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The Wicked and The Damned

Hell. A burning pit of sinners. They lived in misery on earth, but there is no mercy. They die. Slowly, painfully, over and over again. Beneath their screams of hatred and sobs for mercy, you can hear their red, blistering skin crackle.
Mere, mortal humans. Weak, powerless people, being punished because they did not rise above what they were meant to be. They were all born into injustice, brought into a world where their lives would be difficult and meaningless. Now they pay for what was done to them.
They sinned, therefore they die.
They have burned in these flames forever.
It will go on.
Forever.
The suffer, they cry, they scream, they curse, they run, staggering, but there is no where to go.
The heat chokes them and eats their naked bodies.
They want to give up, they want it to end, but you can't give up in Hell. No matter how much you want to. It goes on forever.
They regret their past life.
They regretted it as they were living it, but there was no way out.
It's too late. Mistakes can no longer be fixed.
Others come and stand over them. Evil fills their eyes and souls. They laugh at the pain, the misery, the sorrow. They are happy to see ones who suffer almost as much as they do.
There is no break, no pause.
The monstrous flames never die.
The sinners cannot kill themselves, although they try. They cut themselves and break their own necks, but still, they live.
The fire roars beneath their feet, above their heads, all around them.
It is fueled by the never ending additions of those who have been judged.

There is a circular room with walls off cold stone. There is no floor. There is no ceiling. Below there is only an infinite darkness. The wails of one man echo deep into the hole.
A large rock juts out of the stone wall. Tied to it is a person, a man. He can barely move. His hands and feet are bound. He is thin and dirty and naked. He sobs into the darkness. He has been here forever, and forever he will remain. This is his Hell.
Who could he be?
Adam? Judas? Lucifer himself? I don't know.
He alone knows who he is and what he has done.
God knows too.
The man used to cry out for help, but after an infinity he realized that he was alone. Forgotten by everyone. Ignored by the universe. Isolated from Love.
He is afraid. He is angry. He is miserable. He cries and his tears never hit the ground. They fall forever. He looks up but there is nothing but blackness. He sneezes in the he frozen air and shivers. He can't even wipe his own nose. He starves.
It is the same every day, years after year, generation after generation. What is time? It doesn't exist here. There is only forever. It never ends.
The worst part is the loneliness. Knowing that no one cares. No one will help him. Ever. No one else exists here.
One time he received something. It whistled through the air above him and the landed behind him. A knife. It cut the ropes binding his hands. His white bone was visible where the rope had cut into his wrists.
He climbed up on top of the rock. He knew what he had to do. He had no doubt in his tortured mind. He slashed the knife violently through his neck. Blood came spurting out. His scream echoed on, never fading. His body was washed in dark, wet blood. Slowly, the wound on his throat closed itself, leaving an ugly, crooked scar.
The knife was not a gift.
It was yet another evil curse upon him.



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