Living Hell

Hell. What is it, really? Ask any little boy or girl on the streets and they give you a wary look whilst their parents usher them away from the ‘strange man’. Ask any adult and watch them shift their weight uncomfortably, searching their pathetically limited mind desperately for an intelligent answer... Or, better yet, a different subject.

Of course, you can always look it up in the dictionary. As set down by the American Heritage Dictionary, Hell is officially a noun, being a place. Following the words "Hell (hél) N." are a series of vague, imprecise definitions that skirt around the real questions: what is it, where is it, what is it like? Several unwittingly make distant passes on the subject, but miss it entirely.

Has anyone ever seen hell? Oh, certainly. However, they’re in no condition to talk.... Namely, because they’re dead. However, there are a select few that have visited Hell, and are alive to tell of it. Not that different from you or your sister or your mother, as a matter of fact. Just another person who happened to be marked by fate.

But where are these people? Take a look around. Sometimes they’re the bums littering the streets. Others are the burned out shells of people living in mental institutions. Or, the worst, are people who should be dead. Those lucky individuals who survived horrible fires or crashes, and end up with a completely deformed body, unable to communicate with the world, but utterly aware of everything going on around them... Like me.


I think I lived a pretty good life leading up to my quick ‘death’. I was young and free, bound by no one. As a young lad, I was in excellent physical condition, even if I was fractionally less intelligent than my peers. During my teenage years, I excelled in all forms of physical activity. My favorite happened to be hockey, for it suited my personality: Hard, brutal, and didn’t require too much thinking.

Upon graduation, I received numerous amounts of scholarship offers. I finally settled for a college in Canada, where I attended for a year. Unfortunately, I placed drugs, partying, and alcohol before studying, and lost the scholarship.

Deciding that I didn’t need school, I tried out for many semi-pro and professional hockey teams. Surprisingly, I was picked up by the Detroit Red Wings second-string. I buckled down and quit my old ways, focusing all my energy to my new life.

Midway through my third season, I finally got on the ice, and proved myself invaluable to the offense. My contract was noticeably inflated, I received a few sponsorship offers from sports companies, and most unfortunately, returned to my old ways.

All in all, I was happy. Sure, some of the hits hurt. Sometimes I got ripped off on hemp deals. Once in a while my hangover would be near incapacitating. But in general, life was good.

Sadly, It all ended rather brutally after me and my buddy, Gordon Way, got decidedly drunk and thought it would be entertaining racing down the freeway, all the while taking strong shots of vodka.

I was soon to find that death really was a bitch.

Death wasn’t as spectacular as I had imagined it.

In my mind, I was expecting my life to flash before my eyes in slow motion, and fully expected to be able to finally make sense of it all. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. There was a sharp pain at the back of my neck, my body gave an involuntary shudder, and blackness surrounded my vision. I could feel all my facilities shutting down, literally dying before my senses...

All except my mind.

In fact, my mind seemed to sharpen, if anything. I was acutely aware of everything, including things I shouldn’t have been aware of, given my current predicament. Akin to an out-of-body experience, I could see things without eyes. I could see the twisted wreck that had once been my shiny black 2006 model of the Saab Turbo 900, laying on it side like a mortally wounded animal. I could see the dancing flames on the pieces of rubber that littered the ground, ignited by heat of the smoking turbo charger. I could even see that stupid fawn, still standing placidly in the middle of the road, still chewing the same piece of grass.

With a shock, I realized I could even see Gordon. As he never buckled up, he faithfully followed the laws of motion set down by Sir Issac Newton long ago, his body continued moving even as the car made an abrupt stop. He flew through the windshield, ripping his face into bloody shreds. He had sailed through the air and crashed spectacularly into a heap, impaling himself through his chest on a broken log.

And then I saw me.

Safely secured by my seatbelt, I remained in the car. As it flipped and rolled, the frame of the car bent unnaturally. As it came to rest on its side, I saw I had found myself in a rather bad position: My neck was crushed by the seat, lashed down by the seat belt that was supposed to save my life. Judging by the odd angle my head was bent, it was clear that I had broke my neck.

Damn. That wasn’t the way I wanted to die.

I had envisioned myself going out in a flame of glory, in such a way that my drunken comrades would boast of my dying accomplishments in bars around the world.

Unfortunately, I had only achieved the 'flames' part.

Damn.

Then the crazy out-of-body vision began to fade, and I laughed voicelessly. Well, so much for whole ‘life-flashing-before-my-eyes’ deal. I got one crummy view of my seriously messed up body. As blackness quickly filled my vision, I embraced death.




Like blinking my eyes, I regained full vision again. I was back in my old body, and yelped in shocked happiness. I felt my cashmere sweater, firm muscles, and stubby chin in wonderment. Was I dead? Was it all a dream? Was I in—

"Heaven?" Asked a melodious voice, finishing my thought. The voice had a crisp, cool tone to it, and slightly accented like that of an educated southerner. "No, friend. I fear not."

"Dude. We’re in Limbo!" Exclaimed Gordon. He, as I was, had his former self completely restored as it was moments before our wreck. "This is trippy..." He said, looking around.

The room was pure white, giving the illusion of infiniteness. It was completely unfurnished, the walls seamless. The man who had spoken to me stood in one corner, dark clothes contrasting sharply with the whiteness.

The man himself carried something of an air of confidence, giving everyone the impression that he was in charge. He had dark, neatly combed hair, and a handsome, clean-shaven face. The dark suit he wore was subtle, but yet screamed ‘rococo’ at the same time.

Smiling slyly, he shook his head. "No, not quite..."

Gordon looked mildly confused, as was I. Then his eyes opened wide, and sagged visibly. His ashen face stared blankly at the floor.

"Ah, figured it out Mr. Way?" The man asked, a smile dancing on his lips. "Yes. You are in Hell."

The profoundness of what he had just said missed me completely.

"Hell, Mr. Marek, Hell! You know, the place of eternal damnation and torture?" He spat irritably.

"Oh." In afterthought: "Why?"

The gentleman smiled. "Well, apparently, someone has missed too many days of church, broken the holy commandments, and displeased God." He broke off in peals of melodious laughter. "You were selfish, unloving, and cared for naught but yourself."
Gordon sputtered. "Hey, c’mon now. We weren’t that bad!" He balled his fists at the man’s mocking smile. "Sure, I might have missed Church a few times, lied a little, but really!.."

"Actually, its quite difficult to get into Heaven," The man said pleasantly. "People with more morals than you have ended up with me."

"Are you the Devil?"

"The devil? I am a devil. But Satan, you mean? Gracious, no! You are much too unimportant in the mortal realm to require a visit from the Dark One himself."

"You’re a bastard."

"Oh yes. Quite." He paused. "So. Would you like a grand tour of your new home?"
The impact of what had happened was finally setting in: I was in Hell, and it sure wasn’t for a mere visit. A strange calm settled over me, a shock induced numbness. The same appeared to happen to Gordon.

"I guess we don’t really have a choice, do we?" I asked sulkily.

"No, I suppose you don’t." The man pondered.

As he said this, the room disappeared. It wasn’t like changing the channel, and didn’t vanish in a poof of smoke. It simply slid from view, and was instantaneously replaced with a white corridor lined with doors.

"Whoa. Trippy." Gordon commented.

The man smiled.

"This is the most basic way I could represent Hell for you. As you see, this hall has doors. Each door leads to a different realm, as no two people have the same idea of Hell. For instance—"

"What about the fire-and-brimstone the zealots are always going on about?" Gordon blurted out.

"What, this?" The room oozed away and was replaced with a terrifying scene: We were suspended over an ocean of molten magma, Gothic-style spires rising up. Along the spires were millions of humans of all races and both genders, wearing collars and being driven by ugly, twisted parodies of men. It was the classic idea of Hell preached by priests.

The room returned back to the corridor.

The man now laughed heartily at our faces. "Ridiculous nonsense made up to scare people into taking up religion or donate more money in hopes of saving their souls," he assured us. In afterthought, he commented, "You know, I end up with a good number of those zealots...
"As I was saying, every person has their own idea of what Hell is. I guess that for some, it very well may be boiling acid pits. But for most, its much more subtle than that. It will usually play on the persons deepest fears, making them enact nightmares beyond their wildest imaginations over and over. Amazing, really."

He let this sink in.

"For instance, lets take your mother, Mr. Way."

Gordon’s breath caught in his throat. "Mom? She’s here?! But she was so good, so nice..."

The man sneered. "Your mother was a whore. Mr. Way, do you know what your mother was most afraid of?"

Gordon was still stuck on the idea of his mom being in Hell.

"Your mother, Mr. Way! Do you know what she is afraid of?"

Gordon shook his head vapidly.

"Heights." The man grinned and reached for a doorknob. Gordon and I instinctively stepped back. "Come now, I won’t bite. Look inside."

Peering around his arm, we saw a massive suspension bridge. Under the bridge was countless cars, roving around to and fro like little ants. We could feel gusts of wind blowing in the open doors, the faint smell of pollution drifting in. We crowded around the door for a closer look.

On the very top of the bridge was a woman in a nightgown. Her hair blew wildly in the wind, and she clutched the think metal supports for balance. Her face was a mask of pure terror, tears streamed down her face. She screamed something inaudible over the wind, but it was the sound of panic and fear.. Her grip on the supports slipped, and she quickly lost balance in the wind.

She slipped off the side and plunged down to the traffic below. The view from the door stayed fixed on the woman, and showed her as she twisted and flipped in the air. The road rushed up with frightening speed, and the lady landed with a sickening splat in the road.
Her bones and internal organs attempted to flatten itself, stretching her skin like putty. Some blood and bodily fluids seeped out from under her. We saw her like this only for an instant, as a car, unaware of the obstacle, ran over her skull. The bones crunched some more, and blood and gray brain matter was splattered over the asphalt.

With a horrible retching sound, I turned around to find Gordon dry heaving and crying simultaneously, while managing to get out the words, "Mother... my god, mother!"

The man appeared bemused.

He closed the door and waited for Gordon to recover.
Gordon finally stood up, shaking with cold fury. "You bastard. You heartless bastard. I’m gonna kick your—"

"I promise you this, Mr. Way," said the man, no longer smiling. His voice was sharp and deadly precise. "If you attempt to hit me, you will be flayed alive for a thousand years. Surely by now you realize that I could strip your flesh to the bone and you would still live. I could repeat the process for as long as I want."

Gordon whimpered and sank back.

The demon-man turned to me. "What about you, Mr. Marek? Would you like to see your mother?"

I gaped. "But—but my Mom isn’t dead yet!"

The man scoffed. "Idiot human. Time is a human concept. What was, what is, what will be... its all irrelevant. Your mother was born, lived out her life, and is already dead.... While, at the same time, wasn’t even conceived yet."

"That doesn’t make any sense."

"It would if you weren’t so stupid." Turning back to Gordon, he reverted back to his former faux pleasantness. "Now... Lets get you settled in, shall we?"

We walked down the corridor slowly. "Now, Mr. Way, you are a typical case. You are greedy, selfish, and live for the moment. You care for no one... Almost no one."

I was confused, but Gordon was suddenly full of rage again. "No. Don’t. Leave Laura out of this!" He reflected, and lowered his tone. "Please... don’t do this."

The man’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. He stopped and opened another door to reveal a busy street in a large city. Bright sunlight streamed down, and people chattered merrily while shopping. I could vaguely make out Laura in a pink shirt, platinum blond hair glowing in the sun.

I turned to point her out to Gordon, but I found him gone...

He had entered the door.

"GORDON!" I screamed. He didn’t respond, or even make any notion that he had heard me. I screamed his name again.

"Its pointless, Mr. Marek." Said the man. "He has already entered his Hell... Voluntarily, in fact. He will not leave."

I felt like crying.

"Watch, now."

Gordon pushed his way through the crowd, desperately trying to get to his Laura. I could hear him shouting her name, but she paid no heed.

"Observe the van." He said, voice edged with poorly concealed glee.

A giant moving van barreled down the road, cars swerved to get out of its way. On top of it furniture was haphazardly strapped down with rope. It made a turn at the last second, and the stuff on top broke loose of its bonds and fell.

...Directly onto Laura.

A heavy oak bookcase carried momentum off the van and caught Laura in the back, sending her flying forward. It fell to the ground with her and slid, using Laura like a sick form of lubricant. It skidded across the sidewalk, leaving behind an oozing trail of blood flecked with skin and bone. With a single loud pop, it came to a rest directly on top of her.

An eerie quiet filled the street, and was filled with a single, desperate howl.

Gordon.

"Mr. Way has just experienced his worst fear: The death of his future bride, completely powerless to advert what happened, and then left utterly alone. He won’t last long... Most likely, he’ll commit suicide, but then have to go through another scenario. Again and again, for eternity."

Dazed, I simply asked, "Why?"

"Its not your fault, Mr. Marek. Its simply the way things work."

"...So, what is going to happen to me?"

An odd expression came over the mans face: A mix of amusement and something almost near pity.

"I actually find you an interesting case, Mr. Marek. See, you live much like your friend, Mr. Way: Spur of the moment, a free spirit. Which is also part of the problem, because you honestly care for nothing for no one person at all." He sighed. "I could resort to the old fashioned technique and simply torture you for the rest of your life, but you’re too tough for that, aren’t you, Mr. Marek?
"No. But your strength is also your weakness. As you care for no one, no one cares for you, outside your physical prowess. Take that away and you have nothing."

I shivered uncontrollably.

He continued. "I think the best punishment would be to send you back."

"But I’m dead."

"Yes. But that can be fixed... temporarily, at least. A good ten or twenty years will give you plenty of time to grow sick of life, to suffer silently in your mind."
It was then what I realized what he meant to do: He really meant to send me back. My body was mangled beyond repair. There was no way that I would be able to play hockey again, let alone walk. Or talk. Or breathe.

"NOO!.." I gasped. "Please! No... Just kill me over and over here!"

The devil man laughed. "I think I found the perfect punishment. You never were very good at simply thinking, were you? Well, you’ll have plenty of time to yourself, to think of what will come when you die again. Good-bye, Mr. Marek!" He laughed insanely.

I screamed and screamed as the room slid away to darkness.


I regained the vaguest sparks of life again, to meet the sound of emergency medical teams all around.

I was in a hospital, and could faintly here the chatter of doctors and nurses. One called, "Clear!" and I felt energy surge into my body. "Stat!" the voice called again.

A different voice, female this time, responded: "We have a pulse! It's weak, but there!"
I could hear people cheer, while I was continued to be revived...


Afterwards, I was deemed a miracle. My neck had been broken in two spots, my ribs were crushed on the right side, vital organs were pierced, and all my limbs broken in at least one spot. My heart even stopped for five minutes, and was barely rescued by doctors. It took around-the-clock care to ‘save’ me.

Even after a year and a half, dozens of surgeries, and dozens more to come, I was not even a shadow of my former self. Oh, yes, I was quite fine in my mind. It was untouched, perfectly preserved. But I would never be able to walk again, to talk again, to even eat my food unassisted again. My life would revolve around machines to keep me alive... A life, that, ironically, I didn’t want to have.

Had I a voice, I would have cried out for someone to kill me.

So this is what that strange man had condemned me to: Life. I was stuck in a sick travesty of a comedy, the tragic protagonist destined to suffer silently. I was to be bound to a life of utter nothingness, contrasting so much with my former one that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Would death come? Oh, eventually... But it was in no hurry.

After all, I was already living my Hell.