Heaven and Hell: The Hero From Limbo Ch. 2
Though he was walking in a familiar neighborhood, Bruce felt lost. He felt defeated, numb, and asleep while he walked with Solomon. The reverend looked down at the sidewalk, and sighed. Time was moving slowly for him; it seemed like centuries had gone by. Bruce promised himself that he would return home, and everything would return to normal. But he knew that wasn't going to happen.
He looked to the sun for some warmth, but the clouds prevented it from shining through; and twenty feet above his forehead a flock of small birds flying aimlessly as if the air was suddenly and violently disturbed. Between Solomon and Bruce, there was heavy atmospheric pressure that steadily increased. The whole world around the two men began to ripple, bend, and fade into a bright light of nothingness. The light produced a calm that Bruce could appreciate, but he was too preoccupied with his surroundings to fully grasp the temporary euphoria. Bruce wondered what was beyond the light. He wanted to ask Solomon, but he was embarrassed. Though he fully consented to following Solomon, he felt imprisoned with imaginary shackles and heavy chains. He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. He wasn't even entirely sure that Solomon was someone he could trust. By acknowledging the supernatural events that unfolded around him, Bruce tapped into his fear of the unknown. He held his breath until the light faded away.
Bruce felt restless as he walked through a rolling field of tall grass with Solomon. He strode through the surreal, but tranquil environment. Above was a purple-tinted sky with scattered clouds. There was a most drizzle of rain, but nothing substantial. It was surprisingly pleasant, but there was no wind; no breeze, or even the slightest hint of humidity. Bruce noticed other strange things. He felt lighter as if there was little gravity. He lost all his natural urges including hunger and fatigue. He felt a sense of limitless energy that enveloped his entire body. All of these changes were assuring, but Bruce resisted the temptation of relaxation around Solomon. There he stood, with a concerned expression on his face, with his eyes continously gazing upon the calm horizon.
"Well, what is this place?" Bruce suddenly asked Solomon.
Solomon turned around, and exclaimed, "This is the entrance to Arcadia. We are at the Novo Strada, or the 'Gateway of Change.' This is where people, who have recently passed on, walk to Arcadia where they are processed and accepted. Those who wander in the Novo Strada are allowed to reflect on their life on Earth in a safe and measured environment. This is especially important to those who died suddenly or died with unanswered questions. Those who are satisfied with themselves are allowed to proceed, while others are free to remain here, and roam. Those, who have the misfortune of having impure hearts are sent to the Gruppo Fuoco, the 'Fire Circle,' which is essentially the gateway to Hell."
"Impure hearts? Is that similar to 'sin'?"
"No, not at all. 'Sin' is the partial description of immorality that mortals dictate to each other. There are some 'sins' that we recognize as objectionable, but we understand that mortals are helplessly fallible beings, as we are. They make mistakes, show lapses in judgment, show introspection, and regret. We allow those individuals into Arcadia. To determine those who have impure hearts, we look at the degree of their intentions. For example, those who have done unjust things with just intent will be accepted into Arcadia. Those are the pure hearts. Those who were unjust in their ways, and embrace their injustice, they are left to wander the Novo Strada until they properly and objectively weigh their injustice. They are the impure hearts, and we can only allow them to roam our world until their souls start to taint the environment, and tear the fabric separating Arcadia and Hell."
Bruce looked around and saw several people walking the same direction as him. They were all souls looking for the opportunity to enter Arcadia. Each of them carried their fortunes and misfortunes with a heavy heart, seeking redemption at the gateway. The reverend was told that most are accepted, and only a few are turned away or rejected.
Bruce remained bitter over his guilt of manipulating his followers into observing his singular vision, which was not only a vision that he truly did not believe, but it was a vision that was truly false. His obsession with his guilt kept him silent during his mind-bending, seemingly psychadelic voyage to the Kingdom of Arcadia.
"I don't understand where we're going, or why I was chosen to go with you," Bruce huffed at Solomon. "None of it makes any sense... the wings -- wait! What are you exactly? An archangel?"
Solomon continued looking straight ahead. "You can say that. I'm a guardian, and my task is to protect Arcadia from the forces of Hell. To be fair, it's a lot less exciting than hosting sermons, and preaching lies."
"You know, Solomon -- whatever or whoever you are -- I'm tired of being lectured," Bruce finally protested. "You make me out to be this superficial, pompous shyster. If you think I'm that kind of person, why did you bring me here? What's the point? Solomon, did you bring me along so you could show me that you can cut a baby in half? Or are you trying to show me the errors of my ways? I already know my mistakes. No need to show me the Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, and Future? I don't need it."
Solomon waved his paw at the young reverend dismissively. "Boy, you sure talk a lot."
Bruce was dumbfounded. "You're the one that talks lot: lecturing me like you know who I am!"
"I do."
"You don't."
Solomon smiled and sighed. The need to explain himself was waning, and he slowly realized that the wolf was clueless about his whereabouts. That became evident during their walk through the Novo Strada. The doberman bit his lip, and figured that he was too flippant toward Bruce. It was unnecessary to berate the reverend for being blind and deceptive, he thought. He realized that he agitated his guest. The flamboyance of his words, and his belligerant tone made it difficult for Bruce to follow and comprehend. He shrugged, and declined to accept responsibility for his rudeness.
Bruce continued to absorb the scenery. He felt like he was part of the emptiness of space, notwithstanding that he was wandering on an Earth-like realm. There were no stars or suns in the sky, though it was unarguably bright. There was no recognizable source of light, which set a strange, but tremendous contrast with the world that Bruce was familiar with. Walking through the Novo Strada felt like a dream envisioned in a kaleidoscope. The only thing that assured Bruce that he wasn't dreaming was the feeling of grass gently brushing against his pants.
"You're Bruce Marlin, son of Titus, right?" asked Solomon.
Bruce raised an ear. "Yes, but -- wait. You're asking me this... now?" the agitated reverend asked, spreading his arms wide for a confrontational shrug.
"Titus and I were friends. We go back, way back. Your father was a great preacher on Earth. Obviously you took part of the family business."
Bruce jogged toward Solomon with helplessly unavoidable curiosity. He was intrigued and yet disturbed by his lack of knowledge about his father's past.
Titus raised Bruce as a scholar to his son's chagrin. He put Bruce through a rigorous academic life in Catholic school, and expected his son to fully accept Catholicism by the time he graduated high school. Instead, Bruce grew to despise the tedium of his religious practices, and wanted nothing more than to leave it all behind. However, he was a gifted student, and excelled in many academic subjects. Titus was oblivious to his son's accomplishments. As a single father, Titus found himself preoccupied with work, and he wasn't able to raise his son at home for several months at a time. He decided to send Bruce to boarding schools, leaving his son to constantly ponder about his intentions and whereabouts. By the time he graduated from high school, Titus had gone missing. Before he disappeared, Titus left his son money for food and living expenses. Having been abandoned by his father, Bruce's resentment of him reached a fever pitch. Having to meet and exceed his father's expectations of him -- only for his father to leave suddenly when he wanted his potential to be realized -- Bruce felt betrayed.
"He never told you, did he?" asked Solomon.
"No. I'm presuming that he had a role pertaining to this Arcadia place..."
"Smart kid. Once you get clearance to pass the gateway, I'll explain everything."
The rolling green hills seemed endless. Bruce compared the Novo Strada to an abstract, indistinguishable desert, but with tall grass and an occasional tree that randomly dotted the fields. There were no mountains, no distinct flora or fauna. There were only lost souls, drifting in one direction. The souls emitted a bright, hazy white aura that created an eerie, but ethereal glow. Once in a while, a soul would stop walking. Nude, winged creatures would descend from the sky, and take the standing soul away. Solomon explained to Bruce that the souls that stopped walking were ones that accepted their life and death. The winged creatures, who Solomon called the Keepers, observe the soul and check for abnormalities, such as unresolved angst and impure hearts. Once the Keepers determine that one has a pure heart, they escort the soul to Arcadia. Solomon reminded Bruce that he was still walking, and he could stop once he was able to come to terms with his past and present.
Bruce stopped walking, and looked up. He could vaguely see in himself a desire for clarity: something that was previously shrouded in darkness. He saw a keeper, a slender Siberian tiger wearing nothing but a brown-colored loincloth, appear from the sky, and quietly land before him. The tiger withdrew his wings, and studied the reverend. He blinked a few times, wiggled his ears, and tilted his head. He took a few steps back from Bruce as if he was suddenly taken by surprise. Not knowing what to say, Bruce respectfully kept his distance, and waited for the keeper to finish analyzing him.
"Solomon, why did you bring a mortal to our realm?" asked the tiger.
"He's Titus' son."
The tiger kneeled out of reverence to Bruce.
"You know my father too?" asked Bruce.
The tiger calmly replied, "Yes. Your father is the savior of Arcadia."