I remember seeing pictures of hell as a child. They never made any sense. They never looked right. Heaven was the same way - too bright, too many wings and halos. But false is comforting sometimes.
It's scary to think about these images now, some 15 years later. As a child, it's all about first impressions. If hell meant fire and heaven meant perfection, then what was left for in-between? My father once told me, after a few pints, that his greatest fear is purgatory. His greatest fear is not being good enough for heaven and knowing it for the rest of eternity.
But now that I'm older, the fiery illustrations of hell fade. Uncertainty takes a tighter hold everyday. Is Lucifer's home just an eternity with physical and personal demons? Melting and burning for our sins? Or is it silence? No more chances to charm a lover. No more punchlines at the bar after a 12-hour day. What if hell is just a long walk home in the dark filled with self-loathing. No street signs visible. No directions worth giving.
What if hell is just a journey with no more adventures, like the last rotten steps before you surrender to sleep's warm embrace.
