The Author Is In Hell. (CRACKFIC)

Chapter 1: The Author is in Hell.

If you had asked me before the giant crevice opened beneath my bed "Hey, Jark, do you believe in Hell?" I would have probably said "um...First of all, weird question...Secondly, I don't know!"

Alternatively, if you had asked me about 0.5 seconds after the crevice opened, I may have said something like "What the fuck just happened to me." I would have completely disregarded your question in favour of asking my own. That's how confused I was at being sucked straight into The Underworld. 

The title of this story is a bit on the nose. I could have named it  something like "The Crevasse" or "Hell's Peak" or whatever. After years of naming fanfics and books I would never write, I'd rather get to the basics of what is happening. Call it equal ground. I get to use a title that isn't as cliched as any other ones I can think of, and you get to step into this knowing what it's about--an author, for one reason or another, going to or otherwise existing in Hell. 

I'm not exactly sure what I was doing before I plummeted towards the cold uncaring nothingness below. That's the thing, I couldn't remember at all. It was like Hatsune Miku herself-the only equivalent to God in my mind-had evaporated it directly from my mind, leaving only a darkness that was thick and overbearing like the haze after getting shitfaced. That comparison has its own set of  issues for me but it's the most apt one. It's not unusual for me to forget what I've been doing--unmedicated ADHD and a wide array of mental issues will do that to a person--but I don't typically forget the activity I've just been holding in my hands unless I'm playing Stardew Valley, in which case I will absolutely go "Wait--Why am I holding a hoe?" every five seconds and then I remember that I'm just visiting Sebastian. I'd love to say "He knows what he did" here, but I don't even know what he did, so he probably doesn't either. Honestly I like him fine. 

When I began to fall, my first thought was that of a physical, tangible pit, one that exists in our reality, not a metaphysical one. My room was on the first floor, above the kitchen. As a child, I had had a dream where a chihuahua had barked so loud he had opened the floor and I had fallen down into the kitchen. Naturally, this is where I thought I would end up, startled and overwhelmed and in a whole heap of trouble, perfectly fine otherwise. But as both me and my bed and the boxes underneath my bed all dropped, I didn't even glimpse the damn room, nor the dogs that should have been sleeping within it. Just eerie blackness.

I was falling for a while. I think I screamed, either that or the rushing in my ears was loud enough that I mistook it for me screaming. I gripped onto the duvet as it billowed around me, the pillows pinned firmly behind my back. We fell so far and for so long that by the time we landed in a spot of light, my knuckles were turning pale and my hand was cramping really badly. The plastic boxes under my bed shattered on impact-but oddly enough, my bedframe was fine.

Must've been made with galvanised steel, said the little clown that lives in my head, and eco-friendly wood veneer. 

I do that sometimes, unintentionally. In the middle of a drastic situation, a little voice in my head will suddenly pipe up "Hey, you know what would be really funny to say right now?" and then it says whatever fuckass thing enters its brain. Like one time I was actively having a breakdown and I used the comedic timing to rip on someone me and a friend shared a mutual hatred for. And that was fucking awesome, honestly, best part of the night. The rest of it, not so much. But that was a highlight. 

All the little knick knacks and stuff that resided in my underbed boxes scattered, skidding off into the darkness like rocks skipping on a still surface of water. I watched them go, bewildered, before turning my attention to the thin beam of light that shone onto my double bed. I trailed upwards with my eyes, squinting as I looked at the light bulb. I was sitting under a flickering street light, a black, endless sky above me. I'd be willing to guess that if I stepped from my bed onto the floor below, I'd find cold, gritty pavement.

"Is this a dream?" I said loudly, breaking the silence. "I've never had a dream like this. But if it is a dream, you have to tell me. Intergalactic Dream Law number 69." 

I truly had no idea what I was talking about. I didn't even know if Intergalactic Dream Law was, if it was an accredited course in University, or if, indeed, it even existed. All I knew was that if I bluffed hard enough, I'd feel a bit better (and maybe manipulate the dream, if that's what it turned out to be.)

It did not turn out to be a dream. Instead, something whizzed past my cheek-"Ow"-giving me a very real, and sharp, graze on my face like a certain president of the United States of America except not because I don't want to get sued for a silly little fic. (THEY MISSED. HOW DID THEY FUCKING MISS. HES BRIGHT-BASTARD-ORANGE.) 

"Greetings Ark--Jark." The figure looming behind me said. Its voice was like the crackling of a squished monster can, making me wince. It was the kind of voice where if it had spoken behind a dog, the dog would have jumped and instantly started licking its own leg thinking all its bones had broken at once, just like in that one vine.  It made me very glad Rolo and Moxley hadn't made this little venture with me.

"That's right." I said. "I'm Jark." I decided-and apparently so had the figure-to use my alter ego name while in this terrible place. Names having power and all that. "So, um...Hi?" I continued, my voice faltering a bit.

"You've figured out by now that you aren't dreaming." Said the figure, stepping a bit closer to the light. Whatever it was, it was dressed in a hot dog suit, its clawed hands hanging loosely down by its sides. I will never forgive Tomodachi Collection for doing this to my sense of humour. 

"No shit?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "You shot m-"

"nonono, no. no." the figure shushed me. "We didn't shoot you. We are legally obligated to say you weren't shot." 

"Right."

"So yes," they said, smoothing clawed hands down the front of their hot dog. "You are not dreaming. This is because...you are in HELL." It threw its arms open like it expected me to be impressed. 

I gotta admit, I kind of was. "Wait, I'm in HELL right now?"

"Yeah, you were sucked to hell."

Not for the first time, I thought, but kept that to myself because this if nothing else Hell should remain advertiser friendly. "Uh...was October not enough?" I tried.

"Apparently not. See my paperwork-" the figure (The Devil? Maybe?) cleared its throat. "Oh, man, how do I explain this to you. See Hell has a lot more paperwork and admin stuff than a lot of other places. I mean SURE Heaven gets all the goody-two-shoes lot and yacht clubs and--but Hell gets stuck with the labour costs and stuff, with HALF of the benefits and funding that the big guy gets."

"Right, right. Sounds like. Like Hell."

"Exactly. So like, to kind of prove that our place is 'worth the funding'" he rolled his eyes. Somehow I saw that. "I'm sort of obligated to take one mortal soul and keep it in Hell for a while. Kind of put it through its paces. See if it can handle it or if I can completely break it down. If I break it down easily, there's no point in Hell being a secondary department of ETERNAL punishment, I mean what's the point in eternal  punishment if someone's broken after two whole days?" He chuckled. So far this made perfect sense to me. 

"So you brought me down here...to NOT have my spirit broken."

"Exactly! Survive a month without losing your shit, you get to go home, I get to keep hell running, I'll even throw in a nice little surprise for you at the very end." He chuckled. "Good luck, and work hard! The entirety of hell is relying on your survival--"

"Wait, wait, I still have question-"

"Bye bye, the chapter's over, I'm fading away, I can't hear you anymore..."

I stared into the darkness where the devil had just been, knowing I wasn't having a nightmare. That had actually made sense to me. My eyes raised to the blinking streetlight above me.

I, the author...I was now in Hell.

Fuck.