1. Maniacal Writer

    Maniacal Writer New Member

    Dec 15, 2006
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    To believe in Hell.

    Discussion in '"I never believed in hell"' started by Maniacal Writer, Dec 19, 2006.

    I never believed in hell. I guess that’s why I’m here. I mean, if I didn’t believe in hell, then of course I couldn’t believe in heaven. The good can’t exist without the evil, can it? Maybe it’s only evil that is real, and good is only a figment of some long dead priest’s imagination. And that priest lied to the world, putting a mask on the truth. Of course. Without belief of Heaven, then everyone would cause havoc and the world wouldn’t be what it is today.

    People could argue that the world already is a place of evil. And if good doesn’t exist, well they’d be right. And I have a faint belief that there is no good in the world, or in people’s hearts. Sure, people do good every once in a while, but the moment they are betrayed, the moment they think someone hates them, their hearts are filled with hate. Sin is everywhere, and even if good exists, it is rare and hidden by evil.

    I guess Hell makes you think a lot. There’s nothing much else to do but think. Maybe that’s why it’s Hell. There’s never really any physical torture. (However physical a soul can get.) It’s all basically emotional turmoil. In Hell, you get one small room to yourself, kind of like prison, only your alone and can leave whenever you want. But your never allowed to talk to anyone other than the demons.

    That’s because, in Hell, thoughts are your punishments. Speaking to demons is dangerous, if not stupid. All they talk about is death and hardships. They make you think about your own life; what it was and what it could have been. You sit in your lonely room and think about what you did wrong, forever.

    I suppose that is a great punishment. A guilty conscience is the worst thing ever. When I lived, and I knew I did wrong, I would get this feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I swallowed a seed and a tree was growing within me. If I didn’t confess, that tree would eventually rip me apart. And now, sitting in my room, I know that I have no chance of confession. I know that I am confined to the damnation of my mind forever. And I know that I will eventually turn into one of those hideous demons, who constantly lurk in the fires of hell, serving their new Lord, and reminiscing a life they barely remember.

    I know this, because I don’t even remember my name. I suppose more facts are soon to follow, and soon I will have no idea how I came here, or even where here is. I think all I will know in due time is that it is really hot here, and many of my fellow workers are sad. Perpetually sad. I suppose I will always live with that tree in my stomach, growing and growing, but never truly able to burst out of me. I know my fate. I see it in the eyes of the demons as I walk past.

    And sometimes I feel myself wishing for that twist of perspective. I’d give anything to forget. Truly forget. But I know that no matter how much I did forget, that tree would be there, and I’d simply have no idea where it came from.

    But, to forget would be worth it. I have the tree in me now, and I suppose, if I forget, at least I won’t have anything else.

    I find myself wishing to forget, but every once in a while, I find something rare. I find myself hoping. I hope to remember my lost family. I hope to be rescued from the depths of my guilt. But I know that there will be no reprieve. The demons show me that.

    So, I sit in my room, wondering when my days of service will come around, when I will forget everything and when my soul will be forever disfigured into a demon.

    All of that happened on a single day.

    I had no idea what was happening. One day, I woke from the short nap I was allowed, and felt something ripping at my shoulder. When I looked at it, I saw nothing but a red lump. Then my nails began to grow, turning into a gross, pussy yellow, and sharpened. I felt as if I could walk up to Satan himself and slit his throat with my nails. But as I had that thought, a demon looked to me and gave me a stare as if to say, “You’d never get close enough.”

    But I felt like trying.

    I tried to gather up a few rebels, but they had all progressed further than me. They had all plunged into the darkness of demonic thoughts, never to see the light of hope again. So I was alone. That wasn’t so bad, I was used to it now. But I wanted that to change. I wanted to see my family again. I wanted to see the faces that I had forgotten.

    Most of all, I wanted to see my daughter. I wanted to hold her in my arms again. I do not remember her name, nor her age, but I do remember her delicate touch, her loving smile. And by that delicate touch, I can figure she is about eight. An eight-year-old daughter. I wanted to hold her again. But first, I needed to set myself free. I needed to set everyone free.

    So I stood in front of the large castle steps, perpetually invisible to the High Guard, standing sentry at the front doors. Those particular demons couldn’t see me. I wasn’t demon yet. But I had the vague sense that it knew I was there. It just didn’t care, because after all, what could a human do to harm their king? We were condemned to our minds. Rebellion couldn’t arise when we couldn’t interact.

    The front door was heavy, and I almost gave up. But the strain on my shoulder, as I pushed, caused the red lump to pop. My shoulder was back to normal, and I felt stronger. The demon inside of me was held back, thoughts of rebellion made stronger.

    So I pushed, and eventually, the door opened. I stepped inside, and the sight amazed me. Inside of the enormous castle walls, was a cave. Giant stalactites hung from the ceiling of the cave, while stalagmites mirrored them on the ground.

    Demons lurked around every corner, working for their Lord. High Guards ignored me. I was allowed free reign in this giant cavern.

    My steps echoed throughout the room, and soon I came to another giant door. This one was made of giant crystal. It would be impossible to move, but I would try anyway. I set my hands on the door, spread my legs shoulder length apart, and pushed with all of my might.

    The door opened, but I didn’t think that I had opened it. My element of surprise was gone, dead along with my hope of killing Satan.

    “Come to me,” said a surprisingly deep voice. It was gentle in quality, but I knew who it belonged to. I knew that voice was very well capable of rage.

    I felt my legs being drawn to that voice. I stepped inside the next room, involuntarily. He was pulling me to him. Satan knew I was here, and why I had come.

    Soon I stood face to face with the massive beast. Of course, he looked no different from the other demons who served Him, but there was an aura that made him look bigger. He looked stronger and more repulsive, but I knew that was just an illusory effect.

    “You have come to kill me?” he asked.

    I couldn’t answer, partly because I had forgotten how to talk, and partly because he scared me out of my pants. Why did I come here?

    “You should know that I am immortal. You cannot kill me,” Satan boomed.

    Can a soul die? If so, I felt like crawling into the nearest corner, curling into the fetal position and just die. More than likely, if a soul could die, Satan would kill me first.

    “I know you weren’t a religious man, David.”

    David! My name is David!

    “You never believed in Hell, did you David?”

    He waited for me to answer, but he knew that I couldn’t.

    “To believe in Hell is to believe in everything else: love, hate, life, death and even Heaven. When you don’t believe in Hell, or Heaven, you’re a broken shell of a man. And when you’re punished for that, you should accept it. You can’t rebel, or you’ll be punished further. Do you understand?”

    Of course I did, I just couldn’t say anything.

    “I must punish you now.” And Satan meant it. He lashed out with his large, clawed fist, and for me, all went back.

    And the light never came. Everything was black. And I was stuck, for eternity, asking myself, “Who am I? Where am I?”

    “Why am I?”

    ((word count = 1518))

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