Nobody really knows what happens when you die. It is only something people can guess. I know. I am dead. Bereft of life. Motionless. Cold. Dead.
There are countless stories about what happens to us after we die. But none of them are right. I know the real story.
In life, you have a lot of choices. You have control over those choices. But when you are dead, your choices are taken from you, just like your life. Like the control of your body, it is taken. A paralysed mind as well as body.
The choice is where do you go. The thought is heaven. But hell is also another option.
I have been - had been - a good person. I was helpful, I was good, I followed the rules, I helped others, I did a lot of good things.
The gates are opening. Sights are seen. Shocking sights.
A heatwave covers my skin. My eyes are intensely blinded. I do not want to open my mouth, for fear of swallowing flames that will burn my lungs and shrivel my insides.
This is hell. This is hell. THIS IS HELL. You cannot even imagine what I can see. You do not want to.
Why am I here? What have I done to be trapped here?
"WHAT HAVE I DONE? WHAT HAVE I DONE TO BE HERE?" My mouth screams.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I fear turning round in case I am mortified by the vision I see. A person. Yes, a normal looking person. Just casually standing in hell, not caring that he was standing in a whirlpool of nightmare. "Did you just question why you are in hell?"
"Do you not remember?"
I paused, and then the memory came back. My whole world crashed down around me. The perfect picture painted by me and by others that praised me was ripped down. Stamped on. Covered with the black stain marks of memory. The terrible truth of what I did. That I kept to myself. That I never told anyone. That I vowed to never tell, no matter how hard people tried to push me.
I killed someone.