I never believed in hell. It was a short journey I took, but I still managed to screw up along the way. The way I’m referring to, of course, is hell. It was not what I expected. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. My professor was giving a lesson on the history of Guatemala. I, as per usual, was zoning out. I had my ipod out and my ears bursting. The teacher droned on and on about the main dish of the festival and how it was prepared, and I caught a scent of something foul. Literally. My nose wrinkled and my eyes widened at the awful odor. It was a mix between rotten cabbage and spoiled milk, I couldn’t decide which. Trying not to gag, I went to the window and opened it, sticking my head out and trying to rid my senses of the reek. My first mistake. The professor ignored me, and I took some long whiffs. that’s when the bird attacked. It was a large white one with one streak on black and started from one wing and ended at its beak. It glared at me with beady black eyes as it aimed for my head. I opened my mouth to scream, but too late! The next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the floor, blood seeping everywhere. The pain hadn’t reached me yet, but the bird, lying next to me, had. The beak was twisted grossly where it had drilled into my skin. The professor went on about the spicy meat flavor, and the students sat frozen in their seats, listening. I frowned puzzled. The window snapped shut with a loud bang and something creaked near the doorway. I tried to pick myself up, but impossible. My head reeled with the effort and I went into a dizzy spell. When I cam out, I could see the door creaking open. The room had become visibly darker, but still the teacher continued about chicken. I groaned, and the lights flickered. I staggered once again to my feet, just in time to see a shadow emerge from the doorway. I covered my mouth with my trembling hand, expecting the worst. And the worst came. Cold, icy and bitter, snapped at my bare skin. I shivered uncontrollably as watched the door open wider and a figure form from the depths. I should have run as soon as I saw it. My second mistake. I looked at the students, rigid in their chairs, unmoving. I tried to shout for help, but the figure sensed my movement and came closer. It was cloaked in black shapes but I could make out a single strand of white hair, red eyes, and one long pointed finger. Pointing right at me. The professor stopped abruptly. He stood chalk still, frozen in place. Time slowed and came to a halt. One marker fell. I flinched and the figure laughed. It cackled and bursts of flame burned into my skin. “No!” I shouted, but the silence was deafening. The figure loomed, hissing. It changed into a cobra, large and monstrous. It lunged for me, missing. “Help!” I screamed. Stillness. The teacher frowned. “Like I was saying,” he continued, “They use a type of seasoning that is picked from the herb tree that seasonally--” “Aaaaaahh!!!!” I shrieked as the cobra flickered into a panther. It’s fangs frothed and it breathed heavily, growling. Then it pounced. The blood would never stop pouring from my soul. Someone laughed. The teacher coughed. To think I had never believed in hell.