Shocked with heavy chains, with heavy pain in his heart and on his body, the heavy eyelids of Maxwell opened.
Like a ruthless clock of the depths, every 3 hours without fail, morning, noon and night, the torturer would come and take him away for one hour.
For seven weeks, Max had excruciatingly endured without breaking.
Said the voice coming from over his left shoulder. This voice, a balding middle-aged man (only in his mind this was true), who snorted when he laughed, pestered him as faithful as the sun rises during the 3-hour breaks, constantly nagging him with hopelessness and worse case scenarios.
Max: “Shut up!”
The Voice: “That’s not the way to talk to a gentleman, by the way Maxie, did he do that teeth thing again?!”
Max shuddered at this question. This was the torture method, happening in rotation every 4 days which he dreaded the most would break him.
Max: “Maybe tomorrow…”
The Voice: “Or perhaps he will start doing it more often; one can only dream…snort…he he he…snort…”
6 broken ribs, 7 missing toes and fingers, 12 missing teeth, pulled beard, blind left eye (taken out completely), hundreds of cuts and burns, and left hand and right foot missing, plus incredible psychological trauma (this is what Max was concerned with above all), was the condition of the unbreakable hero.
Realizing that he could do nothing about his situation and the pestering Voice, Max had taken a radical approach to minimize the damage, surrender and acceptance.
Resistance magnifies pain, and using the technique Max was hoping to hold on long enough.
The Voice: “Long enough for what Max?!”
Max did not answer.
The young man, swimming effortlessly in the sun-soaked ocean, lying on his back, looked at the vibrant blue sky with a smile-soaked face.
Everything was gentle; the universe had wrapped this beautiful boy from head to toe in comfort and loving-kindness, gentle seabird sound, gentle waves, gentle breeze and even gentle and kind thoughts.
With a mellow and peaceful attitude Max could best be described in one word, soft; soft of heart and soft of skin, the gentle-soaked Maximus Max stepped out of the water; little drops of ocean treasure made shallow grooves in the sand as he walked by.
With his right toe he pushed away a large seashell and then he dug his left toe in the perfect white sand, which sent a rippling wave of warmth spiraling up though his body.
In the near distance, on the way home, there was a kindly and filled with life orchard, packed with pear and apple and fig and grape and palm and coconut and banana and three orange trees.
Pretty multi-colored blossoms, an ocean of them, created a God-made divine symphony of pleasing aromas, all making the young prince feel perfectly and securely loved.
Torturer: “WAKE UP, WORM!!”
Max: “I was not sleeping.”
The Voice: “Maybe you should be sweeter and more submissive with him!”
Max: “I do not support tyrants.”
The Voice: “It’s called self-preservation Max…”
“He has a point,” Max thought to himself before scowling at the realization that the pestering voice was starting to get to him.
Dragged out of the room, pain-cloaked Maxie was dragged, with moments of pain dragging on and on and on, the iron grasp of the torturer’s heartless and callous hands knew no clay.
“And what if they had clay? Many torturers use the clay of religion.”
The Voice: “Seems like an odd time to have a philosophical conundrum.”
Max: “Go back to hell, worm!”
The Voice: “Ah…yes…hell! You know Maxie, I have been thinking…”
Max felt like the Voice was searching through a sack for something; with the sentence being dragged on for too long with perfect rhythm to the dragging of the grand torturer, Max grew irritated and impatient. This of course, was the exact emotion the sneaky-word Devil was expecting to arouse.
You see, my dear and beloved and perfectly perfect and delightful reader, this voice AKA Moloch, was the sadistic spirit of worthlessness wanting to witness death and pain and destruction; he travelled to and fro on the earth, experiencing and corrupting.
Unfortunately for our tormented hero Maximus the Wisimus the Pessimus, these 49 days were the best seat in the house Moloch was able to get.
Deep in the dungeons of horror the torture-master displayed his mastery, with an iron patience, over Max’s body; tearing with great care and grace his flesh out, piece by piece, he had conducted a symphony of horror, blending it perfectly with times of rest and healing, delaying and making the victim wait; he thus broke everyone down by day 13.
Now he was in a sort of predicament; this masked monster was actually a beloved doctor in the nearby village, with an expecting wife. If Max was to go on for another 24 hours, he would miss seeing the birth.
Max, the cheeky smart iron-willed devil of a man that he was, was starting to sense the frustration of the torturer; a few times he even gave out fake over-exaggerated screams while staring at Boda the torture-king in the eyes, to fan the flame of weakness he sensed.
Iron Max, day after day, using his dreams like little oases of fresh air, and tiny portions of Balm of Gilead, kept taking it but to what end? And this thought had occupied the demon Moloch…
Walking through the blossomed sun-infested orchard of a zillion colors, the drying prince, Maximus walked; freshly watered with the waters of life, in his heart half fish and half man, jubilant spontaneo-boy, ran playfully towards his house.
There lay over a short hill, gracefully and stillfully in the horizon, a wooden log Cabin, graced with a perfect thread of smoke stretching up from it, and surrounded by just-enough perfectly gardened gardens, which had kept a degree of wildness, which exaggerated the in-placeness of this beautiful dwelling.
Vibrant Maxie, full of hope and full of life, skipped and hopped up the hill, his eyes like two grand suns beamed with hope and joy.
Today, on this blessed day, which was his birthday, it was a special family gathering; his morning fish-time routine was in preparation of such a day. He knew his heart will be blasted by love on the sunny hills of his heavenly home; safe, secured and loved and surrounded by care, baby boy blue, reached for the cabin door.
“This Max, he is tougher than I thought. If he overcomes in any shape or form it will be a bad blow for Moi, specially considering this damned doctor will lose his legendary winning streak, which will mean he will be no good to me now.
Hmmm…how to keep this pain at the maximum?!”
Pondering these, the Voice was actually not realizing that Max had now powered up with the ability to read his thoughts!
“So this is what you were thinking all along. I know you, Prince of Darkness, you will not take me down you worm!”
“You are already down Max, look at yourself, mutilated and amputated in this excrementine vile dungeon.”
Maxy Max felt bad about his condition; this little bit of salt put Max temporary back into the place Moloch wanted.
Pulling baby-maxie through the door which had been pulled open by the pulling restless arms of the pressure-putting torturer, the thread of time pulled itself slowly, pulling the end-is-nigh of the Breath of Maximus.
It was a teeth day today. The Voice was going around making circles with hands stretched going “VROOOOM” and making airplane noises, as the violently screaming poor sob-Max, masterfully received his allotted portion.
But to what end? And Moloch pondered on the meaning of this, patiently waiting for the right time to strike.
Being dragged back to his cell, fakely unconscious and bloody, Max was making his own plans, unbeknownst to Dr. Death and Moloch the soul arsonist.
“This fella seems like he is in a hurry to get it over with; as the Proverb says “when the axe is dull, one must use more strength, but with wisdom comes success.”
He is using more force lately; this is exposing a weakness but what is it…?
Impatience!! He is actually impatient which explains the break every 3 hours. Aha…but what can I use this for?
If I die, I win; if I keep dragging it out, I win!”
Unfortunately, Maximus Aristotle had forgotten in his lunatic pondering that grand father Moloch, the all-knowing He-devil out for a perfect darkness-feeding, can also hear his thoughts.
Moloch: “It’s always a mistake to underestimate Max.”
“…Damn him, he is right again!”
Puddle of bones and blood, sensing the disgusted and hostile sneering of the Voice, which he only heard, feeling like he was being stalked and harassed, the philosopher boy had another sip of the magnificent dream-wine of the ancient tree-mothers.
The universe celebrated with the beautiful prince of the Light, half-man and half-fish, but only in his own heart, with long streaks of love and attention, by his 7 goofy cousins, by his girlfriend Delilah who never left his side, his lips and his hands, by mama and baba, by his adorable warm brother, and last but not least by Philemon, the perfect fluffy-ball cat, the day of his birth came close to an end.
Now filled and satisfied, Maxi-boy, resting patiently under a blooming pear tree, max comfortable in his own skin, comfortably comforted himself at the pinnacle of his youthful joy, with the comfort of love and support all around him; he was in a state of spiritual intoxication.
While lying down, all of a sudden, a giant pear with a strangely fast motion, came tumbling down towards his right eye. Before the resting-boy was able to respond, whilst all his muscles were progressively and deeply relaxed, the giant pear crushed his right eye, getting him up with thunderous scream of agony.
Moloch, in a wise move, but out of desperation, had dropped a piece of rock from the upper window on the face of the lowly-dwelling agony-man.
Woken up suddenly with screams, the heart of Maximus started to break.
“HA HA HA…snort snort…HA HA HA HA…snort snort!”
“TRASH, disgusting abomination! I will win, you watch. You underestimate me.”
MAX tried to gain his composure back, but now he was in rapid damage control mode. Not only he could not longer see, which took away his eagle-like gift of discernment, he now had to worry about not being able to sleep and be safe in the cell.
“Low move what he just made. I just need to drag it out. But my eye, oh my eye…He also cut off the goodness coming from that dream. It’s always a mistake to underestimate…”
Moloch, the Master Demon, was now functioning in a zen-darkness state, spontaneously being wicked; this was of course to mask his thoughts from the not-to-be-underestimated Maxi-Boy.
Like 2 Grand Master Champions, the eternal opponents took time facing one another, with skillful displays of endurance, wit and power.
Unfortunately for our beloved Dr., the wife, after having given birth to 2 stillborns, had died because of a lack of proper medical help.
The raging looney torture-lord, now hit with the axe of the spiteful universe on his hardened neck, went into a furious mode, killing his 3 other children by crushing them; he thus erased and set himself free from what little good had bound him.
And now this black smoldering wick, having crossed over the waterfall, ventured to the chambers of agony, for the final day…
Lying down on the moon-lit dungeon floor, with his neck in an uncomfortable position because of the bondage, feet tied with ball & chains, the oasis-seeking dreamer-max stared at the lifeless ugly ceiling of the dungeon; he was at perfect peace.
“I love you Moloch!! I understand your pain, you can take me down with you! I will be your friend Moloch; I will surrender my life trying to love and help you.”
Moloch’s heart trembled in mortified-silence.
“…and I love myself, for the mighty life of perseverance I have lived, keeping my faith and belief in a loving creator; this is the secret fire that has driven me on Moloch!”
In that moment of deep pain and desperation, blind and mutilated Maximus, having gone through the gauntlets of doom, awakened to a crisp and clear neu-dawn, transcending the agony of his flesh & soul, like Yahshua blissfully walking on the water, he arose as an ancient sun of love, the sweet smell of the fragrant vibration exploding from his heart, petrified Moloch, the demon of Belial, forever imprisoning him to silence.
Having loved himself and his own worthlessness, as the torturer of the future-tense readied his hands to open the gate for one final crushing hostile-blow of decay, Maximus the Brilliantus opened himself up to love the grieving Doctor, and to comfort him in his time of darkness.
By Ashkan Jafarpisheh – June 2020