Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: GRATE (11/19/15)
- TITLE: The Grates of Hades
By Bonnie Bowden
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The darkness envelopes me like the deepest recesses of an abandoned coal mine. Pain shoots throughout my body from the searing heat. My parched throat and tongue find no liquid to quench the flame within. Blazing embers penetrate my soul without destroying it.
My nostrils fill with the putrid stench of death rising from the pit. I wish I could cover my mouth from the sulfurous odor of rotten eggs, but I have nothing to do so. Still worse is the stale smell of decaying meat and grated Limburger cheese. The air is suffocating, choking, and unrelenting.
Screams like the wounded on a battlefield continually cycle through my mind. Ear-piercing noises like the scraping of a knife across prison bars intrude through those sounds. Vile words, blasphemous words, curses and laughter filter through the shadows. What is lurking in this veil of night?
It is the knowledge that my own decision put me here that continually grates on my nerves. As a doctor, I believed in the power of science. I thought only about facts and evidence, not of faith and morality. God could not be proven or so I thought. The moment I died I knew differently, but it was too late. My soul will be forever removed from Christ’s light. I find myself in utter despair.
How I wish I could send a message to my loved ones and friends not to believe the lie? Even if it means I will be eternally separated from them--never see them again, hold them again, or speak to them again--I wish I could send a warning against this cursed place. But I fear that they will be like me and close their ears to the truth.
A chasm separates the light from the darkness that no bridge can cross. The insurmountable distance between me and God and those who love God is unfathomable.
“Help me! Please, just a drop of water.”
But my utterance is carried off in the wind, I don’t even realize that the moaning and crying and gnashing of teeth I hear is from me.
I see the steam rising; the underground framework of power is eternal.
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