(Bonus) How I Picture Hell

Writing 110

How I picture Hell.

It is an endless plain, filled with the souls of the damned. Every inch of ground is coated with spikes and thorns, so that every step is agony. No eyes, no ears, no tongues. You cannot hear your own screams; you cannot hear any comforting words, only the hissing and cackling of demons inside your own head. You cannot see anyone or anything else. The only senses left are touch and smell. And all you feel is pain. All you smell is rotting flesh, burning skin, fire and sulfur. The demons inside your disembodied soul remind of what you lost, what you could have had, what you took from yourself because of your disobedience. “It’s your fault. We tempted you, but all you had to do was resist. You were weak! And your weakness put you here, with us!” You scream, but no one can hear you. You cry, but no one cares. You burn, but you are never consumed.