Welcome To Hell

By C. Adam Scott

People have misconceptions about who I am and where they end up.  The one thing that unites all of us who end up here is that we were thrown into the Lake, not that we wanted anybody to be in there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Adam Scott
• Release date: May 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386299639

Book preview

Welcome To Hell

C. Adam Scott

Published by C. Adam Scott, 2018.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

WELCOME TO HELL

First edition. May 10, 2018.

Copyright © 2018 C. Adam Scott.

Written by C. Adam Scott.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Welcome To Hell

If you asked an ancient Roman about what a lake of fire meant to them, chances are you’d hear them say that it meant where a society throws its refuse.  At the time, the vast majority of trash was safely, if not pleasantly, burned away.  Those with the job of tending that fire might mention danger, but not malice.  The entire purpose of their lake of fire was for something to be thrown away and forgotten as it turned to ash to be scattered on the wind.

Now, imagine someone took that idea, but threw conscious people into the fire.  Next, imagine that someone then bid that the burning should last forever, such that those tossed in would never stop suffering from the flames.  What would you say about the kind of person who would come up with such an idea?  What I felt, at the time, was betrayed.

That was a long time ago, though.  At the point of this story’s beginning, I stood at the shore of The Lake.  Dark clouds above, a swirling and agitating mass of oranges and reds below, the streaks of yellow, red, and the rare blue.  If you didn’t know that the forces of heaven were throwing conscious souls into the lake, you might call it beautiful.

Someone wanted these souls to suffer into eternity.  And, often times I have been described as existing in opposition to that someone.  In that capacity, I pulled in on the nets.  All along the beach, others were pulling on those same nets, all of us wearing our protective gloves, because the Lake would leave a spiteful sheen on the netting.

The others on the nets all came from different backgrounds, even different eras.  They were men and women, died at different ages, lived at different places.  They all had two things in common.  The first, is that they had all been thrown into lake, themselves.  The second was something I was aware of as I slipped on the silt of the beach.

I was aware of a feeling a shock of pain up my backside.  That was just before I became aware of the graver feeling of my legs slipping into The Lake just shy of some very important, if mostly unused, parts.  Throughout all of that, I was aware that all those along the beach were in much better shape than I.  We’ll see how they all fare when they are more than six thousand years old.

The two on either side of me pulled me from the lake and applied the damp towels to rinse the residue from my legs.  I must say, they did so with such amazing efficiency that my legs were clean within seconds of my slip.

Thank you both, I said, automatically polite.  That was a perfect example of-  I stopped mid sentence.  In that short moment, I had just realized that something I felt was not netting.  That wasn’t all netting!  Ready more towels!

By the time I finished that sentence, I had turned to a far older form, not unlike the one I had when I spoke to Eve so long ago.  It had a sinuous form, good for swimming.  It had scales, to add some scant protection against The Lake.  It was cold-blooded, which meant that it could even accept some of the heat of the Lake rather than feel its full brunt.  It did not have any limbs, which could have come in handy.

Having neither arms nor legs, my only option was to slide in head first and, for whatever time I maintained my focus, feel around.

You might wonder why I would jump immediately to going personally into the tangible manifestation of God’s desire that I suffer eternally and otherwise be forgotten.  A soul near the beach, even one brought close by the netting, can be pulled back to the deep very quickly.  Merely pulling on the netting would provide no guarantees.  So, time and focus were both of the essence.

It took me somewhere around five agonizing seconds, but I did find the soul deeper along the shore.  I wrapped my body around him and, for an additional somewhere around ten seconds, pushed us both back to the dry land.

He, and it was only just knowable that the soul was male, looked like any other soul pulled from The Lake.  The emaciated appearance, the sweating and shivering, the sunken eyes; The Lake burns so much from you.

If you still need to ask why I went in, I fear we may have nothing to discuss.

After using the damp towels to wash The Lake from him, everybody nearby grimaced for the inevitable.  After so long of The Lake drowning out the ability, he opened his mouth and released a wail of pain and fear.  It seems counter-intuitive, but the sudden absence of pain is the only thing that would allow him to express his suffering.

I returned to my more personable form in order to embrace the man in a hug.  This, too, is normal procedure.  He fought it at first, which is also normal.  But, his screams of terror turned into sobs.  I repeated, in few different languages, the simple message of It’s okay.  It’ll be alright.  The odds of randomly coming across his language were slim.  The comfort of a voice was more important.

Sobs became the beginnings of words.  Wha... wha... Why?

Why is the question everybody asks.  I haven’t found a satisfactory answer.

It’s okay, I said now matching his own English.  It’ll be alright.

The time it takes to regain sense enough to speak complete sentences will vary from person to person.  Usually the length of time in The Lake makes the difference.  Those that had been in the Lake for decades may take a few hours to some days.  Some, those that had immersed for centuries or even millennia, can take months or even years.

Where am I? he asked only minutes from The Lake, suggesting he was quite recently thrown in.

The foreman handed him a bottle of water, which was grasped instinctively but without awareness.

Where am I? the man repeated.  Who are you?

Questions will have to wait.  Drink some water.  I motioned to his bottle.

He made to take a large gulp of water, but the bottle had the sequential small holes at the end, like one might find on a sippy-cup, to keep people like him from choking themselves.

We’re going to get you to a facility where you’ll have food and clothing.  Once you’re comfortable and relaxed, we’ll show you and a group a presentation that will help answer many of your questions.

But,- he said between sips.

No.  It is for the best that you wait.

The sound of the electric beach buggy became noticeable.  It’s a quiet engine.  It’s also relatively weak, but the vehicle does what is needed, never more than a couple passengers and/or a couple hundred pounds of reclaimed refuse from The Lake.

Here, I said, this nice gentleman will take you to a tram.

Go with him, said the foreman’s voice behind me.  I turned to see him lowering his cell phone.  Too many falls already.  I made the call, you’re back on Orientation.

Mr. Henry?

I’m only Mr. Henry when you’re on a shift at the nets.  Call me John, but not until after your Public Service Shift.

The truth of the matter was that he was right.  Looking down at my current human form, I could see a gut and little enough definition, not to mention the deterioration of age.  There was nothing to do for it but get into the buggy beside the new rescued soul and head for the Tram as well.

By the way, may I have your name?

He looked at me, already looking clear-eyed if still sunken-eyed.  I’m Peter Michaels, he said after a moment, offering me a hand.

Once at the loading station, a short elevator ride took us to the boarding platform.  That was when Mr. Michaels turned and looked out at the view, miles upon miles upon miles of... The Lake, just as I described it before.  He truly took this in for the first time and I saw the realization happen on his face.  His sunken eyes managed to look more horrified still.

This is Hell.  Some people just have to say it out loud.

I sighed and spoke as gently as possible.  Yes, but it could be much worse.

He stared, awestruck if not comprehending, at The Lake.  How? he asked.  How could it be worse?

I motioned for him to board the tram.  You could be in Heaven, I said.

The Tram car was mostly full.  Someone walked down the aisle and handed me an electronic pad.  You’re in an English speaking group, she said.  And, we did get the request.  Mr. Michaels is in your group.

All this set up so fast?  I only learned his name on the ride over.

Oh yes, she said with the relief of a functionary in a system that just started working well.  Things have gone so much better since we got Steve Jobs.  That man is a godsend.  As quick as that and she was off to deliver the next assignment to the next car.

A woman in a nearby seat started a giggle that quickly turned into a chuckle.  She was thin, but not to the point of seeming to be starved.  That suggested that she’d spent some time in a recovery facility before being declared ready for orientation.  The chuckle grew into a laugh and graduated to full fledged guffaws.  Godsend, she repeated as though it was the funniest word in the world.

I crouched beside her to try to catch her attention.  Ma-am?

She turned and grabbed my shirt.  The Lord has sent Mr. Jobs for our betterment!

Having her attention, even such as it was, I locked eye contact and practiced the standard breathing technique.  The recovery facilities teach this to all their patients.  Start with a long, slow inhale and hold the breath for a second.  Follow it up with a long, slow exhale and hold that breath for a second.