year.
• 2 AC - Emmon Manderly is born.
• 3 AC – Alaric Manderly is born.
• 4 AC – Edgar Manderly is born.
• 5 AC – Torrhen Stark bends the knee to Aegon the Conqueror.
• 6 AC – Ellyn Manderly is born.
• 8 AC – Alesander Manderly is born.
• 9 AC – Damon is knighted at the age of 18.
• 12 AC – Mara Manderly is born.
• 14 AC – Daven Manderly is born. Torrhen Stark is assassinated.
• 15 AC – Damon’s father Medgar is present at King’s landing for the great hunt. Bandits attack and kill many including Damon’s 21 year old brother Daron Manderly.
• 23 AC – Lord Medgar Manderly and his eldest son by his second wife Eddard are killed in battle against the crannogmen near Moat Cailin. Damon;s younger half brother Emmon Manderly and his uncle Desmond claim White Harbor, but are defeated by Damon and men leant to him by Alaric Stark. Desmond places under house arrest and Emmon is exiled.
• 24 AC – Emmon Manderly dies in a knife fight in Kings Landing against a knight of House Clifton.
• 25 AC – Damon travels to King Landing for the 18^th name day of the Targaryen princes.

Family Tree – 25 AC

Here

Hey, I've just moved to Kharghar and I've been looking for a basketball court, can't seem to find a one open to public. Anyone w any info?

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sportevents
Fußball-Weltmeisterschaft
Die Fußball-Weltmeisterschaft ist eines der größten Sportereignisse der Welt und zieht Millionen von Fans aus der ganzen Welt an. Dieses prestigeträchtige Turnier wird alle vier Jahre von der FIFA ausgerichtet und ist ein Schauplatz für erstklassige Fußballaction, aufregende Spiele und unvergessliche Momente.
Das Turnier bringt die besten Fußballnationen der Welt zusammen, die um den begehrten Titel des Weltmeisters kämpfen. Die Qualifikationsrunden, die Monate im Voraus stattfinden, sind ein nervenaufreibender Prozess, bei dem jede Mannschaft ihr Bestes geben muss, um sich einen Platz im Hauptturnier zu sichern.
Die Geschichte der Fußball-Weltmeisterschaft ist reich an Legenden und ikonischen Momenten. Von Pelés herausragenden Leistungen in den 1970er Jahren bis zu Diego Maradonas "Hand Gottes" im Jahr 1986 hat das Turnier zahlreiche unvergessliche Augenblicke hervorgebracht, die in die Fußballgeschichte eingegangen sind.
Für die teilnehmenden Nationen ist die Fußball-Weltmeisterschaft mehr als nur ein Sportereignis – es ist eine Gelegenheit, Stolz für ihr Land zu zeigen und die nationale Einheit zu stärken. Die Fans unterstützen ihre Mannschaften leidenschaftlich und verwandeln die Stadien in ein Meer aus Farben und Gesängen.
Die Auswirkungen der Fußball-Weltmeisterschaft reichen über den Sport hinaus und haben auch wirtschaftliche, soziale und kulturelle Auswirkungen. Gastgeberländer profitieren von einem Anstieg des Tourismus und der Infrastrukturinvestitionen, während die Welt sich zusammenfindet, um die Freude am Fußball zu feiern.
Insgesamt ist die Fußball-Weltmeisterschaft ein Ereignis, das die Herzen und Köpfe der Menschen auf der ganzen Welt vereint und den Geist des Wettbewerbs, der Gemeinschaft und der Leidenschaft verkörpert.
Olympische Spiele
Die Olympischen Spiele sind ein globales Sportereignis, das Athleten aus der ganzen Welt zusammenbringt, um in verschiedenen Disziplinen zu konkurrieren. Diese Veranstaltung hat eine lange und bedeutungsvolle Geschichte, die bis ins antike Griechenland zurückreicht. Ursprünglich wurden die Olympischen Spiele zu Ehren des Gottes Zeus abgehalten und waren eine der wichtigsten Veranstaltungen im antiken Griechenland.
Nach einer langen Pause wurden die Olympischen Spiele im Jahr 1896 in ihrer modernen Form wiedereingeführt und finden seitdem alle vier Jahre statt. Diese Veranstaltung hat sich zu einem der größten und prestigeträchtigsten Sportereignisse der Welt entwickelt. Athleten aus allen Ecken der Erde reisen an, um sich in Sportarten wie Leichtathletik, Schwimmen, Turnen, Basketball und vielen anderen zu messen.
Die Olympischen Spiele sind nicht nur ein Schauplatz für sportliche Leistungen, sondern auch eine Gelegenheit für Länder, ihre Kultur und Traditionen zu präsentieren. Die Eröffnungs- und Abschlussfeiern sind oft spektakuläre Shows, die Millionen von Zuschauern auf der ganzen Welt begeistern. Darüber hinaus fördern die Spiele den Zusammenhalt und die Völkerverständigung, indem sie Menschen unterschiedlicher Nationalitäten und Hintergründe zusammenbringen.
Die Organisation der Olympischen Spiele erfordert eine immense logistische und finanzielle Anstrengung. Gastgeberländer investieren oft Milliarden von Dollar in die Infrastruktur und Sicherheitsmaßnahmen, um eine reibungslose Durchführung der Spiele zu gewährleisten. Trotz der Herausforderungen bleiben die Olympischen Spiele eine Feier des Sports und der menschlichen Leistungsfähigkeit, die Millionen von Menschen auf der ganzen Welt inspiriert und vereint.
Tennis-Turniere
Titel: Eine Übersicht über Tennis-Turniere: Von Grand Slams bis hin zu lokalen Wettbewerben
Tennis ist eine beliebte Sportart, die weltweit Millionen von Fans begeistert. Eines der aufregendsten Elemente des Tennis sind die verschiedenen Turniere, die das ganze Jahr über stattfinden. Von den prestigeträchtigen Grand Slam-Turnieren bis hin zu lokalen Wettbewerben bieten Tennisveranstaltungen eine Vielzahl von Möglichkeiten für Spieler und Zuschauer gleichermaßen.
Die Grand Slam-Turniere, bestehend aus den Australian Open, den French Open, Wimbledon und den US Open, sind zweifellos die Höhepunkte der Tennissaison. Diese Veranstaltungen ziehen die besten Spieler der Welt an und bieten einzigartige Traditionen und eine beeindruckende Atmosphäre. Die Australian Open markieren den Beginn des Jahres und finden auf den Hartplätzen von Melbourne statt. Die French Open, die auf dem roten Sand von Roland Garros ausgetragen werden, sind bekannt für ihre anspruchsvollen Bedingungen und die dominierende Präsenz von Rafael Nadal. Wimbledon, das älteste Tennisturnier der Welt, ist berühmt für sein Rasenspiel und seine königliche Atmosphäre. Die US Open, die auf den Hartplätzen von Flushing Meadows in New York stattfinden, sind für ihre energiegeladene Stimmung und die späten Matches bekannt.
Neben den Grand Slam-Turnieren gibt es eine Vielzahl anderer Wettbewerbe auf der ATP- und WTA-Tour, darunter Masters-1000-Turniere, ATP Finals, WTA Finals und viele mehr. Diese Veranstaltungen bieten den Spielern die Möglichkeit, Punkte für ihre Weltranglistenplatzierungen zu sammeln und sich vor einem globalen Publikum zu präsentieren.
Darüber hinaus spielen auch lokale Tennisvereine eine wichtige Rolle bei der Förderung des Sports. Sie organisieren regelmäßig Turniere für Spieler aller Altersgruppen und Fähigkeitsstufen, wodurch die Tennisgemeinschaft gestärkt und neue Talente entdeckt werden.
Insgesamt bieten Tennis-Turniere eine vielfältige und spannende Welt des Wettbewerbs für Spieler und Fans gleichermaßen. Von den Glanzlichtern der Grand Slam-Turniere bis hin zu den lokalen Wettbewerben gibt es für jeden Tennisliebhaber etwas zu genießen.
Marathonläufe
Marathonläufe sind eine der anspruchsvollsten Ausdauersportarten, die Menschen auf der ganzen Welt herausfordern. Diese Langstreckenrennen erstrecken sich über die klassische Distanz von 42,195 Kilometern und erfordern von den Teilnehmern nicht nur körperliche Fitness, sondern auch mentale Stärke und Ausdauer.
Die Geschichte des Marathonlaufs geht auf die Legende von Pheidippides zurück, einem antiken griechischen Läufer, der im Jahr 490 v. Chr. von der Stadt Marathon nach Athen lief, um die Nachricht des Sieges über die Perser zu überbringen. Diese Legende inspirierte die moderne Veranstaltung des Marathonlaufs, die erstmals bei den Olympischen Spielen der Neuzeit im Jahr 1896 in Athen stattfand.
Heutzutage gibt es weltweit zahlreiche Marathonläufe, von denen viele eine große Anzahl von Teilnehmern aus verschiedenen Ländern anziehen. Zu den bekanntesten gehören der Boston-Marathon, der New York City Marathon, der Berlin-Marathon und der London-Marathon. Diese Veranstaltungen bieten nicht nur Elite-Athleten die Möglichkeit, sich zu messen, sondern auch Amateuren und Freizeitläufern die Chance, persönliche Ziele zu erreichen und sich selbst zu übertreffen.
Die Vorbereitung auf einen Marathon erfordert eine gründliche Trainingsplanung, die Laufeinheiten, Krafttraining und Ernährungsmanagement umfasst. Während des Rennens müssen die Läufer mit verschiedenen Herausforderungen wie Ermüdung, Dehydrierung und mentaler Erschöpfung umgehen. Eine gute Renntaktik und mentale Strategien sind entscheidend, um das Ziel zu erreichen und die Strecke erfolgreich zu bewältigen.
Marathonläufe sind nicht nur ein Test der körperlichen Leistungsfähigkeit, sondern auch eine Gelegenheit für Teilnehmer, ihren persönlichen Ehrgeiz und ihre Entschlossenheit zu demonstrieren. Sie fördern Gemeinschaftssinn und Zusammengehörigkeitsgefühl unter den Läufern und tragen zur Förderung eines gesunden Lebensstils bei.
Radrennen
Radrennen sind eine aufregende und beliebte Sportart, die sowohl Profis als auch Amateure gleichermaßen begeistert. Diese Wettkämpfe bieten nicht nur eine spannende Möglichkeit, sich sportlich zu betätigen, sondern ziehen auch zahlreiche Zuschauer an, die die Athleten begeistert anfeuern.
Der Reiz von Radrennen liegt nicht nur in der physischen Herausforderung, sondern auch in der Taktik und Strategie, die während des Rennens eine wichtige Rolle spielen. Fahrer müssen nicht nur über eine ausgezeichnete Ausdauer verfügen, sondern auch über das Geschick, im Peloton zu navigieren und zum richtigen Zeitpunkt Angriffe zu starten.
Es gibt verschiedene Arten von Radrennen, darunter Straßenrennen, Zeitfahren, Bergrennen und Bahnradsport. Jede Disziplin erfordert spezifische Fähigkeiten und bietet ein einzigartiges Rennerlebnis. Beim Straßenrennen kämpfen die Fahrer auf öffentlichen Straßen um den Sieg, während beim Bahnradsport Geschwindigkeit und Präzision auf speziell dafür gebauten Velodromen im Vordergrund stehen.
Radrennen haben eine lange und faszinierende Geschichte, die bis ins 19. Jahrhundert zurückreicht. Seitdem haben sie sich zu einem globalen Phänomen entwickelt, das Menschen aus allen Ecken der Welt zusammenbringt, sei es als Teilnehmer oder als enthusiastische Zuschauer.
Für viele Radsportfans sind Radrennen mehr als nur ein Sport – sie sind ein Lebensstil. Die Atmosphäre bei diesen Veranstaltungen ist oft elektrisierend, und die Begeisterung der Teilnehmer und Fans ist ansteckend. Radrennen sind nicht nur ein Test der physischen Stärke, sondern auch eine Feier der Leidenschaft und Hingabe zum Radsport.

Bonjour à toutes et à tous ami(e)s architectes ! J'espère que vous allez bien 😁 Je suppose qu'un grand nombre d'entre vous pratiquent ce métier dans ce groupe. J'aimerais avoir vos points de vue d'experts sur la compétitivité au sein de votre secteur d'activité.
Pas de panique, je ne suis pas un de vos concurrents, je réalise seulement une étude académique sur ce sujet. Le formulaire est anonyme et très court (11 questions à cocher). Si vous pouvez y répondre ça serait super 😁 Cela m'aiderait à mieux appréhender le domaine et mettre toutes les chances de mon côté pour réussir ma thèse !
Merci à vous, pour celles et ceux qui souhaitent participer, le lien du questionnaire se trouve ci dessous.
Bonne journée tout le monde, je vous souhaite pleins de réussite dans vos projets 🏆
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScGgLGPb-Ko3FA-X28KMN8HftMPzjTVdWEkmOVStc3IfU9Z7Q/viewform?usp=sf_link

On the Origin of the Buddhist Arthakathás Cambridge University Press (1871)

"—the commentary, I say, upon this Scripture was
at the first Council rehearsed by five hundred holy elders
and in later times rehearsed again and yet again."

L. Comrilla Vijasinha, Government Interpreter to the Ratnapura Court Ceylon:
It must be admitted that the point raised by Mr. Childers is one of grave importance as affecting the credibility of Buddhaghosa and the authenticity of all the commentaries on the Tipitaka. From a missionary point of view, the astounding statement that a commentary on Buddha's discourses existed during his lifetime, and was rehearsed along with those discourses at the First Great Council, appears so improbable and unnatural as at once to justify one in discrediting the testimony; and I doubt not that missionary orientalists will hail the discovery as a valuable addition to their stock of arguments against the genuineness and authenticity of the Buddhist Scriptures.
Indeed I found it difficult at first to obtain the opinions of some of my learned friends of the Buddhist priesthood on this point, as they seemed to regard it as another thunderbolt intended to be levelled against their religion by some enthusiastic missionary ; and it was only after explaining to them the object of the inquiry, and the literary character of the gentleman who started the apparent difficulty, that I could induce them to look the question fairly in the face.
I am glad to say that most of my clerical Buddhist friends with whom I have consulted on this subject agree with me on the necessity of giving a wider and more extended signification than is generally allowed to the word Atthakathá as applied by Buddhaghosa in the passage cited. The word, as is well known, is compounded of two terms, attha, " meaning, " and katha , " a statement, explanation, or narrative," the dental t being changed to the cerebral by a latitude in the rules of permutation.1 The literal meaning of the compound term would thus amount to simply " an ex- planation of meaning. " Taking this wider sense of the word as a basis for the solution of the problem, I think the statement of Buddhaghosa in his preface to the commentary on the Dígha Nikáya is not so hopelessly irreconcilable with probable and presumable facts as would at first sight appear.
On a careful perusal of the two accounts given by Buddhaghosa of the proceedings of the three famous Councils in the Sumańgala Vilásiní and the Samanta Pásádiká, this view will, I think, be found to be very reasonable. It must be admitted that no actual commentary, in the sense that the westerns attach to that term, and like that which has been handed down to us by Buddhaghosa, existed either in the lifetime of Buddha or immediately after his death. The reasons adduced by Mr. Childers, apart from others that can easily be added, against such a supposition, are overwhelmingly convincing. But if we suppose that by the word Atthakathá in his preface Buddhaghosa only meant to convey the idea that at the various Councils held for the purpose of collocating the discourses and sayings of Buddha, the meanings to be attached to different terms were discussed and properly defined, then the difficulty of conceiving the contemporaneous existence pf the commentaries and the Pitakas would be entirely removed.
This view of the subject will appear still further borne out if we briefly glance over the history of the First Convocation, as narrated by Buddhaghosa himself. The first proposal to hold an assembly of priests for the purpose of collocating Buddha's discourses was made by Mahá Kassapa, the chief of the seven hundred thousand priests who assembled at Kusinára to celebrate the obsequies of the departed saint. Seven days had hardly elapsed after that mournful occurrence, when signs of discontent at monastic restraint manifested themselves, and a disaffected disciple of Buddha named Subhadda openly proclaimed that now their master was no more the ties of discipline should be relaxed, if not broken. The words of consolation offered by this old monk to his brethren in distress are certainly remarkable, as it would be difficult to say whether they betoken more the callousness of his feelings or the depravity of his heart: " Brethren, enough of this sorrow, weep not, lament not. We are well rid of that Arch-priest, having been in constant dread of his declarations, This befits you, this befits you not. Now, there- fore, what we desire we shall do; what we do not desire that shall we not do." To a sagacious mind like that of Mahá Kassapa it was not difficult to perceive what language like this foreshadowed, and he instantly formed the resolve to congregate the priesthood, and to collect and arrange the laws and doctrines proclaimed by his Master. Hardly two months had elapsed before this active mind brought about what it had contemplated, and the result was the Council of the Five Hundred, convoked at Kájagaha, under the auspices of King Ajátasattu, for the purpose of collecting and arrang- ing the doctrines and discourses of Buddha.
The proceedings of this Council appear to have been con- ducted in a very orderly and systematic manner, which is the more surprising when we consider that monastic autocracy was about to give place to a form of church government prescribed by the great Founder himself, but which was now to be established and tested for the first time. Mahá Kassapa, whom Buddha indirectly indicated as his equal in point of superhuman mental acquirements, assumed the office of Moderator, and by the unanimous consent of the synod Upáli was elected as the best qualified of their order to repeat the Yinaya, and Ānanda the Dhamma ; the Council having previously decided that the Yinaya was the most material for the permanence of Buddhism.
Now it is important to observe that the catechetical form was used in the collocation of both the Laws and Doctrines. "Afterwards Mahá Kassapa, having seated himself in the presidential chair, questioned the venerable Upáli respecting the Yinaya in this wise. Brother Upáli, where was the first Párájika promulgated? My lord, at Vesáli. On whose account? On account of Sudinna, the son of Kalanda. With regard to what offence? To fornication. Then did the venerable Mahá Kassapa question the venerable Upáli on the offence, the cause, the offender, the primary law, the secondary law, the transgression and the non-transgression, relating to the first law enacted against mortal sin. And the venerable Upáli explained as he was questioned." Such was also the method employed in the synod in the collocation of the Dhamma : - " Brother Ananda, where was the Brahmajála delivered ? My lord, between Rájagaha and Nálanda," and so on. Though it is subsequently added that " at the conclusion of the questions and answers the five hundred Arhats repeated the texts together in the order in which they had been collocated,"- it is difficult to believe that all' the five hundred rehearsed the long narratives prefixed to some of Buddha's discourses in the same words and style that they are now clothed in. Buddhaghosa's account of the synod is gathered from tradition, which was very probably embodied in the Simhalese atthakathás, and there can be little doubt that the main facts are correct ; but that he drew largely from tradition, written and oral, and possibly in some instances from imagination, will I think appear clear to any careful reader of the commentaries. Witness for instance his relation of Ananda's mysterious entrance into the assembly : pathaviyam nimujjitvá ottano árnne y em attánam dassesi , ákásena gantvá nisïdîti pi eke , " He plunged into the earth and showed himself in his seat, and also some say he went through the air and sat down." He does not say which version is correct, but is quite satisfied with both accounts, and is evidently quite willing to let his readers choose whichever they like.
Buddhaghosa throughout all his writings appears to have set one great object prominently in view, namely to inspire reverence for what he considered as supreme authority. When he came to Ceylon for the purpose of translating the Simhalese commentaries, he found a great many extant at that time, and out of these commentaries, embracing no doubt various shades of opinion, and representing different schools of thought, he had to expunge, abridge, enlarge, and make a new commentary. Now how could he do all this, and at the same time preserve undiminished among future generations the same reverence and authority in which the older commentaries were held by the Buddhists of that age? The thought struck him, as no doubt it would strike any careful reader of the Buddhist Scriptures, that a large portion of the writings contained in that canon appear to be explanations and definitions of terms used by Buddha, and also that a great many discourses said to have been delivered by Buddha to certain individuals have not been recorded.
Now what more easy to conceive, or what more probable, than that they formed the nucleus of matter for the formation of a commentary, and that at the First General Council, which lasted seven months, the elders, who had all seen and heard Buddha, should have dis- cussed them, and decided on the method of interpreting and teaching the more recondite portions of Buddhist philosophy ? and what therefore if he should say in somewhat exaggerated language, " the commentary on the Digha Nikáya was at the beginning discussed (or composed, or merged into the body of the Scriptures) by five hundred holy elders" ? - for the original words may admit of such a construction. If or will this opinion appear merely hypothetical if we carefully peruse the account given by Buddhaghosa of the commentaries in his Samanta Pásádiká. In his metrical introduction to that work, after the usual doxology, he explains the necessity of having a proper Pali Commentary on the Vinaya, and then proceeds to set forth what he is about to do : -
"In commencing this commentary, I shall, having embodied therein the Mahá Atthakathá, without excluding any proper meaning from the decisions contained in the Mahá Paccarí, as also in the famous Kurundi and other com- mentaries, and including the opinions of the Elders, - perform my task well. Let the young, the middle-aged, and the elderly priests, who entertain a proper regard for the doctrines of the Tathágata, the luminary of truth, listen to my words with pleasure. The Dhamma, as well as the Yinaya, was declared by Buddha, his (sacerdotal) sons understood it in the same sense as it was delivered ; and inasmuch as in former times they (the Simhalese commentators) composed the com- mentaries without disregarding their (the sacerdotal sons') opinions, therefore, barring any erro* of transcription, every- thing contained therein is an authority to the learned in this priesthood who respect ecclesiastical discipline. From these (Simhalese) commentaries, after casting off the language, condensing detailed accounts, including authoritative deci- sions, and without overstepping any Pàli idiom (I shall pro- ceed to compose). And as this commentary will moreover be explanatory of the meaning of words belonging. to the Suttas in conformity with the sense attached to them therein, therefore ought it the more diligently to be studied."
....continued...
On the Origin of the Buddhist Arthakathás Cambridge University Press (1871)

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Hello good people of Reddit,
Our daughter was born abroad, and so in lieu of a state-issued birth certificate she has a Consular Report of Birth Abroad (CRBA). The clerk entered her name incorrectly, and now the State Department of Vital Records is refusing to correct it without a court order.
What court do we even do that in?
The name change instructions on the state court website (California) seem to only address changes to California-issued birth certificates. Which makes sense, why would a California court be able to order the State Department to do something. So is this a federal issue? Or like a local DC court?
Things we have tried so far:

• Reaching out to the immigration attorney we worked with in the past. They said they don't handle this kind of case. But this is at the end of a day a simple, non-adversarial administrative issue, so we shouldn't need a lawyer to fill out a form and we have all of the documents and affadavits needed.
• Contacting our elected representative. They contacted the State Department on our behalf but said that as the State Department is saying they are following their own internal policies, there's nothing they can do.

We've been trying to solve this issue for two years without success.
Thank you for your help.

Hi everyone. I’m trying to see if anyone has had a similar experience to me that happened 2 days ago. I’ve recently had a sleep schedule that has been very disorganized and can range from getting too much or too little sleep every other day. This has been on going for the past 3 months but has recently gotten worse the last 2-3 weeks. The other night, I experienced sleep paralysis within a couple of minutes of dozing off and couldn’t go back to sleep for a little while. After that, my body felt like it was too exhausted to breathe while asleep so then every time I dozed off, my body would “shock itself” back awake which was preventing me from sleeping. It soon turned into having auditory and visual hallucinations roughly an hour or two later. Then it slowly led into paranoia. I would forget something I would do right after I did it and was convinced that I wasn’t alone in my house. I got to a point where I went to the bathroom and it felt like the entire bathroom was caving in on me. I then probably had the worst panic attack I’ve ever had in my life and was just crying and shaking uncontrollably. It genuinely felt like I was going crazy. I could barely form a thought without blanking out and life just felt like a waking nightmare. I then couldn’t fall back asleep for almost 5 hours and now I can start to feel lingering effects setting in. I’ve been trying to sleep more but honestly, it’s so difficult to get myself to fall asleep and am borderline terrified to, but being awake is starting to feel like a fever dream and just not real. Has anyone ever had this or have any advice as to how to make this stop ( other than getting more sleep, im trying that already :/ )

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Sportwetten-Angebote
Sportwetten-Angebote sind in der heutigen Zeit weit verbreitet und erfreuen sich einer großen Beliebtheit unter Sportfans und Glücksspiel-Enthusiasten. Diese Angebote ermöglichen es den Menschen, auf verschiedene Sportereignisse zu wetten, von Fußball über Tennis bis hin zu Basketball und mehr.
Eine Vielzahl von Anbietern bietet Sportwetten an, und sie konkurrieren ständig miteinander, um die besten Angebote und Quoten zu bieten, um die Aufmerksamkeit der Kunden auf sich zu ziehen. Diese Angebote können verschiedene Formen annehmen, darunter Willkommensboni für neue Spieler, Gratiswetten, erhöhte Quoten für bestimmte Veranstaltungen und vieles mehr.
Ein wichtiger Aspekt bei der Auswahl eines Sportwetten-Angebots ist die Sicherheit und Zuverlässigkeit des Anbieters. Es ist wichtig, dass der Anbieter lizenziert und reguliert ist, um ein faires und transparentes Spielerlebnis zu gewährleisten. Darüber hinaus sollten Spieler darauf achten, dass der Anbieter eine Vielzahl von Zahlungsmethoden akzeptiert und über eine benutzerfreundliche Plattform verfügt.
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Online-Wettplattformen
Titel: Die Welt der Online-Wettplattformen: Eine umfassende Einführung
In den letzten Jahren hat die Popularität von Online-Wettplattformen stark zugenommen. Diese Plattformen bieten eine Vielzahl von Wettmöglichkeiten für Sportbegeisterte und Glücksspielenthusiasten gleichermaßen. Doch was genau sind Online-Wettplattformen und wie funktionieren sie?
Online-Wettplattformen sind Websites oder Apps, auf denen Nutzer Wetten auf verschiedene Ereignisse platzieren können, wie zum Beispiel Sportveranstaltungen, politische Ereignisse oder sogar Unterhaltungsshows. Diese Plattformen bieten eine Vielzahl von Wettoptionen, von einfachen Geldlinien-Wetten bis hin zu komplexen Mehrwegwetten.
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Es ist jedoch wichtig zu beachten, dass das Wetten auf Online-Wettplattformen mit Risiken verbunden ist. Glücksspiel kann süchtig machen und zu finanziellen Problemen führen, wenn es nicht verantwortungsbewusst betrieben wird. Es ist daher ratsam, verantwortungsbewusst zu wetten und sich der eigenen Grenzen bewusst zu sein.
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Live-Wetten-Möglichkeiten
Live-Wetten sind eine aufregende Möglichkeit, Sportereignisse in Echtzeit zu verfolgen und darauf zu wetten. Im Gegensatz zu herkömmlichen Wetten können Live-Wetten während des Spiels platziert werden, was den Nervenkitzel und die Spannung für die Teilnehmer erhöht.
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Eine weitere beliebte Live-Wetten-Option sind die sogenannten "Cash-Out"-Funktionen, die es den Wettern ermöglichen, ihre Wetten vorzeitig zu verkaufen, entweder um einen Gewinn zu sichern oder Verluste zu minimieren, basierend auf den aktuellen Spielbedingungen und Quoten. Dies bietet den Wettern eine zusätzliche Flexibilität und Kontrolle über ihre Wetten.
Live-Wetten sind nicht nur auf traditionelle Sportarten beschränkt, sondern können auch auf eine Vielzahl anderer Veranstaltungen wie E-Sport-Turniere, politische Debatten und sogar Reality-TV-Shows abgeschlossen werden. Dies bietet den Teilnehmern eine Vielzahl von Möglichkeiten, ihre Wetten auf ihre Interessen und Vorlieben abzustimmen.
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Bonusaktionen für Sportwetten
Bonusaktionen sind ein wichtiger Bestandteil der Welt der Sportwetten. Sie dienen dazu, Spieler zu belohnen und ihre Erfahrung beim Wetten zu verbessern. Diese Aktionen bieten den Spielern oft zusätzliches Geld, Freiwetten oder andere Belohnungen, um ihre Treue zu belohnen und sie dazu zu ermutigen, weiterhin Wetten zu platzieren.
Es gibt verschiedene Arten von Bonusaktionen für Sportwetten, die von verschiedenen Buchmachern angeboten werden. Eine beliebte Art von Bonus ist der Willkommensbonus, der neuen Spielern angeboten wird, wenn sie sich bei einem Wettanbieter registrieren. Dieser Bonus kann in Form von Gratiswetten oder einem Einzahlungsbonus angeboten werden, bei dem der Wettanbieter die erste Einzahlung des Spielers bis zu einem bestimmten Betrag verdoppelt.
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Darüber hinaus bieten viele Buchmacher auch spezielle Aktionen für bestimmte Sportveranstaltungen oder -turniere an. Diese können beispielsweise Gratiswetten für bestimmte Spiele oder verbesserte Quoten für ausgewählte Wetten umfassen.
Es ist jedoch wichtig zu beachten, dass Bonusaktionen oft mit bestimmten Bedingungen und Anforderungen verbunden sind. Bevor man einen Bonus in Anspruch nimmt, sollte man daher die Geschäftsbedingungen sorgfältig lesen, um sicherzustellen, dass man die Anforderungen erfüllen kann und versteht, wie der Bonus funktioniert.
Insgesamt können Bonusaktionen eine großartige Möglichkeit sein, um das Beste aus dem Wetten herauszuholen und zusätzliche Belohnungen zu erhalten. Es lohnt sich jedoch, die verschiedenen Angebote zu vergleichen und die Bedingungen zu überprüfen, um sicherzustellen, dass man das beste Angebot für sich findet.
Mobile Wett-Apps
Mobile Wett-Apps sind zu einem unverzichtbaren Werkzeug für Sportwettenliebhaber geworden, die ihre Wetten unterwegs platzieren möchten. Diese Apps bieten eine bequeme Möglichkeit, Wetten in Echtzeit abzuschließen, egal wo man sich befindet. Mit einer Vielzahl von Funktionen und Optionen bieten sie ein erstklassiges Wetterlebnis direkt auf dem Smartphone oder Tablet.
Eine der wichtigsten Funktionen von Mobile Wett-Apps ist die Benutzerfreundlichkeit. Sie sind so gestaltet, dass sie einfach zu bedienen sind, auch für diejenigen, die nicht über viel technisches Know-how verfügen. Durch intuitive Navigation und übersichtliche Menüs können Benutzer problemlos durch die App navigieren und ihre Wetten schnell platzieren.
Darüber hinaus bieten Mobile Wett-Apps Zugang zu einer Vielzahl von Sportarten und Veranstaltungen weltweit. Egal, ob es sich um Fußball, Basketball, Tennis oder sogar Esports handelt, Benutzer können aus einer breiten Palette von Optionen wählen und ihre Wetten platzieren, während das Spiel läuft.
Eine weitere wichtige Funktion von Mobile Wett-Apps ist die Möglichkeit, Live-Wetten abzuschließen. Diese Funktion ermöglicht es den Benutzern, Wetten in Echtzeit abzuschließen, während das Spiel läuft. Dies verleiht dem Wetterlebnis eine zusätzliche Spannung und Aufregung, da Benutzer ihre Wetten anpassen können, basierend auf dem aktuellen Spielverlauf.
Zusammenfassend bieten Mobile Wett-Apps eine bequeme und unterhaltsame Möglichkeit, Wetten von überall und zu jeder Zeit abzuschließen. Mit ihrer Benutzerfreundlichkeit, dem Zugang zu einer Vielzahl von Sportarten und Live-Wettfunktionen sind sie ein unverzichtbares Werkzeug für Sportwettenliebhaber, die auch unterwegs nicht auf ihr Hobby verzichten möchten.

1. Our child support case was recently granted a continuation to next week. Well im 38 weeks pregnant and could go into labor any moment. So I requested to attend court remotely. They sent me the paper work with no instruction. How do I submit the form to attend remotely without having to go in to the court house? It is an hour away from me .
   
2. Once they received all his paperwork the court came up with a specific amount for him to pay, he denied it and offered something less than half of what it was. When we finally go to court will they make us come to an agreement or will they make him stick with the amount they came up with if I do not agree to his offer?
   

TIA!

parions soort en ligne
Paris sportifs en ligne
Les paris sportifs en ligne sont devenus de plus en plus populaires auprès des amateurs de sports et des parieurs en France. Avec la montée en puissance des sites de paris en ligne, il est devenu plus facile que jamais de parier sur une grande variété de sports, des matchs de football aux courses de chevaux en passant par le tennis et le basketball.
Les avantages des paris sportifs en ligne sont nombreux. Tout d'abord, ils offrent une plus grande commodité, car les parieurs peuvent placer leurs paris depuis chez eux ou en déplacement via des applications mobiles dédiées. De plus, les sites de paris en ligne proposent souvent une plus large gamme de paris et de cotes, ce qui permet aux joueurs de trouver les meilleures offres et de maximiser leurs gains.
Cependant, il est important de parier de manière responsable et de ne pas tomber dans l'excès. Il est recommandé de définir un budget de jeu et de ne pas parier plus que ce que l'on peut se permettre de perdre. De plus, il est essentiel de choisir des sites de paris en ligne fiables et licenciés par l'Autorité de régulation des jeux en ligne (ARJEL) en France pour garantir la sécurité de ses transactions et de ses données personnelles.
En conclusion, les paris sportifs en ligne offrent une expérience passionnante et divertissante pour les amateurs de sports, à condition d'être pratiqués de manière responsable et sur des sites de confiance. Que vous soyez un fervent supporter ou un parieur occasionnel, les paris sportifs en ligne peuvent ajouter une dimension supplémentaire à votre passion pour le sport.
Cotes et pronostics
Les cotes et pronostics sont des éléments essentiels dans le domaine des paris sportifs. Que ce soit pour les amateurs ou les professionnels, comprendre comment fonctionnent les cotes et comment établir des pronostics peut faire toute la différence lorsqu'il s'agit de parier sur un événement sportif.
Les cotes, également appelées cotes de paris, sont des chiffres qui représentent la probabilité d'un événement sportif donné, comme une victoire d'une équipe ou le nombre de buts marqués lors d'un match. Plus une équipe est favorite, plus sa cote sera faible, et inversement. Il est important de savoir interpréter les cotes pour estimer les gains potentiels et le risque associé à un pari.
Les pronostics, quant à eux, consistent à analyser les différents facteurs qui peuvent influencer le résultat d'un événement sportif, tels que la forme des équipes, les conditions météorologiques ou les blessures de joueurs clés. En combinant une analyse approfondie avec les cotes proposées par les bookmakers, il est possible de maximiser ses chances de succès dans les paris sportifs.
Il est recommandé de se renseigner auprès de professionnels du domaine ou de consulter des sites spécialisés pour obtenir des conseils avisés en matière de cotes et de pronostics. En comprenant ces éléments et en les utilisant de manière pertinente, il est possible de transformer sa passion pour le sport en une activité lucrative et divertissante grâce aux paris sportifs.
Bookmakers en ligne
Les paris sportifs en ligne sont devenus de plus en plus populaires ces dernières années, permettant aux amateurs de sports de parier sur une variété de événements sportifs en direct tout en profitant d'une commodité sans précédent. Les bookmakers en ligne offrent une plateforme simple et efficace pour les parieurs, avec des cotes actualisées en temps réel et une large gamme de choix de paris.
Comparé aux maisons de paris traditionnelles, les bookmakers en ligne offrent une plus grande variété de sports sur lesquels parier, ainsi que des options de paris plus flexibles. De plus, les utilisateurs peuvent parier à tout moment et n'importe où grâce aux applications mobiles dédiées ou aux sites web optimisés pour les appareils mobiles.
Les bookmakers en ligne offrent également des bonus et des promotions attractifs pour attirer de nouveaux clients et fidéliser les joueurs existants. Ces offres peuvent inclure des bonus de bienvenue, des paris gratuits et des promotions spéciales pour certains événements sportifs.
Cependant, il est important de choisir un bookmaker en ligne fiable et sécurisé pour garantir une expérience de paris agréable. Il est recommandé de vérifier les licences et les réglementations en vigueur, ainsi que les options de paiement disponibles et le service clientèle proposé.
En conclusion, les bookmakers en ligne offrent une expérience de paris pratique et excitante pour les amateurs de sports, avec une variété de sports, des cotes actualisées en temps réel et des promotions attrayantes. Il est essentiel de choisir un bookmaker réputé pour garantir une expérience de jeu sûre et sécurisée.
Stratégies de paris
Les stratégies de paris sont des techniques utilisées par les parieurs pour augmenter leurs chances de gains lorsqu'ils misent de l'argent sur des événements sportifs ou d'autres types de compétitions. Ces stratégies varient en fonction des préférences et des objectifs de chaque parieur, mais elles visent toutes à maximiser les bénéfices potentiels tout en réduisant les risques de pertes.
Une des stratégies les plus populaires est la gestion de la bankroll, qui consiste à définir un budget spécifique dédié aux paris et à ne jamais le dépasser. En fixant des limites strictes, les parieurs peuvent éviter de perdre trop d'argent en cas de série de mauvais pronostics.
Une autre stratégie courante est le value betting, qui consiste à identifier des paris dont les cotes proposées par les bookmakers sont supérieures à la probabilité réelle de l'événement se produisant. En repérant ces opportunités de value, les parieurs peuvent maximiser leurs gains sur le long terme.
Certains parieurs préfèrent également suivre des tipsters, des experts en paris sportifs qui partagent leurs pronostics et analyses. En s'inspirant des conseils de ces professionnels, les parieurs peuvent prendre des décisions plus éclairées et augmenter leurs chances de succès.
En résumé, les stratégies de paris sont essentielles pour quiconque souhaite parier de manière responsable et rentable. En combinant une gestion rigoureuse de la bankroll, le repérage des value bets et des conseils avisés, les parieurs peuvent optimiser leurs chances de gagner et profiter pleinement de l'excitation des paris sportifs.
Bonus et promotions
Les bonus et les promotions sont des éléments incontournables dans l'univers des jeux en ligne, que ce soit dans les casinos, les sites de paris sportifs ou les plateformes de poker. Ces offres alléchantes permettent aux joueurs de profiter d'avantages supplémentaires et de maximiser leurs chances de gains.
Les bonus de bienvenue sont parmi les plus populaires et sont souvent proposés aux nouveaux inscrits. Il s'agit généralement d'un montant d'argent offert en bonus sur le premier dépôt effectué par le joueur, souvent accompagné de tours gratuits pour les machines à sous. Cela permet aux joueurs de découvrir les jeux disponibles et de commencer à jouer avec un capital plus conséquent.
Outre les bonus de bienvenue, de nombreuses promotions régulières sont également proposées aux joueurs fidèles. Il peut s'agir de tournois avec des lots attractifs, de cashback sur les pertes, de bonus de recharge ou encore de programmes de fidélité récompensant les joueurs les plus assidus.
Il est important de lire attentivement les conditions liées aux bonus et aux promotions, car ces offres sont souvent soumises à des exigences de mise avant de pouvoir retirer les gains générés. En respectant ces conditions, les joueurs peuvent pleinement profiter des avantages offerts par les bonus et les promotions et augmenter le plaisir de leur expérience de jeu en ligne.

I know we are all disappointed with how the lottery went and last season went but I think this community is devaluing the 5th pick a bit. I don’t think trading the pick for a borderline All-Star is going to get as anywhere long-term. Trading it for a player like Ingram (gonna have to max out as the injury prone player ages) or Dejounte Murray sounds like a recipe for mediocrity.
Whoever this team drafts just cannot be a non shooter. The pick has to either project as a shootehave good shooting form (Matas) or already be an elite sniper (Sheppard).
I think if this team can sign 3 players that shoot at least 37% from 3, we will be surprised how much better everything looks on the court. I would like to see a few of the following in a Pistons uniform next year - Cedi Osman, Toppin, Okoro, Naji Marshal, Jalen Smith, Melton, Gary Trent, McDermott, Kennard etc.
I think this team could get 3 of these dudes for an average of $10-15 million per year. Some will be more expensive (Gary Trent) and some will be cheaper (McDermott) but they are gettable. The team would still theoretically have enough money to since Hartenstein ($20-25 million per year) or absorb Capella’s contract in a salary dump if that becomes available. The team could then resign Tech and Grimes using bird rights.
It’s hard to fairly evaluate the young talent on this team because there is no spacing. If anyone drives, there are 4 defenders in the paint. The team I put forward in this scenario isn’t gonna win 50 games but they’ll be competent. A competent team, with competent NBA players, in a legitimate NBA offense with positional flexibility.
I think we could win 10+ more games than we did this year while still being able to have a shot in the lottery of next years stacked draft class.
If Ausar, Ivey (I still really believe in Ivey), Duren still look lost with shooting around them then this team already is a lost cause. It’d be time for another rebuild anyway but I do think it would be stupid to not at least give them the opportunity to fairly prove themselves.

There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the state’s capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
“What’s the deal with the new guy?” I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
“He’s trouble, man,” he said in a crisp accent. “He got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims he’s been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and that’s why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the whole story.”
“You have his file?” I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
“Jeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
“History: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
“Psychiatrist’s note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
“Patient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poor…”
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
“She’s going to follow you,” he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
“Oh, great!” I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldn’t care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
“Well, I’m Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. It’s good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,” I said, giving her a faint smile.
“That’s exciting!” Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patient’s number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
“OK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan and…” I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardo’s Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldn’t see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
“Stay here,” I commanded, seeing Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. “Don’t leave until I come back and say that it’s safe.” On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
“Doctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,” a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
“You don’t have to do this, man,” Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldn’t see what was happening, as Jeremiah’s large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardo’s back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardo’s body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
“Stay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,” Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
“Let’s talk about this,” I said, taking a step forward slowly. “You don’t want a murder charge, do you? You’ll never see the sky again.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I’m not afraid to die!” Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardo’s body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patients’ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
“You can come out,” a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. “I know you’re there.”
“Who’s there?” I called out, not stepping forward. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish…” the voice hissed. “But I think you’ll regret it.”
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a hesitant step back. “Where am I?”
“My name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,” he answered.
“Oh,” I said, my heart dropping. “Well, that’s not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?”
“So they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?” he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. “Of bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
“Indeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
“After the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
“Like Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
“His consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.”
Lucifer’s body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
“And yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything you’ve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but don’t be afraid.”
“How could I not be afraid?!” I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didn’t know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
“The siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,” he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. “Hell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.”
“How can Hell come and go?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t Hell a place?”
“Hell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,” Lucifer responded. “It eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.” He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
“What can I do against such a beast?” I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didn’t want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
“Seek divine wisdom,” he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. “Remember the source.”
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creature’s body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hell’s massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hell’s most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, “JESUS said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”
Now it read, “Nietzsche said, ‘Of all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.’” I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
“It’s right behind us!” she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. “Run! Get away!”
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The woman’s eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hell’s fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hell’s mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Clear!” one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young woman’s hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
“Again!” another voice yelled.
“Clear!” the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
“It’s OK,” one of the doctors said, kneeling down. “You’re being taken to emergency surgery. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each other’s, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
“Nnnn,” I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. “No…” The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, I’ll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, I’ll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I won’t wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.

There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the state’s capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
“What’s the deal with the new guy?” I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
“He’s trouble, man,” he said in a crisp accent. “He got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims he’s been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and that’s why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the whole story.”
“You have his file?” I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
“Jeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
“History: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
“Psychiatrist’s note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
“Patient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poor…”
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
“She’s going to follow you,” he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
“Oh, great!” I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldn’t care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
“Well, I’m Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. It’s good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,” I said, giving her a faint smile.
“That’s exciting!” Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patient’s number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
“OK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan and…” I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardo’s Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldn’t see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
“Stay here,” I commanded, seeing Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. “Don’t leave until I come back and say that it’s safe.” On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
“Doctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,” a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
“You don’t have to do this, man,” Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldn’t see what was happening, as Jeremiah’s large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardo’s back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardo’s body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
“Stay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,” Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
“Let’s talk about this,” I said, taking a step forward slowly. “You don’t want a murder charge, do you? You’ll never see the sky again.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I’m not afraid to die!” Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardo’s body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patients’ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
“You can come out,” a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. “I know you’re there.”
“Who’s there?” I called out, not stepping forward. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish…” the voice hissed. “But I think you’ll regret it.”
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a hesitant step back. “Where am I?”
“My name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,” he answered.
“Oh,” I said, my heart dropping. “Well, that’s not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?”
“So they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?” he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. “Of bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
“Indeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
“After the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
“Like Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
“His consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.”
Lucifer’s body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
“And yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything you’ve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but don’t be afraid.”
“How could I not be afraid?!” I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didn’t know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
“The siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,” he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. “Hell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.”
“How can Hell come and go?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t Hell a place?”
“Hell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,” Lucifer responded. “It eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.” He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
“What can I do against such a beast?” I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didn’t want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
“Seek divine wisdom,” he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. “Remember the source.”
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creature’s body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hell’s massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hell’s most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, “JESUS said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”
Now it read, “Nietzsche said, ‘Of all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.’” I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
“It’s right behind us!” she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. “Run! Get away!”
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The woman’s eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hell’s fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hell’s mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Clear!” one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young woman’s hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
“Again!” another voice yelled.
“Clear!” the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
“It’s OK,” one of the doctors said, kneeling down. “You’re being taken to emergency surgery. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each other’s, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
“Nnnn,” I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. “No…” The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, I’ll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, I’ll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I won’t wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.

There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the state’s capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
“What’s the deal with the new guy?” I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
“He’s trouble, man,” he said in a crisp accent. “He got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims he’s been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and that’s why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the whole story.”
“You have his file?” I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
“Jeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
“History: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
“Psychiatrist’s note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
“Patient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poor…”
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
“She’s going to follow you,” he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
“Oh, great!” I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldn’t care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
“Well, I’m Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. It’s good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,” I said, giving her a faint smile.
“That’s exciting!” Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patient’s number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
“OK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan and…” I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardo’s Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldn’t see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
“Stay here,” I commanded, seeing Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. “Don’t leave until I come back and say that it’s safe.” On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
“Doctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,” a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
“You don’t have to do this, man,” Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldn’t see what was happening, as Jeremiah’s large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardo’s back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardo’s body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
“Stay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,” Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
“Let’s talk about this,” I said, taking a step forward slowly. “You don’t want a murder charge, do you? You’ll never see the sky again.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I’m not afraid to die!” Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardo’s body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patients’ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
“You can come out,” a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. “I know you’re there.”
“Who’s there?” I called out, not stepping forward. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish…” the voice hissed. “But I think you’ll regret it.”
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a hesitant step back. “Where am I?”
“My name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,” he answered.
“Oh,” I said, my heart dropping. “Well, that’s not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?”
“So they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?” he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. “Of bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
“Indeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
“After the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
“Like Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
“His consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.”
Lucifer’s body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
“And yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything you’ve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but don’t be afraid.”
“How could I not be afraid?!” I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didn’t know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
“The siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,” he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. “Hell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.”
“How can Hell come and go?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t Hell a place?”
“Hell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,” Lucifer responded. “It eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.” He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
“What can I do against such a beast?” I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didn’t want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
“Seek divine wisdom,” he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. “Remember the source.”
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creature’s body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hell’s massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hell’s most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, “JESUS said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”
Now it read, “Nietzsche said, ‘Of all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.’” I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
“It’s right behind us!” she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. “Run! Get away!”
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The woman’s eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hell’s fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hell’s mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Clear!” one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young woman’s hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
“Again!” another voice yelled.
“Clear!” the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
“It’s OK,” one of the doctors said, kneeling down. “You’re being taken to emergency surgery. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each other’s, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
“Nnnn,” I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. “No…” The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, I’ll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, I’ll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I won’t wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.