Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Hell's Father
    Hell's Father
    Hell's Father
    Ebook28 pages20 minutes

    Hell's Father

    By Ulf Wolf

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    "How I shall admire, how laugh, how rejoice, how exult, when I behold so many proud monarchs, and fancied gods, groaning in the lowest abyss of darkness; so many magistrates who persecuted the name of the Lord, liquefying in fiercer fires than they ever kindled against the Christians." Tertullian, 160-225 AD

    "Here there is no hope, and consequently no duty, no work, nothing to be gained by praying, nothing to be lost by doing what you like. Hell, in short, is a place where you have nothing to do but amuse yourself." Bernard Shaw 1856-1950

    "I dreamed I was awakening from another dream—an uproar of chaos and cataclysms—into an unrecognizable room. Day was dawning: light suffused the room, outlining the foot of the wrought-iron bed, the upright chair, the closed door and windows, the bare desk. I thought fearfully, 'Where am I?' and I realized I didn't know. I thought, 'Who am I?' and I couldn't recognize myself. My fear grew. I thought: This desolate awakening is in Hell; this eternal vigil will be my destiny. Then I woke up, trembling." Jorge Luis Borges, 1899-1986

    Tertullian, damp with fear, awoke from yet another nightmare. Then—by small, stirring degrees—relief slowly entered his blood and from there his heart as he realized that he had, yet again, managed to escape.

    Day was dawning: light suffused the room, outlining the foot of his bed, a high-backed chair, a writing desk, a water carafe, empty now, a roll of papyrus which, he knew, held his unfinished exposition of Hell. But for all these things, the room was unrecognizable. He looked around again, tardy sleep lingering, making the room shift slightly each time he blinked, and he thought fearfully, "Where am I?" He realized that he didn't know. He thought, "Who am I?" He realized that he did not know, that he did not recognize himself. He looked down at his hands: they were not his hands. He looked at his feet: they were not his feet. His fear grew. He thought: This desolate awakening is in Hell, true Hell, I have descended into in my own creation. I have built myself this cage. This eternal vigil will be my destiny.

    I am here to stay.

    With that thought, the world grew air-less and he could inhale nothing but panic. And with that breath escaped the last vestige of relief.

    Then he awoke. Trembling and clammy he threw his eyes wide open to the dawning day, light suffusing the room, outlining: as he looked down, the foot of his bed; as he looked to his right, his high-backed chair, his writing desk, and upon it the water carafe, not quite empty. Also upon the desk: the roll of papyrus he knew held his as yet incomplete exposition of Hell.

    Then he remembered: Hell. Unfinished Hell. Sleep crept into his room unbidden, had embraced him and then wrestled him out of his chair and onto his bed, demanding a moment, just a moment, just a moment.

    He heaved himself up onto his right elbow, looked around the room and for a heartbeat wondered whether he was to wake up from this dream as well. Then he sat up all the way. He touched his face and recognized the jutting chin. His fingers. His chin. The now stubbly, harrowed cheeks were his too. And so were his hands: his hands. His feet: his feet. Even so, he rolled the rough hem of the blanket between his fingers to feel the coarse fiber almost like sand against his skin: yes, this was his blanket, and these were his fingers, yes, and this was his skin.

    He rubbed the blanket against his cheek, then across his forehead, and again to make sure he was truly awake. He was. ...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUlf Wolf
    Release dateNov 16, 2012
    ISBN9781301100897
    Hell's Father
    Author

    Ulf Wolf

    Ulf is a Swedish name that once meant Wolf. So, yes, Wolf Wolf, that's me. I was born Ulf Ronnquist one snowy night in late October, in one of those northern Swedish towns that are little more than a clearing in the forest. Fast forward through twenty Swedish years, ten or so English ones, and another twenty-four in the US and you'll find me in front of an immigrations officer conducting the final citizenship interview, at the end of which he asks me, "What name would you like on your passport?" And here I recall what a friend had told me, that you can pick just about any name you want at this point, and I heard me say "Ulf Wolf." That's how it happened. Scout's honor. Of course, I had been using Ulf Wolf as a pen name for some time before this interview, but I hadn't really planned to adopt that as my official U.S. name. But I did. I have written stories all my life. Initially in Swedish, but for the last twenty or so years in English. To date I have written six novels, four novellas and two scores of stories; along with many songs and poems. My writing focus these days is on life's important questions (in my view): Who are we? What are we doing here? And how do we break out of this prison?

    Read more from Ulf Wolf

    Related to Hell's Father

    Related ebooks

    Christian Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Collins Ferry Landing

      Jul 1, 2020

      for my father Only rivers bottom out like this.Only rivers bottom out with this kind of conviction.Not humans, or, at least, not humans asindisputably human as you were,trapped in consciousness’s surplus, exilic,animalized absurdity, writhing in its

      5 min read

    • Article

      How to Stop Crying

      Nov 7, 2019

      How to Stop Crying
      7 min read

    • Article

      Must-Read Poetry: March 2020

      Mar 3, 2020

      Our own Nick Ripatrazone takes a look at seven essential books of poetry, including work from Traci Brimhall, Carl Phillips, and Craig Santos Perez. The post Must-Read Poetry: March 2020 appeared first on The Millions.

      7 min read

    • Article

      Joanna Klink

      Mar 3, 2020

      Far into fever, attached by cords to the soft-clicking machines, he sleepsin a bed in a room not his own.People enter and pass like ghost-blownfogs. He is a slow walkwith limbs that recently gave way.He is part of the blue snowfall.He is very small,

      1 min read

    • Article

      A Narrow Room

      Sep 12, 2023

      She shakes out the blanket, wraps it around her middle, and sits down. The room is cold and dim and full of quiet. She takes the top book from the stack, and her marker out of the book: Sonnet 49. Against that time (if ever that time come). Against t

      34 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems by Phillip B. Williams

      Dec 15, 2017

      The masters are yet dead. Wanting to be human,I tried to rewrite The Waste Land. The canon’s reachcasts ruinous light. The masters’ pens breachthis page where, above, my own hand spectates. Babylonrisen, exorcism in reverse, whose nature upended now?

      6 min read

    • Article

      On Metaphors and Snow Boots

      May 23, 2022

      On Metaphors and Snow Boots
      10 min read

    • Article

      Six Poems

      Nov 1, 2023

      loved best. Words I have neversaid. New sentence, at 80. Of coursenot more than his children, and their children. That goeswithout saying—but I want to lay down eachelement of love’s house. First,the hole, under—apple cellar, potato cellar,cellar to

      5 min read

    • Article

      Bright Passage

      Mar 8, 2022

      Bright Passage
      19 min read

    • Article

      Unlearnable Lessons on My Father’s Deathbed

      Mar 21, 2017

      I was at my father’s side much of the time in his final weeks, a witness to both the gifts and miseries of being near death. Nurses came and went, patient, long-suffering. They sat beside him for hours at a time, dousing spongy lollipops in water and

      5 min read

    • Article

      From Cantares Mexicanos

      Dec 1, 2023

      Last night I dreamt that I was employed as a suicide prevention specialist in ancient Mesoamerica. We had no phones then so no hotline to call or anything like that. I held these gatherings going place to place for people to tell me their stories and

      3 min read

    • Article

      Perfect Prose II

      May 15, 2020

      Perfect Prose II
      4 min read

    • Article

      The Harmony Of Phi Space

      Aug 5, 2019

      A number of years ago, I let out my house more or less on a whim, packed 30 kg of bags, with 10 kg of extra baggage hung around my neck under a new designer jersey, and off I went to Korea. Here, I was going to generate a formidable pension by teachi

      3 min read

    • Article

      Excerpt

      Dec 12, 2019

      He was an angry man, and he was an ugly man, and he was tall, and he was pacing. Not much space for it in the new home, just a few rooms lined up in a row, underneath a series of slow-moving ceiling fans, an array of antique clocks ticking on one wal

      4 min read

    • Article

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary

      Jun 17, 2020

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary
      7 min read

    • Article

      Read a (Love) Letter From Herman Melville to Nathaniel Hawthorne

      Mar 16, 2017

      167 years ago today, Ticknor, Reed & Fields published The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic novel of repentance and slut-shaming. But actually, this isn’t about The Scarlet Letter—it’s about one of the most fascinating friendships in lite

      5 min read

    • Article

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary

      Jun 17, 2020

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary
      7 min read

    • Article

      Katharine Kilalea

      Dec 15, 2017

      Katharine Kilalea
      37 min read

    • Article

      Shelf Life

      Sep 2, 2021

      Shelf Life
      4 min read

    • Article

      DULCE DOMUM From The Wind In The Willows

      Nov 1, 2022

      DULCE DOMUM From The Wind In The Willows
      11 min read

    • Article

      Let’s Play Dead

      Mar 3, 2020

      There was a man, let’s call him Henry VIII. There was his wife, let’s call her Anne B. Let’s give them a castle and make it nice. Let’s give her many boy babies but make them dead. Let’s give him a fussy way of being. Let’s make her smart and sneaky,

      17 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Hell's Father

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Hell's Father - Ulf Wolf

      Hell’s Father

      Ulf Wolf

      Smashwords Edition

      October 2019

      Copyright

      Hell’s Father

      Copyright 2019 by Wolfstuff

      http://wolfstuff.com

      All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      Smashwords License Notes

      This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      ::

      Contents

      Hell’s Father

      Contribution

      About the Author

      "How I shall admire, how laugh, how rejoice, how exult, when I behold so many proud monarchs, and fancied gods, groaning in the lowest abyss of darkness; so many magistrates who persecuted the name of the Lord, liquefying in fiercer fires than they ever kindled against the Christians." Tertullian, 160-225 AD

      :

      Here there is no hope, and consequently no duty, no work, nothing to be gained by praying, nothing to be lost by doing what you like. Hell, in short, is a place where you have nothing to do but amuse yourself. Bernard Shaw 1856-1950

      :

      "I dreamed I was awakening from another dream—an uproar of chaos and cataclysms—into an unrecognizable room. Day was

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1