Short Story- Observations of Hell

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Now at the gates of this wretched new domain I observed two prim and spritely characters dressed in a suit and tie and a long red dinner dress. None other than Ronald and Nancy Regan, smiling gleefully, “Just say no!” they chirped in unison. A chill was sent down, the cold emanated through me.

The muffled cries could already be heard beyond the crystalline gates, the jagged bars of methamphetamines could barely hold back the anguish of the countless souls ensnared in this pit. My master informed me that none were allowed to speak here, their mouths and nostrils bound,

lest they be able to feast of the drugs surrounding them. The purpose of this was to remind them of the pleasures they had once derived from the billows of smoke that filled the air and the gravelly rocks of crack sprinkled upon a beach of cocaine. They stare for eternity at the hit they will never get.

First up were the abusers of the alkaloid cocaine, buried in mounds of it, some with their heads sticking out others only their feet. All lashed furiously with bloodshot eyes and hair matted to their sweaty faces, all caught in eternal withdrawal. Among them I spotted Scarface himself, Tony Montana.

The fire he once had in life was reduced to a fuming desperation as he mashed his face into the mound repeatedly. His eyes streamed tears for the powder he craved so desperately! Also there was Freud, his genitals peppered in the stuff, over stimulating them as once he had so voraciously wrote.

Moving through that sector we came upon the freaks and burnouts of psychedelics. As they had once thought that they were all one consciousness in life, conversely here they were represented as but black motes completely separated from one another. Amusing patterns ...

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...to a floating drum the smoke would instantly choke them causing their grip to weaken and fail. “Here are the drunkards and the smokers,” Virgil proclaimed “their indulgences were legal and the most terrible of all, forever they will thrash and flail

in a pool of their failure to moderate themselves. Many of them tried AA but did not accept the higher power, so here they are sliding from their barrels back into the drink for all of eternity.” “And what of those who smoked the seven pronged leaf, the users of the lettuce of the devil himself?”

“I presume you refer to the smokers of cannabis?” Virgil responded, “Why they’re in heaven of course! What do you think the clouds are made of but hits from the water pipe of Christ himself!” And with that we moved to the next circle, I had seen my fill of the gluttons of substances, I knew never to travel that path.

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