Hell Part One By Ashley Grego
If I had to envision Hell,
it would be something like this: I would feel at home, same bright, brilliant sun and underappreciated grass; yet, something would be less comforting. I would be alone, alone like the wanderer out at sea who is aware that his entire family , friends, and world had been murdered by others. I would see change. Not like the change as promised by the 44th president of my United States who did not bring change other than over 100% increase in health insurance. I have always known there are people out there who preach and pray to the wrong groups openly without a care who sees such as the KKK, the Illuminati believer. But there is something about facing their words head on somewhere where only few know to look. Welcome to my hometown. Welcome to the place where I am educated to think I can be whatever I want to be with a degree that I may never be able to pay off with the lack of jobs available for me to have. Welcome to reality. At the power line, power is not produced anymore. Yet, the powerless, or at least the quiet but powerful show their true words. You cannot make this up, a place like this. I walk around and feel as if I have entered Hell but how can Hell possibly exist on Earth? My chest is tightening. My eyes are squinting. I can feel my knees getting weaker. I walk around some more, gathering memories in digital form to share with others. How will they view these memories, the bright primary colors plastered on brick walls like art projects that feel more like secret codes to summon more than just a bonfire deep in campus grounds. These grounds hold a sacred vibe that I will never understand. Who drew these things? I gather enough memories and begin walking further away from this place Until they are out of my view. I continue down the path, and soon enough, I can see the gates, the cars, and the asphalt road that suggest that I am back in the reality that I know, more home, more comfort. Some describe Earth and reality as purgatory because with all good comes bad and with all bad comes good. We are never more one side than the other although the church, the norms, and everyday people and life have told us otherwise. Maybe I do not believe that. As I get into my car, I cannot forget those primary colors plastered on the wall, making up words that are not meant to be forgotten. Satan is Watching. |