�Hell is Andy Gibb, singing Shadow Dancing for eons and eons,� says modern-day comedian Denis Leary. For a 70�s music fan this statement may be appalling, but could it be too far from the truth? Musical group Metallica puts a twist on the idea in their song Enter Sandman, singing �Hush little baby, don�t say a word, and never mind that noise you heard. It�s just the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head.� Perhaps, then, Hell is an eternity of whatever you fear or despise most. With that theory in mind, tonight I have discovered what my personal Hell would be.
I am in a deep sleep, with no problems or stress going through my mind. My soul is truly at peace, and I am experiencing tranquility and comfort in body and mind. Next thing I know, my world of comfort is ripped violently away from me and I am someplace else altogether. I look around and am greeted by a scene of horror that violates all the senses; words cannot begin to describe it.
The first bit of consciousness that comes to me is that I am cold. Not just cold but possessed with a chill that quickly travels right to my bones; one that I know will only get worse. Next I realize that it is dark. The blackness engulfs me and my aura is invaded with a sense of unease at the situation I am facing. I am disconcerted and feel as though my brain has been flipped about inside my head. I am standing on a hard surface that is unyielding and uncomfortable for my feet, and as I look about I realize that there are other confused and distressed souls surrounding me, all equally as miserable as I. And though they are packed so tightly around me (like a flock of frightened sheep) that personal space has become nonexistent and suffocation seems likely, they provide no warmth from the biting cold, which is making me tremble uncontrollably.
As I slowly become more aware of my surroundings, still clinging desperately to that sense of peace I know I once felt, I realize that the entire situation is a perversion of the eardrums. Two things that I hate most in the world, aside from being cold, are alarm clocks and loud, stupid people. Hell seems to have plenty of both. The miserable souls around me seem damned to an afterlife of unintelligent conversation about things that have no more meaning to anyone than the mating rituals of fruit flies, and apparently I am damned to hear every single stupid comment for all of eternity. The stupidity floods my brain and I am wondering how anyone could possibly be as shallow, useless and wrapped up in bullshit as these souls seem to be, but the thought never completes itself because there is something far worse than stupidity beating harshly against my skull.
A ridiculously loud, consistent, merciless beeping is echoing through the blackness, overpowering even the idiocy around me. It�s as if the Devil himself were sleeping and his great Alarm Clock went off to wake him up, to remind him that this new swarm of souls is waiting outside in the cold and the dark like sheep to be herded into Hell. He doesn�t wake up though, or if he does he decides to leave his Alarm Cock blaring to increase our damned suffering all the more. In any case, it is quite effective. The noise shatters my composure, and the world of peace I once inhabited is forgotten. All I am aware of is the constant shrieking, and I am wishing that Satan would present himself in front of me and bestow upon me personal torture, if it means that the Alarm Clock will turn off.
Worse yet in this cold eternal night than the darkness is what comes next. The Alarm Clock is accompanied by harsh fluorescent lighting that flashes on and off in time with the beeping. Each time it flashes on it burns into my retinas, causing a stab of pain and allowing me a brief view of my surroundings. I look down at myself and go through some fleeting shock at the horror of what I look like out here, but the next flash of burning light shows me the hideousness of the souls around me and my own appearance is forgotten. Each time the light flashes out I am left with burning imprints of the horror I have seen in my minds eye, and as it flashes on again, my retinas get singed anew.
My mangled thoughts jump back to the fact that I am so cold that my legs have become numb, my knees are locked and my teeth are chattering. Must I stand forever? If the ground weren�t so cold and if I didn�t fear being trampled by my surrounding souls I would sit, right here, in this very spot. The air around me smells of cigarette smoke, which is something else I detested during my days among the living. The voices of the souls around me are yelling obscenities or moaning uselessly in distress, and they mingle with the Alarm Clock and crowd out my thoughts. The sounds fill my ears, the smoke fills my lungs and the coldness fills my bones until I think I will surely collapse and yet it goes on still.
I vow, here and now, to the Great Power of the Universe to live a good life so I may never have to experience such a fate. What else could something this horrible be, if not eternal damnation? Nothing more than a mere fire alarm at 5:30 a. m. at William Paterson University in Wayne, New Jersey, pulled by yet another brilliant (and probably drunk) member of our student body, of course. But complete with everything in life I detest; extreme cold, extreme noise and extreme stupidity, I am convinced that, if I should lead a misguided life in any way, my eternal fate will be nothing less.
(Written by Jennifer Sinclair, her colleague Satan�s Little Helper, and a hardworking staff of 47 and a half dust-bunnies).
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