Hell

CHAPTER ONE – THE END

I stared at the long path ahead. It wound its way through the woods and into the darkness of the night. The air was bitingly cold, winter was fast approaching. My truck sped up through the empty road. The trees stared at me sinisterly, and the leaves rustled threateningly with each freezing gust of wind. I stopped after a few more miles. From here, I must walk to the edge of the cliff. I sucked in the cold air and made my way through brambles and branches. My progress through the woods was slow, but that did not matter. Nothing mattered; not the wind cutting my face, not the pain in my gut brought by hunger, not my sore, puffy eyes brought by days of crying, not the creaking of the leaves underneath my heel, not the scratching of twigs on my face, not my trembling skin exposed to the chill of the evening— nothing. I drifted slowly as if none of it were real. I arrived at my destination. The waves were tossing and hitting one another and the rocks below. I could hear them as if they were quarreling. I could taste the tang of the water, breathe in the salt below. I looked up and watched the million tiny pieces of light blink at me. I watched the crescent moon in its beauty smile down at me as it disappeared behind a cloud. I smiled at them, my pretty audience. They shall see me perform tonight… my last performance. Yes… They will be witnesses to a grand act of love, of bravery. Or perhaps an act of cowardice? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. It will all end soon, just minutes to go. This despair that has pushed me here will soon disappear. It will all end tonight. “For you,” I whispered as the wind drowned out my voice. Did the stars hear it? Did the moon? I wished in my heart that he heard my words; after all, they were for him. I closed my eyes and plunged myself into the darkness of the cliff. I hit the surface of the sea with an impact I had not expected. I did not struggle as I felt myself being sucked in by the cool waters. I did not care. This was what I wanted. I let the waves swallow me up into their grim embrace. The waters turned and tossed and bruised me. I endured the pain. This will not last long. Again and again the waters twisted me, pulling me deeper, scraping my throat with its salt. Sleep, it seemed to whisper. Rest, it said. Then, slowly, I could feel my body numbing, my mind dulling, my heart beating slower… quieter... I felt the last bit of life slipping from my fingers… This was it... the end.

CHAPTER TWO – GRAVEYARD

I flung my eyes open and breathed in some air. I let my hand roam around. Leaves crackled as I moved and mist hung over me. Where am I? Am I dead? Or was my death merely a dream? No… I died. I am sure of it. Then what was this? The afterlife? Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? I sat up. My head felt as though it was about to break. My throat was extremely dry, painful, as if it had been scraped from the inside. I realized I was thirsty. Did you still need mortal necessities after death? I looked around but could hardly see anything because of the mist. It seemed as if it was around dawn here; if time existed in the afterlife. I began to wander about; my legs shaking in exhaustion with each step. There was a figure slowly emerging from the fog. It had an arch at the top and rectangular body. I ran towards it and realized it was a gravestone. I froze when I saw what was written there: Jonathan Mooree Dec23,1981-October2,2010 Death cannot conquer our love for thee I felt a lump at my throat and a pain in my gut. I felt the tears rise in my eyes, and, unable to hold them back, I let them roll down my cheeks. They rested on my lips. They tasted like seawater. I just stared at it, unable to move, unable to make sense of why it was here. My head was a blur, as if everything I knew was being scrambled in my skull. The mist began to clear, and I could finally see that I was in a graveyard. I summoned all my strength to move from my spot, to look away, to try to deceive myself that this was not what it was. I walked towards another gravestone, shaped in the same way as the first one. A sudden fear surfaced on me; a fear of what I may see. I leaned in and stared at the imprinted words. My mouth fell open. I ran to another stone, and then another, and another, checking the letters inscribed there. I fell back against another gravestone in exhaustion and disbelief. “Shit.” I heard myself say. Terror welled up inside me. Each and every gravestone I checked was an exact copy of the first one; the same words, the same scratches and marks, the same spots where mosses grew. Before I could calm down, I felt a hand touching my own. I looked at

my right, and there he was, smiling at me, with an eyeball drooping from its socket and maggots eating their way through his face. “Fuck!” I screamed but he held up his decaying hand and clasped it on my mouth. He drew closer. I could smell the foul breath of earth and spoil from him. My heart rang in my ears. No. No. This cannot be happening. I kicked his torso with full force and sprinted. I ran and ran through rows and columns of gravestones, each reading the same as the last and the next. There seemed to be no end in this. I looked ahead. As far as my teary eyes could see. There was nothing but graves. They ran up to the horizon. The sky was a dull gray, just like that day when he was buried. I suddenly tripped on something. I looked back and saw it was his head sticking out of a grave, half of his face appeared as if it were blown inside out. “HOLY MOTHER OF F--” I wailed but then noticed beyond him was a multitude of himself. They were decaying bodies, gruesome sights smiling at me. I stood up and began to run… but it was no use. He was there as well. They were rising from their graves with worms and soil hanging from their skin, their golden hair, their slightly opened mouths. They grabbed me and forced me on the ground. “Nicole. Nicole. Nicole.” They chanted with a voice that seemed to come from the ground itself. “’Stop! Stop! Let go of me!” I screamed. I kicked wildly and cried. I begged to be released but they just stayed the way they were. They stripped me of my clothes, slowly, carefully. Their skin felt like ice. “Stop. Please.” I whispered. One of them laughed softly, as if I amused at what I had said. “You are still so very pretty my love,” he said with his soft, deep, velvety voice. I froze. For one crazy moment I thought I was staring at him, my beloved, alive and strong and handsome as he always had been. But no. I was staring at a decaying body with insects and worms living beneath his skin, not knowing what they were about to do to me. All of sudden, I heard myself screaming. There was an excruciating pain on my chest. I looked there and saw that one of them had bitten a part of me. I could see my flesh in his mouth, being chewed savagely, hungrily. That part of my body had been torn away. The others joined in. they herded me. Biting, nibbling, eating every inch of my body. I screamed. I cursed. I struggled. What the hell was happening? The pain was driving me insane. I was being eaten alive. I could smell the blood. I could feel the excitement in the air. But why wasn’t I drifting to unconsciousness? I should be dead by now with that much taken from me. I watched them eat me away. I could see my ribcage exposed. I tried to kick but then I saw that my legs were merely bones now. I wanted to scream but couldn’t because someone was now eating my throat. I should be dead. I SHOULD BE DEAD. But I wasn’t… I couldn’t. I could not die to escape this. I had to endure this pain of being eaten alive, unable to die, by these things. I cursed in my head as I felt my skull being ripped open as well as my ribcage. One took out my beating heart, tearing it from my veins, and started chewing on it. This should’ve killed me, but it still did not. I looked up and saw him, a piece of my brain hanging from his mouth. He smiled before he took out my eyes. I was blind, and yet not dead. I could

feel them, their teeth, their fingers, their tongue… And slowly… every sensation disappeared… as if I were dying… finally.

CHAPTER THREE – MAGGOTS

When I opened my eyes I was screaming. I could still feel the pain on my skin. But then I suddenly realized I was in a familiar room. There was no mistaken it. The clock on the mantelpiece read 10:45 am. I looked around. Yes… this was his room. The mahogany table and the vase of lilacs were there. The Persian rug was laid out on the floor. His clothes and my own were all over the place. His wardrobe was open. I stood up, bewildered. What happened? Where’s the graveyard? Why am I here? The window was open, letting in the bright morning sun, but I felt cold inside. I was crying. Damn. I miss him so much. The sheets had his scent so I snuggled up in them. They grew damp because of my tears. The memories flooded me. We had so many in this room. We spent nights here and during the mornings I would wake up and he would serve me breakfast, kiss me and say, “Let’s eat, dear. Today I made us some…” Always… It had always been like that.

“Nicole?” I looked up. He was staring at me with his liquid blue eyes, curious, wondering. “Love, why are you crying? Did something happen?” He emerged from the bathroom and sat on the bed. He stroked my head gently, as he had always done when I would cry. “Is something wrong?” His voice was so soft, worried, curious. I couldn’t speak. Was this a dream? An illusion? This can’t possibly be real. “What… what date is it today?” I managed to ask through trembling lips. “What? It’s October 2,” he answered. “Why?” “October 2?” I asked again. That can’t be real. “Yeah,” he said quizzically. “You’re being weird, Nicole.” “But… It’s supposed to be around December now. What...” “Nicole, I guess you’re still sleepy.” He kissed my forehead. I felt, once again, his soft lips. “Sleep some more, love. I guess you’re still tired after last night.” He chuckled. “Where are you going?” “To Japan. We have a meeting, remember? It won’t take long. I’ll be back by next week. You should get things ready for our wedding. It must be wearing you out, huh? All the invitations and buying and stuff. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure you’re having a blast with Beth.” I remember this. October 2. The day he left for Japan… The day he… A new set of tears rushed from my face. No. No. No. No. No. “You can’t go! If you go… You’re going to…” I coughed the words. “Steady now,” he said. “It’s an important meeting. I can’t not go. Nicole… I’ll miss you. But it’ll just be week. I won’t stay behind, I promise.” No. That’s not it. How can I explain to him that he can’t go? I’ll sound crazy. He might think I’m mad. But if I can prevent it somehow, then I should tell him. I can’t let him ride that plane. “You don’t understand,” I said. “You’ll”—cough—“if you go.” “I’ll what if I go?” “You’re going to”—cough, cough, cough—“if you go. You shouldn’t go or else you’ll”—cough. My throat was so sore. It felt like nails were clawing inside it. “I think you should clear your throat first. In the medicine cabinet I’m sure there’s something that can help you there.”

I rushed to the bathroom and drank some cough syrup I found there. I coughed a lot of times. I spat out the phlegm in the sink. I looked at it and noticed something. It was small, I barely saw it even. It was a white thing, wriggling… I fell to the floor, screaming. “Why? What is it?” He rushed into the bathroom. “There’s a—a—in the sink—there’s--” I stopped. It’s impossible that I had coughed out that thing, right? There is no way. That’s not possible. Perhaps it was already there in the sink before I coughed out. Or perhaps my eyes were just playing tricks on me after the dream in the graveyard I had. “What is it, Nicole, love? Tell me what’s wrong,” he said softly. He sat beside me and smothered me with kisses. “Are you being stressed out with planning for our wedding?” I stared at him. I stared into his liquid eyes, so beautiful… eyes that I thought I’d never see again. Was his death just a dream? Or was it a premonition of some sort? I wanted to tell him everything that had happened. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him to stay. I wanted him to be there with me, just there. There were so many things I wanted to say… but the first of all should be… “I love you,” I told him. “You are the only man I have ever felt so strongly about. Losing you would be like losing the world… I love you… I love you.” I parted his lips with my own. I kissed him. He kissed me back. He knotted my hair in his hand and I let my own move freely to places on his body I chose. He pulled back and chuckled. “You really want to do that right now?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. I sat on his lap and started unbuttoning his clothes. We kissed again but this time I was the one who pulled away. I covered my mouth with my hand when I coughed. “Sorry,” I said. I looked down on my hand and froze. There they were; white, wriggling worms on my hand. I was about to scream but I started coughing again. I drew away from him. Each time I coughed maggots fell from my mouth onto the floor. I looked up and saw that he was just watching me. His face said nothing. I threw up. It was blood with so many maggots. I started crying. I could feel them in my throat, my mouth, under my tongue. I threw my hair back and from it fell more of them, larger, more disgusting. I felt something tickling my arm. A maggot was eating its way out of my body the way I saw them eating away his flesh in the graveyard. I started throwing a tantrum; screaming, kicking frantically, crying. He just there, staring at me with his arms folded across his chest. This can’t be. I’m being eaten again. I’m dying again. Dying without dying. The pain and horror were there, but death would come later when none of me was left. I must suffer the whole way. These worms were breeding in my body. I could feel them, wriggling, playing, decaying me.

He stood up and walked out of the bathroom. I followed him. “Help me,” I said to him weakly. He didn’t seem to hear me. He walked to his wardrobe and put on an Italian suit. He fixed his hair in the mirror while I lied there on the floor writhing in pain, being eaten alive again near him who did not care. “P-Please help me.” I reached out to him but only looked at my way and smiled. “Take care Nicole. I’m going now.” He marched out of the door then he was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR — GROWING OLD

Once again, I woke up after being eaten. The pain was still etched on me. I had no idea what the hell was going on. Is this a dream? Or is this simply what comes after death? Is this my punishment from God? I can’t understand. I sat up. I was half-sure I could still feel those maggots crawling under my skin. I shuddered. They were disgusting. I looked around, terrified of what may happen next. I don’t want to be eaten alive again, not anymore. I found myself in a garden. There were flowers everywhere: lilacs, tulips, roses. All of them were in full bloom even if it was not their time to blossom. There were fruit trees surrounding the garden. The grass I was sitting on was green and fresh. Overhead, the sun was shining brightly. I can hear the birds singing from their places. It was peaceful here, undisturbed, beautiful. It looked as if I had landed in

some fairytale storybook setting. I didn’t dare move around. I was afraid of what might happen. I just sat there and waited. Up until dusk, nothing had happened. I was growing more anxious with the approaching night. What will happen? Soon, evening had come. The moon shone brightly with its big face. The stars twinkled and I saw all constellations I knew. In the silence of the evening, I heard the rushing of water nearby. There must be a stream. The night grew deeper, the minutes dragging… nothing had happened. Soon, I was struggling to keep my eyes open among the flowers. Their scent was so strong and fragrant I was almost drunk in them. The next thing I knew, I was waking up to the song of a robin in the morning. Nothing had happened that evening. The dreadful anticipation was soon vanishing. Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe this was heaven. Maybe it was all over. I sighed. But what if it’s not so? I heard my stomach grumble. I realized I was so hungry. I ran to a tree and took an apple. I started eating and I soon found myself munching on one of each kind of fruit. There were tangerines, bananas, dragon fruits, avocados, and much more. This place seemed like an Eden. It was safe here. No harm can come. I walked towards the stream, full, yet tired. I felt worn out and my back ached a lot, probably from sleeping on the ground last night. My knees hurt, too, every time I took a step. My face felt kind of saggy and I was tired, really tired. At last, I arrived at the stream. I knelt on the bank and I stared at my reflection. I looked really worn out. I splashed water on my face and noticed that I had more wrinkles than before. I traced my face. It was saggy. It felt just granny’s when I used to touch her face when I was a kid. I was somehow repulsed by the way the skin folded, as if there was too much of them on her. This is how I would look like one day, I used to think. I stared at my reflection again. The person who stared back was no longer me. It was granny, her face exactly the way it had been the last time I visited her. It took me a moment to realize that it was not granny—it was me. I was old. I looked at my hands, my body, feeling every inch of me. I was growing old. Years of aging was stuffed into a matter of seconds. I felt myself almost as if I were shrinking. I was shriveling to a small, ugly thing. My eyes caught my reflection in the water. My hair was turning to white from the roots to the end, curving and losing its radiance. I was drying up like a grape left under the sun. I looked back at the garden. The flowers were going dry, slowly, as if imitating me. The trees, too, were shedding their leaves and their fruits were rotting even as they hung there. The beautiful garden was dying as I was dying. My eyes were blurring slowly and my fragile body collapsed on the ground. I coughed out sputum. I was dying a death an old woman would die: slow, painful. My eyes went blind yet I continued to feel myself dying slowly. My voice was gone. I couldn’t move.

CHAPTER FIVE — LITTLE GIRL

When I opened my eyes I was in a large room. There was a huge mirror in the corner with a chair facing it. A round table was in the middle of the room with a tea set and a vase of dried up roses. The lavender paint on the walls was peeling and the red carpet was dusty. The chandelier from the vaulted ceiling was dim. There were no windows, too. There was only one door and it was on the opposite end of the room from the mirror. The air was heavy and depressing. This room seemed to have been unkempt in years. From the corner of my eye I saw shelves of ivory dolls staring right ahead. I remember when I was four; my mother had given me an ivory doll as a birthday present. It had beautiful long curly brown hair and big brown eyes that stared at me as if there was life in them. It wore a frilly black dress with white laces on the hems. It had a big black hat, too. I named it Sarah. I would brush her hair and have tea with her. I would talk to her when I was lonely and pretend that she would talk back. I remember liking the way it looked so pretty with its smooth white skin and perfect features. I actually wished back then that I could be a doll: pretty, perfect, immortal. I snapped out of memory lane and tried to move my limbs but I couldn’t. I tried to move my lips but they remained the same, as if they were stone. I heard the door creak open. I tried to turn my head to see who or what it was, but I couldn’t move. It felt as though I were a statue with consciousness. From peripheral view I saw a little blonde girl walk into the room. I couldn’t see her face well even when she sat in front of the mirror to brush her thick curly hair. She looked like an angel when she turned to look at the dolls. Her big round black eyes were shining with excitement. She didn’t pay any attention to me. She caressed the hair of the many dolls on the shelves. I stared at her. How could she not notice me? Or maybe she saw me and did not care? She was humming a tune to herself.

“My pretty, pretty little dolls,” she said with her high-pitched voice. “I’m sorry if I’ve been away for some time. But I’m back now. Why don’t we play a game?” She looked at her dolls curiously. “I can’t play with all of you though. I guess I’ll just pick a lucky one today.” Then her eyes rested on me. She smiled at me. Her eyes were playful and something about her smile made me uneasy. She came to me and touched my face gently. “Let’s play, Nicole,” she said. What? I said in my head. She seized me and soon I was being crushed against her chest. “Oh, Nicole, we’re going to have so much fun!” She giggled then carried me to the mirror. She placed me on the desk and I stared in horror at the mirror. It was Sarah—no. I was Sarah. I had become a doll. The girl whispered as she took off my hat and laid it beside me. “You’re a doll now, just as you’ve wanted.” She sat down and brushed my brown locks. I looked at her reflection in the mirror. She no longer looked like a doll—she didn’t even look human. Her hair was a sickening gray color like ash, and her eyes had no iris and pupil, just a blank white with red veins. Her face was distorted, deformed; her nose too big and flat; her teeth huge and crooked; her upper lip too thin and her lower lip too thick. Her face had brown patches on them, like burns. Scars dominated her neck as if she had been stabbed there again and again. I wanted to scream at that horrible sight, but I couldn’t. I was a doll—a mind trapped in a stationary body. She turned me around. I was staring right into her angelic face again. “Am I pretty, Nicole?” she asked. “Am I pretty? I don’t look so pretty in the mirror. Tell me… am I pretty?” I stared at her, unable to say anything. Yes, I thought. You look really pretty. “Am I pretty? Tell me, Nicole. Tell me,” she said. She rose and took me in her hands. She waltzed through the room. “Nicole, answer me. Am I pretty? Am I? Am I?” She laughed then stopped abruptly. “I am?” she asked meekly. “Yes? Tell me, Nicole. Tell me. Tell me.” Her voice began to rise higher. She was shouting. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!” Fury flared in her eyes. Her face became white with rage and her features distorted just like in the mirror. “Tell me I’m pretty you bitch!” Her voice was deafening. I was deathly afraid. She shook me violently then threw me with such force to the floor. “Why won’t you tell me I’m pretty you stupid bitch?!” I heard something break. I realized a part of my head had been smashed, then, almost immediately, the pain sank in. But I’m a doll. How can I feel pain? But it was there. I wanted to scream, to wail, to cry. But I was a doll. I cannot cry. I cannot scream. I cannot do anything. I cursed inside my head. “Oh Nicole!” The girl picked me up. Her face became beautiful again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Her voice was so soft and worried. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” She began to cry. “Oh, Nicole. I’m so, so, very sorry.” She wiped away her tears and smiled. “I know! Why don’t we have tea?” She placed me on a chair by the round table. My head was searing painful. There was a string of curses in my

head. I wanted to hurt her, but more than that I wanted to get away. She was terrifying and I knew that I would be destroyed here again. She placed a tea cup in front of me. “I’m sorry. I’ll go get some cake. Stay there, okay, Nicole?” She stood up and went out of the room. I stared at the dirty china on the table. The flower gave off a foul odor. It smelled of decay. The girl came back and laid a plate with a slice of cake—no. It wasn’t cake. It was shaped like one but it wasn’t one. It was caked dirt. I can still see the small twigs and dead leaves. A centipede crawled on the top. “Nice, isn’t it?” she asked as she settled herself opposite me. She had her own plate of dirt cake. “Because I did something bad to you, this is apology.” She took a small piece of her “cake”. An earthworm was sticking out as she stuffed the piece in her mouth. She ate it greedily. “C’mon,” she said. Dirt was still sticking between her teeth. I wanted to throw up. “Eat. It tastes really good.” She smiled at me. “Eat,” she coaxed. She waited for me with expectant eyes. Minutes passed in dead silence. She just stared at me, waiting to eat. As if I could move! The pain in my head did not cease. It was maddening. It did not numb or grow milder. It remained the same. Her lips drew into a hard line. Her eyes became cold, annoyed. I was afraid she would grab me and smash on the table but instead she smiled slowly. “Maybe you’re not hungry yet. Why don’t we drink tea?” She took the kettle and poured liquid into the cup. It was red and smelled funny. It was blood. “Go on, Nicole, drink. This is my sorry for breaking your head. Please accept it. Please?” She pouted her lips innocently; a pleading child. I wouldn’t eat or drink anything even if I can move, you bitch, I thought. The minutes came and went. Her face grew darker and darker. “Nicole,” she sighed. “Why. Can’t.” Her face began to deform. “You. Just. Do. As. You. Are. Told!” She slammed her fists at the table. It cracked into two beneath her hands. She laughed frantically. She took me by the hair and smashed my face against the wall. Half my face shattered. “Oh… You are just so pretty, Nicole. That face of yours is so pretty!” She laughed and laughed as she threw me to the floor and crushed me under her foot again and again. My whole body was numb with pain. I cried in my head. I couldn’t even scream to let the pain ease even just minutely. She kept laughing and laughing, a lunatic, out of her mind. “Nicole! Nicole! Nicole!” She kept saying my name. My face was merely fragments of glass but I could still see them, the ivory dolls with their pretty stone faces, a big smile creeping slowly on their lips, exposing monstrous sharp white teeth; they’re eyes shining with excitement just like the little girl destroying me now.

CHAPTER FIVE—TRAPPED

I was running. How long has it been since the time I opened my eyes to this nothingness? It was pitch black. Nothing could be seen. I even thought that perhaps I was blind, or perhaps my eyes were still closed. But it was just dark. I eventually found myself running, perhaps in fear that something would happen or spring out of the darkness. It just felt stupid to sit and around and wait for another death. I didn’t know where I was or where I was going. How long has it been since I opened my eyes? Minutes? Hours? Days? Time didn’t seem to exist here. Even if I ran and walked each moment, I couldn’t get tired. Wherever I look, there was nothing but emptiness. I even doubted if I really existed, if I still had a body or was I simply nothing more than darkness as well? One thing I could be sure of, though, I was going to die. Again and again. Once I die here, I’ll die again somewhere else. Waking up only to die again. It’s just a cycle. There would be no end to this. A pointless suffering. Pain and then death. Terror was pulsing in my veins. How can I escape? I would die again. And perhaps more deaths will come after that. I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want to undergo torture again. I hate it. I hate. I began to cry. I was horrified. When would it start again? How would it go? What will be next? Will it ever end? I whimpered as I collided with a wall—well, it felt like a wall. I felt for it and started walking along it. The next wall was perpendicular to it. So I continued along it, too. Eventually, I realized there were four walls. I was inside a box. Suddenly, I felt the wall I was leaning on move an inch. Or was it just my imagination? But it happened again. It kept moving, pushing me with it. The floor as well pushed me upward. I felt the other wall behind me. The box I was in was shrinking. I couldn’t breathe. I was being crushed, squeezed into a pulp. Every bone in my body cracked when the box had shrunk. The pain was so great I wanted to tear my hair out. Blood spurt out everywhere. But I wasn’t dead yet. There was no space to move, to breathe. My skull had been crushed open and my ribcage, destroyed. I could feel pain in every inch of my body. This was no use. I would die again after this, perhaps in a worse, even more painful way. Hours of torture passed before I drifted to unconsciousness.

CHAPTER SIX — DOLLHOUSE

I was staring at a huge familiar mansion. It was the dollhouse I bought when I was fourteen because I thought it was really cute. It had two floors with seven bedrooms. I looked around. I was surrounded by a thicket of overgrown forests. The door creaked open so I walked in. I knew I was going to die. It was inevitable. My dollhouse looked exactly the same as it had been. The walls were a calming sky blue, and the furniture was in the exact places. The small TV set was on, but the screen was static. I proceeded to the kitchen and dining room. There were plates arranged on the table. I opened the fridge but nothing was there. I went on the second floor to check the bedrooms. The door to the first guest room which was nearest to the stairs was colored red. I opened it expecting that the room would be exactly the same but it was different. It was a huge square room. From the ceiling hung hundreds of medals; the shelves full of trophies covered the walls; all other spaces were filled with memoirs and awards of sorts. At the end of the room, there was something that looked like a wrinkled reddish pink sphere. I walked towards it, curious. I was soon staring at a man with a huge brain that exceeded its skull. His eyes were uncoordinated. His tongue stuck out from his mouth. It started making unintelligible noises with its huge mouth. It reached out its hand towards me but I ran away from it, hitting knocking off a shelf of trophies. He shrieked; inhuman octaves high scream. He crawled towards me, clawing on the ribbon covered floor. I stumbled through the thousands of awards to the door. Just as I was turning the knob, I felt him grab my leg, his nails digging into my skin. I screamed in horror. I kicked his nose and scrambled out of the door. I was standing in front of another door. It was color orange this time. I debated with myself on whether or not I should open it. What lies beyond this door? I just stood there and then the door creaked open and—with no idea how—I found myself inside. Heaps of money was stacked everywhere inside the enormous room. There were opened chests of precious, glistening gems. There were tiaras, bracelets, chokers, every kind of expensive jewelry. On a knocked down pile of cash lied a woman. Her limbs were cut off and she stared at me with eyes wide with fear. “Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!! WAHH!!! AHHHH!!! AH! AH! WAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!!!

WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHH!!! WAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!” She screamed and screamed to no end. She squirmed where she laid, blood gushing from her wounds. The veins in her face showed on her skin. Her eyeballs went white. Pain was written all over her. “K-Kill… M…me… Kill. Me. Kill me. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME.” She hurled the words at me. Begging me. I was too shocked with fear I could only flee. Was this how I looked like as I suffered every death? I could still hear her wails and begs through the door I shut behind me. I was scared. Terrified. Will I end up in one of the room here like them? What will I see beyond the next five doors? I shuddered to even think about them. But I had to go. It was inevitable. The next door was colored yellow. I walked inside and it was a small mostly empty room. It reeked of human waste. It was dirty and disgusting. More like a dump than a room. I covered my face with my hand. Crap was everywhere. There were puddles of urine in some places. Someone groaned. I noticed a small man taking a dump. His hair was gray and his facial hair grew like jungles on his face. When he finished, he turned and stared at me with his lazy tired eyes. He shrugged and sat on the place where he just defecated. I swallowed the vomit on my throat. It was too gross. But I wasn’t prepared on what he was about to do next. He reached out and took a handful of crap and started eating it. I threw up. It was so repulsive. I couldn’t stand it. “Wan sham?” he offered to me. I turned and just left the pit hole, avoiding the dirt as that covered the floor as much as I can. The fourth room whose door was colored green looked like the dressing room of a celebrity. There were racks of extravagant costumes, mirrors, perfumes on tables, make-ups and combs. A woman was combing her long straight platinum blonde hair. Her limbs were extremely long and thin with a white complexion that made it look almost like stone. Her face was an exaggeration of features. Her mascara-covered black lashes were so long they stood almost three feet high and curved like arcs at the ends. Her nose was so pointed it looked like it was enough to bore a hole on concrete. Her lips were an exaggerated thickness. They were covered in bright red lipstick. Her high cheekbones were blushed with pink color. She had a huge bust, extremely thin waist, and wide hips. She was wearing a tight cheetah-patterned dress. She looked at me curiously with huge blue, blue eyes. She smiled at me nicely as she walked and touched me face. “Green eyes,” she whispered with a high pixie voice. “I want your eyes.” I broke into a run when she tried to claw out my eyes. She ran after me. I was an arm’s reach away from her. I knocked over a rack of clothes. She tripped on it and I ran faster. I heard the clicking of her stilettos as she ran behind me. I didn’t even look back to see how near she was. Luckily, I had left the door open. I burst out of it and slammed against the wall of the corridor. I saw the door close slowly on her face burning with rage.

I sat there, exhausted. But the dollhouse would not let me rest. I was sitting inside a room with a blue door behind me. It was white everywhere except for a wall that was filled with weapons. There were guns, swords, slings, knives, arrows, and other barbaric items. “Die! Die! Die!” I heard a man’s voice shout. I stared in horror as a man mutilated a small child. Another kid was cowering in the corner. The man turned to the frightened kid and swung his axe above his head. “Don’t!” I screamed. He turned to me with mad eyes. His face was red with rage. A vein was about was burst on his forehead. “What?!” he said. I let my eyes wander to the little girl sitting on the corner behind him. It wasn’t a little girl. Its eyes were stapled and mouth sewed shut. Its hair was worms wriggling and twisting. A smile crept on its lips. My heart stopped dead as the man walked slowly towards me. “Watcha say, y’bitch?” he asked quietly. “What? Won’t talk will you?” He slung his axe and hit the floor. I tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. Fear was hammering my head. I had to get out. “Let me out!” I shouted, pounding at the door. I knew it was futile. What was I doing? I was going to die eventually, why run away from it now? The man was just a few feet away. I sprinted to the other end of the room but he was able to seize a handful of hair. He threw me down the floor with full force I could almost hear my skull breaking. He swung his axe but I rolled to the side and avoided it. I ran towards the door. With every power I could muster, I slammed my body against it. It broke from its hinges and I was outside again, standing in front of the blue door as if nothing had happened. Two doors were left. The closest to me was colored indigo and the last was colored violet. I decided to go into the violet-colored door first. It was a food palace. Every food and drink anyone can ever dream of was there, laid out on long tables. But what caught my attention was the bulbous man devouring the foods on the table. He had a literally huge mouth. His eyes were popping out of their sockets. His body was humongous, layers of fat and fat and fat blew his body widely out of proportion. He had a bib wrapped on his neck like a kid—one hell of a giant kid. He munched on the feast laid before him. He kept eating even his skin ripped from his size. It was a grotesque scene. I threw up then and there but he didn’t notice me. He was too preoccupied with his meal to care about anything else. I went out of the room and proceeded to the next. The walls of the last room were plastered with posters of naked people. There were shelves of adult videos, playboy magazines, and lust-filled books. Nude photos of women and men and sex toys covered the floor. It was a porno room. There were unused condoms scattered. I looked forward and saw about a dozen corpses surrounding a bed. The corpses’ eyes were sewed shut with thick cords and their mouths hung open with their long tongues lopping out. I wasn’t as terrified of them as before. I was used to them now. If they would hurt me, there was no escaping anyway. Chained to the bed was a deranged woman wearing torn lingerie. “Some more,” she laughed. The corpses move closer to her. One stuck his enormous organ into the bruised part between her legs. She moaned in pain and pleasure. Another

corpse entered her through another hole and a third corpse forced his into her mouth. The others touched her bruised breasts. Tormenting her. Pleasuring her. She didn’t seem to realize corpses were fucking her. She was engulfed in lust to even care. I realized suddenly that the seven rooms manifested the Seven Deadly Sins— pride, greed, sloth, envy, wrath, gluttony, and lust. She went out of room silently. What will happen next? While I was walking down the stairs, there was a quiet laughter behind me. I turned but nothing was there. Was I just imagining it? There was a spark somewhere and the nest thing I knew the dollhouse was burning. My arm caught fire. It seared and burned my skin. I lost my balance and fell down the stairs. The fire spread quickly on my skin. I wailed and screamed and begged for help. But I knew there was nothing… no hope, no salvation, no end. There will be no end to this pain. I’ll just go through this again and again. No escape. I still screamed, though, because every inch of me hurt like hell. Just kill me. Kill me. End this. I ran wildly, hitting the burning objects in the common room. Then everything went black. The only thing I could feel was the burning on my skin. When I opened my eyes the pain still lingered in my body. But I was somewhere else about to experience a new kind of pain. A different death. Yet suffer all the same. When I awoke I was staring at a busy street from within a house made entirely out of glass.

CHAPTER SEVEN — GLASS HOUSE

I saw myself walking on the pavement, a tired face among the crowd. It was like I was viewing my own movie. It was strange. The glass house was in the very middle of the street and no one seemed to notice. They just walked on, busy with their own lives. Every time a person would come across the glass house, he would disappear momentarily and appear on the other side of the glass house, as if he just passed it. And then there he was… Jonathan… my most beloved… He was walking through the crowd. That was the moment I first met him. It was like something out of a book or movie. The simple girl would suddenly bump into a handsome guy and they’d fall in love at first sight. It was exactly that. I

was watching my own memory as the third person. I can’t believe how extraordinarily plain I looked. And Jonathan… was perfect. I wanted to cry as my heart started sinking. I waited for the tears. They didn’t come. Then the colors outside started blurring, combining together to form a myriad of colors with no definite shape until the different hues settled into another picture. It was our first date. It was in a fancy restaurant, the type of place I couldn’t possibly afford. He was the perfect gentleman. We talked. We laughed. We ate. It was perfect. It was the kind of date I’ve always dreamt about. It was the first gift he ever gave. The next scenes played outside the glass house. I watched him with so much longing. The man I’ll never be able to hold again. If I could only break this glass wall and rush into his arms… but I was too numb with grief to try. I just watched as the scenes folded and unfolded before my eyes. Every memory of him played right in front of me. It was a new kind of torture. I was watching the memories I have avoided for weeks after the news he died. I remembered them perfectly well but I chose not to think of them… of him. Who wants to think of something they’ve lost? Who wants to embrace the fact that things will never be the same? Who wants to rub more salt into their wounds? No one. Especially not me. The last memory of him played. The morning of October 2. The last time I saw him. It was in his room. He was in the bathroom and I was still in bed, breathing in his scent, savoring the moment. And then he came out and told me that he had to leave early because he had a meeting in Japan. We ate breakfast quickly then I told him to keep safe on his travel. The last I saw of him was when he closed the door to leave. When the new arrived the next day that he died in a plane crash, I died. The days after that passed like a blur. All I can remember were the tears and the sobs. I didn’t go see any of my friends. I watched myself from within the glass house floating without a soul through time. Such was my grief. Such was my pain. I can still remember it. The feeling of dread and confusion. It was like the world suddenly flew out of orbit. Gravity suddenly became meaningless. The earth beneath my feet disappeared. I was lost. I didn’t know what to do. The only man I’ve ever truly loved —my life, my reason, my everything—was taken away from me. I had nothing. What was the use of living if he no longer existed? Life became meaningless. Happiness became a bitter memory. There was nothing for me. I was nothing. The scene sped up and I viewed myself jumping from the cliff. And that was the end of the show.

The glass walls became blurry. From clear, they became translucent. I could no longer see what was outside because I found myself staring at—what was it? There should’ve been a face there but there wasn’t. There were no eyes, nose, or lips. It was just skin. I no longer had a face. I wanted to scream but I had no mouth to let it out. I wanted to cry, but there were no eyes. No eyes. Then how was I able to see that the glass house has become a glass mirror? How could I still breathe without a nose or mouth? I spun. I saw my faceless self all over the house. The floor, walls, ceilings… they were all made out of mirrors. I tried to scream; tried as hard as I could till I felt as if the skin on my face would tear. In my fear and confusion I collided with a mirror. It shattered and I began to bleed. I began to rampage while pounding my fist into every mirror. Why? Why? I wanted to scream. What’s happening? I don’t want to be here. Let me go. I was soon bathing in my own blood. I jumped from the cliff for death and this is what I get? I though death was my salvation from pain. Why am I here? I don’t want this. I hate it. I ate it. I want to die. A real, permanent death. I want to die. I want to die. I took a long shard of glass. The rough edges cut against my skin. I stared into it. A face of a man I didn’t know stared back at me. His beautiful blue eyes looked like the sky. Well… whatever. I stabbed the shard of glass right through my chest. I didn’t die. Not immediately. My death waited until I lost every bit of blood in my body.

CHAPTER EIGHT—NAILS

I found myself in an immaculately white room. It was so bright my eyes began to tear. My eyes? I felt for my face. It was there. But I was far from dread. What next? A body appeared before me. It was the kind of body you would find in a morgue. There were stitches on it and its eyes were sewn shut. I’ve seen enough of these things already. I didn’t move. What sense was there in moving? Why struggle? It will all end the same anyway. Three more dead bodies appeared. I noticed that they had nails and a hammer in their hands. They approached me and I realized I was lying down on the white floor with my hands on my side. One dead body held the nail over the back of my hand. It aimed its hammer and hit it. I screamed as the nail pierced through my flesh. Two other dead bodies were doing the same to my feet and another one to my other hand. I screamed and screamed in horror. “It hurts. It hurts. I just want it to be over. Please.” I kept screaming, begging, but they had no use. “Stop… Please…” I begged as a nail hovered directly above my eye. I squeezed my eyelids shut and cursed as the nail smashed into my eyeballs. I felt the blood drip down my face. Before I could scream again, I felt cold fingers hold my lips tightly, silencing me. They sewed my lips shut. I struggled with my body but I couldn’t move my pinned limbs. The pain only got worse when I struggled. I just held still until the stitches were down. It was pain beyond any description. It was pain beyond anything in the world. It was agony. Firm and material and eternal agony. I tried to not think about it, but it was impossible. The pain never dulled. As time dragged on it seemed to get worse. Why haven’t I died yet? Days passed in excruciating pain. I could feel the pools of blood forming around my body. They dried beneath my skin. I could smell it, almost even taste the metallic tang in my mouth. My stomach wretched in disguise.

Perhaps weeks went by and I still was not dead. From time to time I could feel cold, rough hands caressing me almost soothingly. I wanted to beg for it to stop. Its touch always sent shivers of fear through me. “Wake up,” a tiny voice whispered. At first I thought I was imagining it but the small and clear voice whispered again, “Wake up.” Who are you? “Please… wake up.”

CHAPTER NINE—CLIFF

I opened my eyes to the whipping of the wind. I was standing on the cliff where I had jumped. The only difference was that it wasn’t nighttime… nor was it daytime. The sky was gray and a multitude of colors at the same time. I couldn’t tell. What was I doing here? Had everything that had happened been nothing more than a dream? No. They were real. This was just like the ones before. Should I jump? I looked down and, unlike before, I could see the water. I concentrated hard to see that just beneath the surface were objects and bodies. The objects were things I possessed when I was still alive. I saw Sarah, my ivory doll. There was my dollhouse, jewelries, make-ups, furniture—everything. The bodies were all the

people I’ve known throughout my lifetime. Their faces were deathly pale. And then I saw him… Jonathan Moore, the man I loved most in my life. His face was like the others. I wanted to reach out and touch him. “I love you,” I whispered. His eyes flung open. He smiled slowly and reached out his hand as if inviting me with him. I plunged into the water. They were looking at me, all the people I knew. We were underwater and I could see everything crystal clear. Jonathan smiled. I wrapped my arms around him as he whispered into my ear. “Let me go,” he said. “I want you to be happy.” I’m with you now. I’m happy. “Wake up,” the voice from before whispered. Who’s that? I asked Jonathan. He merely smiled. “Do as he says,” Jonathan told me. Why? I am awake. “You’re not. Wake up, Nicole. You must wake up.” Is this a dream? He shook his head. “But you have to go. I want you to be happy, Nicole.” Why should I go? I’m not happy without you. He touched my cheek. It was warm and familiar. “Nicole… Let me go…There is happiness without me. There is a future for you. Look ahead. ‘Turn your face to the sunshine and all shadows fall behind.’” He quoted. “Turn your face to the sunshine, Nicole. Be happy.” “Wake up,” Jonathan and the faint voice whispered at the same time. I looked at his heavenly beautiful face for one last time before everything went black.

CHAPTER TEN—THE BEGINNING

I sucked in cold air. My whole body was shaking in cold. I was numb all over. The shadows were all around me until my eyes focused and I could see people, hovering over me. There were dull, unrecognizable sounds everywhere. I couldn’t make them out. My head hurt like hell. “She’s awake.” A hoarse voice whispered. “How’re you feeling?” Was he asking me? What happened? All at once I remembered everything I’ve seen, experienced, heard. I remembered the dead bodies, the dollhouse, the ivory dolls, Jonathan, the cliff. The cliff. “Where… am… I?” I gasped. My throat was dry, it hurt. “You’re in the hospital,” a familiar voice answered. “You saw you jump off a cliff and I thought you needed help so… I got you out of the water.” This voice. “You were telling me to wake up,” I said. “Yes.” He sounded delighted. “How are you feeling?” He sat on the bed and I recognized his face. He was the face looking back at me from the shard of the mirror. “I’m fine.” Almost everyone I knew had asked me this question and I’ve always lied. Now, I wasn’t lying because even though my head hurt and my throat was like being scraped, I really did feel fine. And I know that I’ll get better. For Jonathan, for me, for the man who saved my life.