'And besides all this, between us and you there is a great chasm fixed, so that those who wish to come over from here to you will not be able, and that none may cross over from there to us.' And he said, 'Then I beg you, father, that you send him to my father's house -- for I have five brothers -- in order that he may warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.' But Abraham said, 'They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.'
--Imagine you come home at dawn tomorrow--
You've been out throughout the night partying or working (whichever you prefer). Glimpses of that special dawn blue seeps through the windows, silhouetting various pieces of furniture in your dwelling place. You surmise that no one is home. Exhausted, you strip while in the bathroom, so as to collapse upon immediately entering the bedroom.
Enter your bedroom.
You open the bedroom door. At once you fall to your knees. You then lie prostrate on the cold floor. You are in the presence of the Angel of the LORD.
Out of fear, you dare not look at Him. The initial glimpse you saw of Him was enough. You saw only a deep red (maroon, even) light, but the light was not light as we commonly know it. This light seemed to have dimension... and mass.
The Angel of the LORD tells you to not be afraid. In your left hand He places a key. You are only to hold the key with your left hand, never your right. He tells you that with this key you may see the hearts of men.
He is gone. You are alone.
You clothe yourself. Now is the time to leave. You put the key in your pocket and head out into the world.
You meet a friend for coffee. You expect to unleash the story of your encounter with your dear friend, but when she arrives, you note her tear stained face. She is a wreck. She tells you her story. It's an awful story. You try to help, but you feel useless. She begins to weep anew. Through her tears, she apologizes for her behavior and states as a belief, "Some pains have no answer."
With your right hand you instinctively grab for the key. It burns. You recoil at once. Your right hand is scolded horribly. Remember the instructions: only the left hand. Timidly, you pick the key up with your left hand. No burn. Acting on instinct, you raise the key and push it into your dear friend's chest. Turn the key.
Sure enough, your friend's chest is opened to you. You see her beating heart. There it is. It seems, however, that a black tar wrapped around the heart and rib cage is slowly squeezing the pumping heart. Look at your scolded right hand: you know what to do. With the right hand, you grab at the black tar, to pull it out of her. It unravels slowly, but with promise. Like a knotted yo-yo string, the work is tedious, but the closer you get to the end, the easier it unspools. It is finished. No more tar. You turn the key. Lock it tight.
Your friend grabs at her heart for a brief instant, as if in cardiac arrest, but the moment passes. She then smiles at you. The smile broadens. She thanks you, and soon leaves your presence.
Did she know? Did she understand what you just did? All you can think about is that smile of hers.
You think to yourself you have the secret to happiness. Who needs it? Full of excited energy, you rustle through your list of phone contacts. Who needs this gift? Who is hurting the most?
You decide on a name. You call him. You meet him an hour later. He too is a wreck. No tears from him, he has been long-suffering in his torment. He asks you why you called him to meet. Embarrassed, rather than answer, you open his chest with your magic key. There is so much tar; so much work to do. You smile. You are honored to accomplish such work. Honored.
It feels like hours. The world is motionless as you rip the blood soaked black tar from your fellow man's chest. You sweat profusely. Finally, you reach the end. The heart is free. The heart is free. Free.
Locked tight, your good friend looks at you with stun. His eyes grow. He grabs at his chest. He can't breathe. He stands up violently from the table. He writhes his body from left to right, clawing at some unknown assailant. He trips into the street. He gasps for air. He gasps for air. Gasps.
He is dead.
You still hold the key in your left hand. What was freedom for one soul was murder to another. You look down at your own chest. Do you dare look?
But he said, 'No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent!' But he said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead.'