Purgatory: Episode I

by Mark Tompkins

drapes in the projector room and they caught fire immediately. It was going to light up faster than I had thought. My neighbor’s gazebo had nothing on this dried out husk of a building. I hurried from the projector room and into the remaining second story rooms. I touched the candle to the drapes in an office and paused ever so briefly to watch in awe as they burst into flame. By the time I had reached the last door on the second floor, a painful erection was causing an awkward gait for me; man, how I loved to set things on fire. There were no drapes in that storeroom so I set several boxes on fire. As I turned to leave, I noticed a box of old movie posters. I knew time was short and I had to leave, but I couldn’t help myself. I lifted several from the box and gaped at the original theatrical posters for “Day of the Triffids” and many other classic films. A “King Kong” poster, untouched by anyone, was still framed lying next to the box. I suddenly wished I had explored more before starting the fires. There were treasures there, things I would have loved to keep and I was destroying them in my haste. Even at my young age, I realized the value of having something so old and in great shape; I vowed to save some of them. I planned to take them with me and hide them in my treehouse on the way home. I would wait a few days and tell my mother I bought them in the thrift store; that they must have gotten rid of some of the junk that made it through the fire. It would be fine.

  The heat was becoming unbearable in that storeroom; I had lingered too long and needed to go right away. I grabbed several of the posters and rolled them up. I jammed them into my pants, hoping it wouldn’t damage them too much and grabbed the door handle. I recoiled in pain as it burned my hand and I realized I was in trouble. I used the cuff of my coat to get out of the room. On the other side of the door, I entered an inferno; the hallway had been consumed by flames.

  I had burned many things in my short life, but never had I seen fire spread so fast. I could not make it down the hall and the storeroom didn’t even have windows; I was trapped. For the first time, fear had become the dominant emotion in my life and it took me by storm. Sweating profusely, my hands shook and I had trouble thinking.

  I dove through the flames and burst through the curtains across the hall from me. Beyond the curtains was the balcony… and beyond that, empty space. I turned to the right, hoping to run along the second floor seating balcony, but a wall greeted me. This section must have been for private viewing; it would more than likely become my tomb. I ran to the railing and gazed down at what had to be a thirty foot drop to the seats below. There was no way to miss them, but I knew I had to try. The fire hadn’t worked its way downstairs yet. If I stayed where I was, I was going to burn to death. If I jumped, I was probably going to break my legs or neck and end up burned anyway... but if I was really lucky, I might be able to get out alive. Suddenly, fire had lost its appeal. Its true nature was revealed to me; I didn’t control it and it didn’t do what I wanted. After I had set it free, it turned its back on me and was going to eat me alive. Fire obeyed no master and had its own agenda. I had felt foolish to believe otherwise, but that was the first time I had intentionally snapped the leash completely off of it and let it run free. How was I supposed to know?

  As if on cue, the curtains behind me caught fire as it made its way into my little alcove. It was an angry, creeping beast intent on destroying me. Fear kept me from jumping the railing, but the heat of the flames was beyond imagining. Fear could only hold its grip on me for a few moments; the flames were coming and the jump was inevitable. A crash from the hallway drew my attention; I wondered what it was. Looking down, I saw flames breaking out in the lower seating area. It seems the floor had given way under the office and now it was igniting the lower floor. I had a small window of time to make it back to the lobby before the flames cut off my exit. I steeled myself and flexed my legs; the heat was sweltering, but I just couldn’t do it. I was more afraid of the jump than the flames. Just that fast, the fire became unbearable, I climbed over the edge and held onto the railing; it would make the fall a few feet shorter. How bad could it be?

  It was really bad. In my panic, I didn’t lessen the blow by bending my legs with the impact. I landed on the seats below with my legs straight and both of them broke instantly. Well, shattered would be a better word for it. White bones snapped through the skin, spraying blood all over and onto my face. The pain had overtaken me within a second and I passed out. Unfortunately, that only lasted for a moment; I regained consciousness and the pain was intensified. The fire on the first floor hadn’t gotten out of control yet; I could see a clear path to the exit. I pushed my body off the chairs and onto the floor, dragging my useless legs behind me. I passed out again when they smacked the ground. So began a cycle of passing out, then trying to move. I lost my sense of time. I concentrated on not losing consciousness as I put one hand in front of the other and pulled my body along. I failed several times and each time as I awoke, the flames were that much closer. My youthful optimism had faded away and I accepted I was going to die… Unless by some miracle, the fire trucks arrived and were able to save me from the heart of the fire.

  I finally pulled my battered body into the main aisle and dropped to the floor. I was too exhausted and in pain to go on. The flames licked at my feet, but the burning only lasted a short time. Once the nerve endings burned away, there was no pain. I realized that my broken bones would hurt me more than the conflagration. As the flames consumed my body, my twisted soul took flight I arrived in Purgatory.

  ***

  That was how I ascended to this place. Or descended, however you want to look at it. That is why I have this painful, burnt, black skin. Oh, yes, I kept the skin I had when I died; my personal reminder of why I’m here. I’ve been here long enough that I should, but I still don’t know all the rules or how this place is supposed to work. I guess I’ve never took the time to ask anyone. Nobody really wants to talk to me anyway. I make them feel uncomfortable with my charred skin. How do they think I feel? Do they think I like ripping my skin open every time I flex my muscles? Do they think I like to ooze blood and plasma from the wounds and enjoy having to carry around packages of gauze with me to sop it up? It’s not the regular stuff, mind you, but the non-stick kind with the Vaseline in it. Those pompous assholes have problems of their own, if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be living in the same neighborhood as the disgusting ‘Mr. Crispy’. That’s what they call me, like I make fried chicken or something. They used to only say it behind my back, but now it’s just become my name; even my mail comes addressed to Mr. Crispy. I’ve learned to live with it, I mean, what else am I going to do?

  ‘The Mayor’ pulled a good one and made my address 666 Omen Loop. Very funny. I guess he thinks I’ll be taking the southbound exit when I leave this shithole and he may be right. In case you couldn’t tell, my existence is the amusement of my little corner of Purgatory. If I could, I’d kill every one of those bastards without a second thought. But it doesn’t work that way, we’re already dead, sort of. Hell, it’s all really confusing and takes a long time to understand. I guess now that you’re here; you’ll have plenty of time for that. I kind of like talking to you; I feel a connection I can’t explain.

  Anyway, I may not know how things work here, but I do know a lot about the people and I’d be glad to show you around sometime. Come back and visit old Mr. Crispy and I’ll tell you some tales. Well, I hate to cut this short, but as you can see, I have to redo the splints on my legs, if I don’t, it’ll make walking a living…well, you get the picture. See you around.

  What Grabs You

  What Grabs You Too

  Arrhythmia

  Pieces

  Purge

  The Wraith

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  Other Links:

  Mark Tompkins Official Author Webpage

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  Mark Tompkins Facebook Author Page

  Mark Tompkins has been a classical pianist, a bartender, and spent 23 y
ears in the United States Air Force working with the Minuteman III Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) system. His works include Road Rage, The Fresinnius Chronicles, Pieces, What Grabs You, What Grabs You Too, Arrhythmia and many others.