“We’ll even steal the sky. We’ll block out the sen if we can.” This is the arrogance of the successful thief.”Do not bother trusting what you see.The truth is what you make of it. Never allow a good question,” the hypocrite tells the liar.”Pain and anger are our only shelter.” The weaknessand self destruction of the wrathful and violent is self evident by their need for blood to spill.And so darkness shrouds their individual collapses.The very air evacuates color and shifts,molding itself into a perversion of human ideals.Here, under a crushing mass of total darkness,these calloused hands and empty heartslong for nothing more than attention and self importance.No one’s here to witness them, not even each other.The boundaries of this place are themselves formless.None of those here dare to speak.They all share in the guilt. But when blood s on the hands of all, there isno accountability to be had.In this darkness, movement is constant, as terrible of a weight though it may be,these sinners continue to shuffle about in hopes of escape.These people share in a singular punishment;eternity with each other, and their only belonging isthe greatest weight of all.They have all this time to consider their failure. That failure could be failing to be a good person or simply failing to avoid being caught.The extent of this weight is decided by their own wicked minds.However much room there is to vary, that is decided by they, and they alone.Eventually they all resign themselves to guilt and failure.All will fade into the darkness. Their lingeringhatred is snuffed out and replaced with unimaginable despair.Even memory inevitably fades with the light they once knew as life. Daily, more will end up here,but even more will accept their despair.It’s a cycle of disposal, and it can never end. Those forsaken come to learn to dispose of themselves,and the details are determined by reasons all to themselves.This hell has only one location.It is not at the center of the earth, it isn’t some astral plane.This place exists only in my mind.This invented hell is deeply flawed. There is no punishment that I can imagine to match having no clear path, no clear end of life. The unknown is bloated and tremendous.In attempting to create a system of punishment based off ofan overtly catholic hell, and even in exploring one,my mind instinctively shifts back to a waking hell.I begin to think about my fears. My journey through “hell”begins when I allow myself to spend long lengths thinking alone about what happens after death.Again, there is no greater horror that I could relate than simply becoming nothing. Constantly,I fear my consciousness ceasing to be anything at all.Sometimes, if I let my mind wander for too long,I start to convince myself that I am a horrible person.I think that I haven’t reconciled a good many of my mistakes.Other times I think that there are some mistakes that have no path to reconciliation. Some events can never be retroactively patched up and are victims of circumstance.Five years ago, my family was torn apart.I moved away from the majority of them.I will never see or talk to any of them again.I wonder if that group of relatives and some of the others that were there along the waysee me as someone who doesn’t really exist for them anymore either.In that way, hell is inside of us all.The sins are unique to each individual, and the punishments are mentally self inflicted.Through a hell like that, there is only one guide.That is the stream of thought, the state of mind that created them in the first place, nothing more.Perhaps tonight I will have a confusing dream.Driving a car packed with people I don’t know,I’ll sing along to a song I’ve never heard.Distracted, I will let the vehicle collide with a tree,and I will go through the glass and bounce off the ground, breaking my neck on impact.I will fly through the air into another tree,breaking every rib and collapsing both lungs.Nobody else will be in any position to help.I will lay on that very spot for what will seem likeseveral hours in unimaginable pain untilmy punctured lungs cause me to suffocate.When I wake, in coming years, I will meet the people in the dream one by one, and introduce them.I will have the dream again countless until I think nothing of it.The chain of events within it will be set into motion.They will continue without any possibility of me changing them,and I will die.Except I won’t. This is my existential horror.This is worse than any demon. I am afraid to tell myself that I don’t know anything.Hell is allowing personal grief to run wild,haunt me, and start a war inside my head.