Friday, March 31, 2006


Mercutio's spirit never ceases to amaze me. Despite the time he's already served here, he still strives to find his lost love from life, Arrabella. I can't help but think how incredibly futile and pointless his quest is, yet he approaches it without futility or despair. In fact, he's one of the most positive people I've encountered here. I hope we continue to work together.

Monday, March 20, 2006


Many people can't deal with the reality of the afterlife. I've seen a strange man who, as people walk past, makes a claw like gesture with his hand and shouts, "Hex! Green monkey disease on you." I've seen many horrific people here, but judging from his wounds, this man's exit from the mortal world was exceedingly unpleasant.


Gallows humor abounds. I just heard one of the most common retorts people give each other while talking about their demise:

ARMLESS MAN: What happened to you? You look awful.
DISEASED WOMAN: That's cuz I'm dead, dummy!

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


For no particular reason, I decided to tour the portals and watch the new arrivals. I wanted to see if there was any difference in their reactions to this place. I probably watched more than 500 people as they left behind their former life. Their reactions usually fell into one of three categories:

1. Horrified

2. Shocked

3. Grim resignation

I think the latter group expected to wind up in some kind of hell and aren't surprised when they arrive here. But is this hell? I don't think so. Though we do have our fair share of demons.


I find myself consistently working with another guardian named Mercutio. Though he is unpleasant to look upon, his spirit seems stronger than most of those I've encountered.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006


There are many things I don't understand.

Unlike most of the others consigned here, I am some sort of guardian. My skin is covered in what I would describe as armor made from the same material as this place.

I have powers no else has.

And I'm expected to use these powers to serve the people. To help them. To save them from horrors I never imagined.

I have to stop the demonic hordes from destroying this place.


I am having second thoughts. Perhaps I shouldn't keep this journal after all. It seems cruel, but how else can I record my thoughts?

No, I must. It is the only way.


I've no idea how long I've been here. It’s impossible to track time in a timeless place. Winter does not become Spring, night does not become day; there’s nothing but the inky black sky above. Perhaps it’s been days, weeks, months or even years. I don’t think I’ve been here that long, but it already feels like an eternity. Time stretches infinitely longer when there is no sleep to break up the ennui of each day. Is death nothing more than the worst case of insomnia imaginable?

Except for the constant night, there seems to be no consistency to this place. Nothing remains the same. The faces, the people, even the landscape continuously change.

Who dreamed up this madness?