The definition of hell

Where am I? What’s this? Can’t turn my head.

Shit, did I do it? Did I intend to do it?

Well, no matter, seems that it’s done. All I can see is the ceiling and a thing blue line trailing to the flower hook. So I’ve succeeded.

Nothing aches, but I wasn’t expecting to stick around for the after show. Goddammit.

So, what now? Well, I guess I’ll hang around. He-he-fucking-he.

Is time moving? When will someone find me? Don’t believe it’ll be quick.

1,2,3,4…well that’s all the lines I see on the boards on the ceiling. Not a time-waster I was hoping for.

Can I move? I’ll focus all my might, will, strength…nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not even a nudge. But I can hear everything. Will they find me? Probably days. I hope my sense of smell was not left intact. Please not that.

No, no, no. Seems I’m in luck, the door is opening.

“Granpa, gramps, where are you? Mom’s calling for lunch.”

No, no, no. Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not her. Please God, if there is one, not her. She’s the only decent one among the bunch of the bastards. Don’t let her see me swinging from the ceiling.

Go little shithead, leave me. I’ll get to lunch. Come on. Why did I do it like this? Fuck.

No use, of course she’s coming in. Of course.

Please God, don’t fuck her up. I’ve had my fair share of fuckups. Please, not this one. Turn her around.

Her piercing scream confirmed that God, if there is one, is not the merciful kind.

Fuck me.

Well, on with the show. This seemed a lot easier in theory. Didn’t think I’ll have a front row seat to this.

Oh, someone is rushing in. Well, it’s done, don’t have to hurry now. They are cutting me down. Can’t feel a thing.

What is this? When do I get to move on? Oh shit, do I move on? Where? This seems like a bad idea now.

OK, at least my view has changed now. I can see the floor. Tour the shithole.

Ah, they’ve put me on the table. Don’t mind me boys, I’ll stretch here for a bit.

Wow, my sense of humor is intact. Still bad, but intact.

I can hear sobbing, but not a lot. No wonder, right? No sense of recapping my shitty life. They don’t speak ill of the dead, but I’ll be an exception, I guess.

Ah, van doors. My ride is here. When the hell will this end?

Maybe never. That’s a fantastic thought. Trapped in this for eternity. Well, I feel there’s no chance of that. If there’s a hell, I’m going there.

Fast forward.

I’ve heard the mourners, the real ones, the fake ones. Heard the pleads of love, begging for forgiveness, curses. All of it.

I haven’t seen it, as it would creep people out if my eyes were open. Heard that too. Then I took my last ride. Lowered into the ground. Heard the minister talking about eternal life. All that jazz.

Well, since then I’ve heard nothing after the dirt hitting the box I was in. I’ve counted roughly to a couple of billion so far. But the fun thing is that I’ve went through all the things I’ve done in my life in excruciating detail. Seems your memory gets a lot better in here. And I’m still counting.

If there’s hell, I’m guessing this is it.