Three Seconds in Hell

They told me that hell was a horrid place filled with fire and brimstone. The devil’s supposed to be here.

Lucifer…wielding a three-pronged pitchfork (overcompensating for his rarely reported “sullen wang,” no doubt) and more than prepared to shove it elbow deep into a sinner’s rectum.

THEY TOLD ME…As a matter of fact, THEY PROMISED! They promised that it would be something so trivial as infinite and unyielding torture.

They swore–from Gospels to Revelations–that my soul would burn and I would feel every whimsical millisecond upon nanosecond of relentless pain until my woe-ed screams filled its ringed caverns.

YES! That IS what they said!

Either, they lied or they were wrong. I’m not quite sure which act of incompetence had led them so horribly askew.

BUT, I can promise! Oh, how I’ve promised, that if it is the eternal, insufferable, incubator of flame that you fear, FEAR NOT! It isn’t real. No more than God and his pigeons are “down here”.

Do you wish to know? If not then read no further.

Hell is not the devil’s plaything or a pit where evil goes to fester. Hell is not some tilted spear splicing into your gullet, retreating, then resplicing–retreating then resplicing–until your genitalia quiver.

No! Hell is none of those awful things. In fact, it’s quite pleasant at first.

Hell is a single moment, (any old moment will do). It’s every feeling that moment’s brought to you multiplied by six, then four, then two.

Hell is every simple satisfaction you’ve taken for granted to hold dear. It’s every single smile. Every frown or either’s tears.

It’s a bone-dry steak in the process of a thorough molding. Wine before fermentation. Hell is detention, less the scolding.

Hell is a very instance played in succinctness with the last. Hell is tiring of the time and yet no time at all has passed.

Hell is having all sense of sense removed from your cerebellum and if you wish to share your grief, hell is the inability to tell them.

Lucifer is a concoction of angst and brittle will. His demons are no more or less than the thoughts of warming chills.

So you see you shouldn’t fear at all the moment of death or just before.

You are correct in fearing hell, however.

…Poe’s down here too.

“Say the raven, nevermore.”

“Shut up, Edgar!”

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