I never believed in hell. I never thought about it much, I guess. Yet, now, standing here in the midst of total destruction, this vast wasteland of burning cars and smoldering bodies the scent of flesh hanging thickly in the air, I can't help think about it. I look around me and try to find some redeeming quality somewhere, some sign of life, and hope, and faith; but in the faces of those that are still left with some breath in their lungs, all I can see is the numbed expression of dumb truth, there is no longer any hope here. There's a mother holding the lifeless body of her child, her partially unwrapped face contorted in pain unspeakable, her only utterance a shrill screaming sort of cry. Over by the pile of rubble of what was once a home, a man, frantically searches, his hands bloodied by the stones, looking for some hopeful sign, but finds none; and when the reality of what truly lays beyond the rubble is realized the air is pierced by a deep gutteral cry that sears my soul with unspeakable burnings, like a brand. A child sits along side the road, crying, someone picks him up carrying the tattered waif, not comforting him, just carrying him. Like a frozen moment in time, I stand on the edge of this abyss and look down, deep into the throat of this darkness. Here I see the liar, the prideful, scheming, screeching little creature that causes humans to believe what is not true; to despise what is good, or different, or wholesome and true. I see his results, the fruit of his lying tongue that destroys life without regard, and takes what gleams in the distance away from the hopeful. I see the faces of a million starving children, bloated in their pitiful condition. The cries of millions of girls, mothers, grandmothers who mourn over their losses of their dignity, their children, their homes, their families, their safety, their very lives. Fathers and brothers, destroyed, stand against a wall waiting for the final blow, which will not come, to finally end their distress. I see the suffering from all the times past passing before me like a parade of terror: frozen bodies lying twisted at Wounded Knee; millions tortured and murdered in the killing fields of Cambodia all crying out for their justice; many more from crusades and wicked ceasers to selfish men standing on a ledge waving to the crowds behind them martyrs fill the halls. For this moment, I pause, since I have seen the face of hell, felt it's hot,dry, unforgiving breath, and recognized the effects its disturbing deception brings, I hope that some day I will find the face of what is good, of what is pure and holy. Is there any cool water in the desert? Is there any hope in destruction? Is there any light in the darkness? Is there?