The air was heavy with sweat and the exhalation of lost souls, though not a single person breathed. A mist had settled around us, and though it felt like everything should be black, it was really a wash of dark muddy brown. Faces melted in and out of the walls on either side, sticky although nothing covered them, and they were so close they grazed our shoulders as we walked, raking at skin even though there was none left to give. I stumbled, and my hand, flung out to catch me, passed straight through the rocks by my knees. The shackles around my ankles clunked with the heavier footfalls, my feet ghosting over the sharp stones littering the path. I stood in that line, mindlessly shuffling forwards, one grimy foot at a time, no clue where I was headed, nor paying any attention to those around me. The line passed through a dripping archway; I don't know what the dripping substance was, nor am I particularly inclined to find out. Through the arch, the corridor widened, and I staggered through quickly, keen to leave the stuffy tunnel behind me. What embraced me here was worse.
Everything was thrown into a red glow, heat seemingly seeping through pores in the brickwork. Cells lined the walls on either side, people in them reaching out to touch us as we glided by, their bloody and beaten hands flapping as they passed straight through us. A man called out to us, unconcerned with the ring through his nose not unlike one you'd expect to find on a bull, blood caked onto his unshaven face. A woman hung shackled to the wall, her toes barely reaching the floor. Her hair only dangled matted and thin on the back of her head, the rest of her body and skin covered in ever present blood, black and blisters from the flames that leapt up around her. Pained screams and manic laughter permeated the air, absent muttering and hysterical raving hovered constantly in the background. Dark liquid pooled in patches on the ground, and I could see it shimmering through my translucent skin as I walked over it, not even rippling the surface, until the iron shackles dragged through it. I stopped suddenly, realising that it was no longer another spirit in front of me, but a door. It was large, at least twice the size of me and looked solid, but in the dim red light I couldn't tell what it was made of. Footsteps echoed behind me, ricocheting off the walls and floor, but didn't appear to get either closer or farther away. The door swung in with a crack, I entered.
My shackles split apart as I crossed the threshold, dropping from my wrists and ankles simultaneously with the long chain in between pilling on top. The room was cavernous, and I halted, unsure of whether to venture further or hang back in the relative safety of the shadows. The walls were lined with people, men, women, old, young, but they all had one common feature; their eyes. They were either completely black - so black you could mistake them for empty space, save for the light reflecting off them - or red. There were less of the red-eyed people, and they seemed to hold a higher rank than the others. Perhaps they were older, or maybe had a particular job, but they all stood with twisted sneers on their faces, as though it offended them to see me. I looked down to avoid making any eye contact and noticed that my feet had returned to their normal colour. I brought up a clenched fist closer to my face, and uncurled it slowly. Small half-moon marks had been left from digging my nails in, but I could no longer see through it. A hush settled over the room, and I looked up to see a man in the middle that I hadn't noticed before. He was side-on to me, but I could see even from where I was still standing by the door that his brilliant blue eyes darted from face to face. He stood with his arms up, one palm towards me and the other to the people opposite. He must've been what made them all quiet. He pivoted, taking in the circle of the room with the same calculating stare. He turned to face me. The left half of his face, the side that had previously been hidden from me, was mottled and grey. The skin was peeling away, revealing the raw layer beneath, but the other half of his face was perfectly normal, quite good looking, even. He brought his arms down, and I saw that his right arm had a large red patch on it, with the old skin flicking up at the edges.
"Welcome," he said, "To the place where we will decide your afterlife." I looked around, confused. I had always imagined the Judgement Room as much grander and cleaner than this black pit. If this was really it, I was rather disappointed. It didn't look like the pearly gates to heaven everyone talked about, nor did the man look like God or even Jesus. His evil smile made him seem much more foreboding, he'd do better in Hell. The man carried on, "I am everybody's favourite angel, Lucifer," he added a small bow and a smug smile, "But you may call me God. Or Your Devilness, if you must." Oh.
