Death Valley

It's raining, but nobody notices because it always rains here. It rains because the sky is crying, crying for the lost miserable souls that are now and forever will be boarding the train below. Their heads hanging with grief and pain, one by one they show their tickets  to the ticket taker. Each ticket is different, yet dreadfully the same. Some show bloodied wrists, tracts on their arms, some thin bodies, and some carry with them empty bottles filled with pain and sorrow. Every ticket is the same, every ticket is different, but every ticket is accepted.1

Standing in the shadows the Angel of Death watches silently. She has seen some of these faces time and time again, but she doesn't ever know what happens to them once they stop coming. She is crying also. This is her punishment, to see the tortured souls, similar to herself and not be able to warn them. 2

She is the Conductor of the train to Death Valley. She feels every persons pain and suffering. She knows all their stories, their pasts, their demons, everything. 3

A whistle blows, its the sound of a tortured soul, the mournful cry of a mother who has lost her child, the last gasp of pain before death, and the signal for the Conductor to assume her duty and deliver the souls to Death Valley.4

It is a short journey, but it takes a long time. Each addict sits silently screaming and crying, moaning, each heavy breath filled with pain. Some faint for reprieve of the agony. Each knowing what will happen next and each filled with fear of the familiar unexpectedness. 5

When the whistle moans again the passengers file out one by one, heads hanging, tears flowing down their faces in tiny rivulets, and with each step slowing feeling a little better. Some don't hear the whistle, they stay asleep on the train, as peace falls across their tear stricken faces. Some have traveled to Death Valley before,and for some it is their first time, but they'll never leave the train now. The Death's Angel's demons scurry to hide the dead before their Angels sees them, but she already knows they're gone.6

The Conductor finally steps off the train and looks upon those who survived the trip with a pang of guilt weighing heavily upon her heart. They came to her for help and they could never see how they hurt themselves. 7

The Addicts can feel no pain here in Death Valley, nothing can reach them, the blood doesn't stream, the sky can not cry, and no screams can reach them. They are all the same, but they are all different. Peace and serenity wash over them in waves of Ecstasy. Filling them with happiness and raising their spirits. 8

The sky turns red,lighting strikes, and blood begins to fall over Death Valley. One has fallen, his weapon of choice still firmly clutched in his hand so cold, his blood no longer flowing, his face no longer glowing.The Angel cries, and he quickly vanishes. 9

The Addicts know its time as they make their journey to the Train to go back home. Each one very different, but each one is the same. No one can look the Angel in the eyes, they see her tears and can't face her for them. No one else cry, for she has slowing collected their grief and taken it upon her heart to weigh. In hopes of giving them a better chance tomorrow. The train slowly rumbles down the tracts traveling the short journey back to reality and pain. 10

Once again the whistle moans and the Addicts slowly disappear back into the real world which has hurt them so, with small amounts of hope still clutched tightly in their hearts while their weapon of choice keeps steady vigil in their pockets.11