Taken Down

I groggily opened my eyelids in an attempt to pull myself out of slumber. My eyes burned with exhaustion as it was still the middle of what had been a long night. I reached for the glass of water sitting on my bedside table. My warm hand enveloped the condensation and as I pulled the glass nearer to my face, it dripped. I made an attempt to sit up to avoid drenching myself in an ice cold bath. I couldn’t sit up. I couldn’t move my torso. My throat was parched, and I grabbed it in desperation. As I stared at the glass, it taunted me. My throat tightened, becoming incredibly dry with every bead of water that rolled off the glass. The mental taunting continued and eventually changed to a whisper.

I couldn’t understand the voice. It mumbled incoherently in my ear. My arms were forced to my side and the glass of water was flung to the wall. It shattered a storm of shards and wetness all over the room. The shards fiercely pierced my skin. Hot, sticky blood began to spread over my body. The voice turned into many voices and they wouldn’t cease. I screamed out for help. I was so desperate. Only, no sound came out. I felt sharp nails scrape the back of my throat and the blood was filling my lungs. I couldn’t breathe.. I couldn’t see.. The whispers were shouts of incomprehensible rants. They gave me a feeling of loathing. I was gasping for one final breath, but I only inhaled blood. As I drifted away from life, the yells returned to a peaceful whisper, almost a sing-song voice. My lungs cleared and I felt them lighten. My throat opened up, I was no longer parched. My crusted eyes opened with ease, and I realized where I was now residing.

I found myself stranded at the gates of Hell.

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