What the Hell
When I wake up, I’m already screaming. The pain is white-hot, slicing through my chest and gut like a hot knife through butter. I can see the blood gushing out of me, pooling on the ground beneath me. I can feel my life force slipping away with every beat of my heart.
I can see the others around me, their faces twisted in horror. I can hear their screams, but they sound so far away. I’m dimly aware of someone trying to stop the bleeding, but it’s too late. I can feel my body going cold, my vision fading. I know I’m dying.
I can see the light now, beckoning me. I’m not afraid. I know there’s nothing left for me here. I’m ready to go. As I take my final breath, I see the look of devastation on the faces of those I leave behind. I know they’ll never forget me. I’m just another casualty of this godforsaken war.
The next moment or maybe it’s an eternity, I’m standing in front of a huge set of gates. St. Peter? I think, but he doesn’t look like I imagined he would. He looks more like…Arnold Stutter? The bully from high school?
“What the hell?” I say.
“Language,” he says, tsking. “You know, I really didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”
“Had what in me?” I ask, confused.
“The guts to do what you did,” he says. “It takes a lot of guts to kill yourself.”
“So…I’m dead?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “But don’t worry, you’re in good company. We get a lot of suicides here.”
He leads me through the gates and I’m stunned by what I see. The place is teeming with people, but it’s not like any city I’ve ever seen. The buildings are all made of bone, the streets are filled with blood, and the air is thick with the stench of death.
“Welcome to Hell, kid,” Arnold says. “Make yourself at home.”
I have no idea how long I’ve been here. It could be days, weeks, months, or even years. Time has no meaning here. There is only pain, suffering, and endless torment.
The demons are the worst. They’re always poking and prodding, torturing us in new and creative ways. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been ripped apart and put back together again.
I scream and scream, but it does no good. No one can hear me. No one cares. I’m just another soul in Hell, condemned to suffer for eternity.
One day, or maybe it’s one million years, I’m suddenly pulled out of my torture. I’m in a huge room, standing before a throne. On the throne is a figure shrouded in darkness.
“You have been chosen,” a voice says. “You will be the new ruler of Hell.”
“M-me?” I stammer.
“Yes,” the voice says. “You have proven yourself to be the most worthy. The others are weak, but you are strong. You will lead us to victory.”
“Victory?” I ask. “What are we fighting for?”
“For the right to exist,” the voice says. “For the right to be free.”
