Hell's Company

Chapter 1 (Edited)

I expected what anyone else in my place would; fire, ash, brimstone, and eternal torture. We're only told about this place from our archaic holy books, written by people who have obviously never been there before, who really have no idea whatsoever. Were the depictions accurate or was it even worse, somehow, in some incomprehensible way? An existential question I didn't have the answer to at that time.

My time with the judges was brief, but it is better to rip off the bandage fast, isn't it? They had thoroughly terrified me when they damned me to Hell. Needless to say, I was more than surprised when I got there and saw what truly awaited me.

I found myself squinting my eyes because of the intense white light that surrounded me from all directions. I could see nothing around me, no distinguishable features to make out of the empty whiteness. There was no sky or ground, which was disorienting, and I appeared to be alone. "Where am I?" I asked quietly to no one in particular.

I was surprised when a voice answered me, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, deep and powerful, yet soft and ethereal. I was unable to determine if it belonged to a man or woman, as I pinpointed two bright oval-shaped sources of light in the distance. "Heaven, I suppose you could say, but not for long," they spoke with a grim tone.

    "What do you mean?" I asked nervously, already knowing without a doubt that I was, in fact, dead. I wasn't going to wake up in a hospital bed or to someone attempting to resuscitate me. I wasn't going to be saved.

    A second voice chimed in, slightly different than the first, and I was unable to determine if this one was male or female as well. "This is the Pale, an area outside of Heaven, reserved for souls of your... nature." Their pause and the way they enunciated the word sounded negative.

    "Persephone Flemming, your actions in life have been weighed, and you are deemed unfit for Heaven. Therefore, you are being damned to Hell. This is unfortunate for your soul, but it cannot be changed. You have a few minutes before the next scheduled fall."

    "Such a pity, she was so close..."

    "Wait, this is actually real? Heaven, Hell, the afterlife?" I laughed, even if it wasn't funny. "Some kind of cosmic, ironic joke?"

    "Yes, it is absolute."

    "There's a literal fall? And you schedule it?" I asked when they started pushing me forward. To what, I didn't know because all I could see was a whiteness that felt almost surreal.

    "Naturally. Haven't you read any holy books whatsoever? They all incorporate the different planes of the afterlife in some way."

    The second voice again. "She probably hasn't. I believe that was one of the lifestyle choices we weighed."

    They sounded so in control, so authoritative, that I couldn't help but obey. Everything was telling me to listen to them. My body obeyed them without a conscious thought, but something in the back of my mind was telling me not to. Finally, I could start to see something, dark flecks in the distance that were growing into vague humanoid forms, a group of people just as confused as I was, but lulled into a false sense of security. None of them spoke or moved, standing as idle and lifeless as statues. Another part of me, my instincts, perhaps, was screaming at me to fight the beings at all costs, to get away. I finally found the strength to ask a question, "You are corralling us and going to slaughter us like animals?"

"No, of course not, you're already dead."

"This can't be happening." I turned around and tried to run back to wherever I had been, but something grabbed me and threw me back into the crowd of people that suddenly came back to life from their statue-like state and were instantaneously pissed off that I had bumped into them. They cursed and shoved me around, turbulent emotions resurfacing. After all, they were in the same boat as I was, and it was heading down. I launched myself forward once again blindly and tried to claw something, anything, to fight and get away, the fire in me fueled by desperation. My hands gripped fabric, my nails sinking into something more solid. I held on for dear life, figuratively speaking, as the judges tried to get me off. I screamed and fought as hard as I could, scratching and biting, not caring if I was making a scene.