They sallied from the depths of Hell, too worn and weary to see themselves in the frightened eyes of those who beheld their rotting forms. How cold it all felt, naked of skin, of flesh, of bone, mere spirit exposed to the horrible reality of reality. And the light! What a terrible thing was heaven—the stars so blinding—but they were free, finally free.
Some could not see them. They were either too busy, too worried, too tired to notice. Of this class, one might be heard to say that he felt a chill or a shiver. Another class, mostly children, carefree and still wild with the joy of being, saw but didn’t see, saw as in a dream or, how did they say? a game, a story of ghosts and legions. I wish, in a sense, I could have kept them from it entirely, but in the end, their minds were safe from such horrors, unwitting of their magnitude.
And I, somewhere between. I and a few others. We saw as the children saw, but could and did care.
Tale Told 