Can We Access a Spiritual Realm?

Where is the next breakthrough going to happen?

Evil has me now. I wish for a quick death. Snatched from the light; I now belong in the dark. There’s a savage emptiness to them, and I feel it in my captors hands. How long shall I endure until my fate arrives? My body yearns to be killed, and I will be.

I try to breathe but my knees buckle and my stomach falls. I’m pushed down to the ground. My last free action is to exhale my will to live. My hands are bent and bound tightly. Things in my hand crack, snap, and sear with heat. I’m dragged facedown into a muddy ditch where I hear French soldiers pack their kit and dispatch my wounded friends with hatchets. Sobs for mercy and short stilted screams are deadened by thuds of dull iron hitting bone. The sights and sounds become diffuse. Only smells come into focus as I’m moved around. It feels like I’m floating, like I’m passing on but the smells keep me connected to this world. Burning flesh, iron, blood, gun powder, feces. My senses are sharp but my thoughts become flat and then fade.

Two Indian men carry me now. One is younger; muscular, a pointy and angled face almost like an eagle or bird of prey. Piercing sunken eyes, and a long braid of hair extending from the back of his skull with the rest of his head shaved to the skin. The other Indian is much older; he’s large and barrel chested. His face is blank and expressionless. His hair is long and neat, a mix of black and grey. They’re both dressed for war. Red paint marks their bodies and faces. Raw hide belts and straps carry the tools for war. Their tools, and ours. 

I hear the bigger ones name, or at least what the young eagle looking Indian calls him: Kitchi. The younger ones speaks fast and often. Always conferring or sometimes disagreeing with the larger one, who doesn’t seem to respond most of the time.