hell - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing

Hell is where billions starve and your fridge is full.

Hell is where your clothes are made by traumatized workers on slave wages in sweatshops and you buy them in a fragranced mall.

Hell is where His animals are kept in dark cages unable to move so that maximum profit can be made.

Hell is where you must work in a job that sucks at your soul just to buy over priced addictive food that leaves you lacking in energy, hypoglycaemic and irritable.

Hell is where the media pumps you full of fear and the advertisers use it to direct you into consuming products that destroy the ecology planet we all depend on via pollution and habitat destruction.

Hell is where children kill themselves because they are told the world is dying without telling them that there is an easy solution to all of it.

Hell is where women hate men, men hate women, one religion hates another, left and right mutually hate, races hate one another, where we squabble over if climate change is real or not while pristine habitats are destroyed and genetic diversity lost forever.

Hell is where we so want to be "right" that we refuse to see how we are all sacred under God.

Hell is where making maximum "profits" are sanity and saving the life a stranger in another country is "crazy."

Hell is where the love of power reigns and the Power of Love is sneered at.

Hell is where sociopaths rise to power and the salt of the earth desperately feel guilty for not having enough money to give to charity.

Hell is where love is abused to send good people into war.

Hell is where good people are fooled into making parts of weapons, never being told what the project is for.

Hell is where you spend so much time chasing money you swallow whatever the media tells you, you think what they tell you to think.

Hell is where billions of people haven't enough to eat but we could solve it for less than a fraction we spend on war.

Let me take you out of here, we don't die to go to heaven, we make it ourselves. I'll show you.

Claus opened his eyes to a room of brightly coloured liquids. Each one bore the name of one of his victims. Otherwise there was nothing to see, the floor was white and there were no walls or ceiling, just brilliant white rays. It was much like sitting in an over-exposed photograph. He was thirsty. So much so that his throat burnt and his eyeballs were quite dry. Yet there was nothing to drink except the pots. He raised one, "Clara." He recalled how he'd tortured her, raped her, cut her, let her bleed out slowly. A wry smile appeared on his lips and he downed it in one. It was her pain and the pain of her loved ones condensed. He put the already re-filled glass on the floor and convulsed for longer than he remembered even being alive for. When finally he sat back up everything was just the same as before, the intensifying thirst blistering his throat and the cups with their names. Hell. This was hell.

Hell - that was the fierce word, the word to threaten children if they were too bad, the word to send shivers down a spine. The fiery daemons whose barbed tails coiled and snapped, their whips sharp, their horns like mighty rocks thrusting from their heads, wings reaching far and wide to swallow the man that dare stand before them.

Hell was not for ordinary sins. It was not for the parents who lost their tempers in frustration whilst struggling under the stresses of life. It was not for the mentally ill or those too damaged to know right from wrong. Hell was reserved for those who knew their actions were wrong and did them regardless, enjoying the anguish of others and taking what was not rightfully theirs. It was a shock for the elite bankers of the world to be lined up with the psychopaths, though their victims were many times more numerous than the worst of the serial killers. Each one was lead to a rock and told to sit before the floor around them vanished entirely, as did the light, the air and sound. The only thing left was the rock, themselves and a journal with a pen. They were to write about their lives, and as they did so the pain they had knowingly inflicted would travel up the pen and into their nervous system. Most dropped their pen only for another to appear. There was only one way out of hell...

Hell was nothing like Claus had imagined, but then he'd never felt pain in his life so how could he? Pain had been something for his victims and how he'd loved seeing it radiated from their eyes and their stretched wide mouths screaming into the empty fields. He had never believed in God, in heaven or hell, but idly he had wondered why this omnipotent being didn't stop him. Perhaps this was a God of war, of pain and suffering, perhaps he was to be honoured in the next life. He had liked that thought.

On his death he was not given a choice of punishment, instead God bestowed upon him perfect clarity- the ability to understand as a God does the suffering inflicted on his victims, the pain of their loved ones and the pain of God Himself. He understood in that brilliant flash that God can only act through the willing heart and mind. Claus fell down, begging for ignorance, amnesia or a chance to right his wrongs but God was gone, underfoot was a grassy field, screams rent the air...

It bothered Max that people felt the need to invent a hell of fire and brimstone, endless torture and suffering. It bothered him because there were hell's on earth that attracted little care or compassion. What of the child slaves and the starving children in the third world with their bloated stomachs? What had they done to deserve this?

He had been in his own private hell since the accident, paralyzed from the neck down, with no hope of recovery. He spent his days reliving the last moments he had had with his wife and children before the truck had overturned on them. Nikki had been singing nursery rhymes and his wife clapping along. The baby had been sleeping soundly in her car seat. He had no memory of the crash itself. Now there was nothing to distract him from the anguish of his loss and the only promise of relief was death years from now. Even suicide was impossible. If he had been any other animal he would have been put out of his misery, why was it humans had to suffer?

Gina awoke in an empty room to the calling of her name. She lay on a white bed, the white walls around her punctuated with ancient looking doors. Above each was a label. She read them: perfect insight, oblivion, hell-fire and heaven. She tossed her head and cackled, so easy. She pulled at the door marked heaven but it wouldn't budge. She re-read the others and opened the door to "perfect insight." Instantly she understood all of the pain she had caused others, physical and emotional. She rattled the door to oblivion and found it also stuck. Gina nodded grimly, "Alright, God, you win." She pulled open the door to hell-fire and stepped in expecting heat and bubbling skin. Instead her insight was magnified to the point where she could actually feel the pain she had caused others, not all together, but one at a time. At the start she begged for it to end, but years later she embraced it, welcoming the pain as her punishment. After what felt like an eternity the door to heaven opened...

Reverend Kepler winced as his colleague raged about the brimstones of hell. Either the parishioners were immune to it though overexposure or they were crippled with anxiety, scared witless that every and any bad thought would expel them from God's love. He wanted to jump in, to reassure them that Jesus had died for their sins already, that they were safe. But it wasn't his place to do so publicly. In private was a different matter, then he could soothe them, soften the more brutal messages that was constructed thousands of years ago to scare a less enlightened people into behaving themselves. Hell was not for ordinary people who tried their best, and of course failed, as all people do. To be imperfect was just part of being human and God's love was for all, saints and sinners alike.

Olivia knew she was going to hell. She'd been mean to her sister and zoned out in church. She's had lustful thoughts and not just about boys either. Her skirts had been short and she'd cheated in a math test. God wouldn't like that at all. She opened her eyes. The hospital was gone and an old man sat by her. She too was sitting in the pristine nothing. Her face buckled and she began to cry. "I tried, God, I did. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Where her tears fell new spring grass grew, flowers bloomed and from them came the fragrance of a perfect spring.

"I gave the world my son so that these sins could be washed away. You are pure as the day I brought you into being," He leant in closer, "I love you, Olivia. Would you like to see your grandmother now?" She nodded. Her grandmother appeared, her face no longer wrinkled and her hair not grey. She wrapped her in a tight hug. Apparently hell was not for Olivia after all, God had another plan for her.

Gina awoke on a dusty road, rocks digging into her ribs. She felt her abdomen for the bullet holes that had riddled her moments before; gone. The sky above was blackened as if a night storm was imminent and the world about her was silent other that the soft whispering of the tall black trees either side of the path. They grew so thickly together that squeezing between them would be impossible. Other than a half-rotten signpost that rested at a jaunty angle there was only the road stretching to infinity in either direction, perfectly flat. She got to her feet. This had to be a joke. The arrow to the right said "heaven." the one to the left "hell." She laughed, her voice swallowed quickly into the blackness. She took a step toward heaven and she felt the pain of all the people she'd had murdered or killed herself. She took it back. She took a step toward hell and heard a soft whisper, "It wasn't your fault, they deserved to die."

Heaven and hell were the same gift, perfect insight into the effect of your life. Had you done more good than bad, been nice more often that you were nasty, then you were bathed in the happiness you gave others. The more profound the goodness the stronger the effect. The worse you had been the weaker the effect, until the balance tipped to more pain inflicted than alleviated. Then the effect was hellish. For those unfortunates their eternity was to feel that pain they had inflicted. The worse the deeds the more intense the anguish.

Tinker had been expecting hell. He figured he'd earned it. He knew he shouldn't have killed all those girls, but each one had been so deliciously sweet. Making their blood run until their flesh was ghostly, cold, had filled him with such exquisite pleasure. He'd selected them just like others picked their favourite chocolate in a gift box. Now he awoke in his coffin, he could hear the sermon above - brief. He laughed and punched his hand up to let them know he was still alive but no sound came out and his limbs remained still. For the first time since he was almost stopped by the cops with a body in the trunk of his car he felt his heart beat against his ribs. The box rocked and descended into the hole, bumping the earthen sides. He screamed, over and over- still no sound. Tears fell silently down his dusty cold skin. Shovel after shovel of dirt splattered onto the box and he waited to suffocate. To die. But it never came. Hell for Tinker was to be eternally devoured by insects...

I think most people consider hell to be some sort of place of endless torture and pain, but my idea of hell is far more simple. When I am encouraged to pick up any faith on the promise that I will go to heaven, I think of my family who aren't part of that religion and wouldn't be welcome. Then I think of all the good people of the world that religion excludes from it's paradise and would burn for eternity for holding the wrong beliefs during their earthly existence. To me, residing in such a wonderful place, while those I love and so many good people are tortured with them, would be my idea of hell. Eternity without them? No thanks, I'd rather not exist at all.

Michelle stood at the gate of hell, the fire licking at her skin. She wanted the cursed fire to punish her. She hadn't managed to save her daughter from the drugs and she had shouted at her grandson more often than she should have. Many times she had raised her hand to him in anger when he really needed love. Now it was time to pay. With gratitude she lifted her foot from the cool white tile and placed it into the ashes that send up glowing embers into the smoky gloom only to feel the kiss of refreshing water. The inferno was gone and her foot was in a placid ocean, the sunset glowing orange ahead. Behind her came a gentle voice telling her she was forgiven. Her sins were gone. She turned. Jesus stood, looking nothing like the pictures she had ever seen of him, on the sand. "But I never believed in you," she said, her quietness almost carried away in the breeze.

"I believed in you," came his reply, "welcome to heaven."

Tom turned with sudden ferocity, the words flying from his mouth with an intensity that drove Chloe back. "I'm not scared of hell, Chloe, not scared at all." Chloe blanched, she'd been raised a good church girl and the words scared her half to death.

"Tom, don't say that. It's not right, not right at all." But Tom wouldn't listen, his face was contorted with a rage she hadn't seen before.

"I'm not scared of hell because we're already there! Look around you, What are your choices? Wear clothes made by slaves, some of them children? Eat food grown with toxins that harm the earth. Be complicit in animal cruelty daily? Drive a car that pollutes the earth more? And what if we don't do these things, Chloe, what happens? We are "weird" and "hippies." If we don't work all our lives at some job we hate our children will starve, who cares if we don't have enough time left over to raise them? We have no time to think about how to make the world better, more fair for everyone. It's hell. Welcome to hell, Chloe."

"Tom, I think you need help, seriously. Look around you, the grass is green, our country is peaceful. Everyone you know is friendly, the wars are overseas." Chloe reached out a hand but Tom slunk backwards.

"If I'm living in a paradise while kids are starving and dying a short plane ride away, that's hell. I want heaven on earth Chloe, nothing less." Chloe took a step backwards.

"Tom, you're scaring me. This isn't you. You're a regular guy. I think you've been working too hard. Put your feet up, take a break. Go to the mountains, don't you love it up there?" Tom looked to the floor.

"Yeah, Chloe, I guess you're right. I need to unwind. It's just work you know, um, it wears me down." Chloe smiled, and breathed out slowly.

"That's it Tom. Why don't you go for a coffee, we can go together. You can't solve the world's problems you know, it's too much for one person."

If any God could deliver a sentient being into the hands of a demon so evil as to make the most sadistic serial killer look kind, would he not be complicit?

I have to warn you though, if you did choose to let Dakota and her baby die, God will now have to make you live through her pain in hell. That’s the way it works. You choose to make her suffer so you can be richer, you’ll have to live that pain later on, only magnified and worse. Why worse? Because you made God suffer too. You see, He loves everyone, He feels everyone’s pain. So if you chose to let Dakota suffer and die, and her unborn, you did it to God too. So you’ll have to take on the suffering of all three of them and God is paper thin. He feels everything from everyone. He feels all the terror, all the hurt, all the pain and He still pours out nothing but Love. He is amazing. Hang on. God want’s me to correct that, just when I was having fun too.

I lied about the hell bit, there is no hell but the one we make on earth, but it’s true that God feels everyone’s pain. How? I told you before, your soul is a fragment of the Divine, He is part of you. That’s how everyone has an innate moral compass, should they choose to use it. When you raise your hand against another, you raise your hand against Him too, when you help another, you help Him too. When he said He was the poor, the meek, the hungry, He wasn’t joking. He is.

In a moment’s flash, I stand in the midst of a vast darkness. There is a dull spotlight on me, and on my clothes. I glance down at my hands and feet. I find myself wearing a white shirt and pants, which I didn’t choose. What’s going on? Fear hits me like a falling tree in an ice storm. I am barefooted, and the soles of my feet are hot. The hair on the back of my head stands up. I am horrified by this vast, empty, wasteland which surrounds me. It’s pitch black. My eyes could not penetrate the darkness no matter which way I turned. It was the complete shutdown of light, except for the dull light around me. This darkness weighed heavily on my shoulders. The darkness felt as if it were brooding and rotating about me. Then, the loneliness, and the sheer depth of my aloneness takes my fear to a level I never knew. There streams the smell of…sulfur. The pungent vapor filled my nostrils, turns my stomach. I hear muffled voices spelling out from my left and from behind me. I hear a ripple of mocking laughter. Waves of rejection and hatred sweep through me like the heavy stream from a fireman’s hose. I tried to ran away, but I slammed into an invisible barrier. An unholy voice spoke from below me, “Wait your turn. We will be with you sooner that you want.” The laughter around me became loud and pressed in on me. So, I wait.

I saw Louis fall. He was high on the overhead trestle. He just checked the shuttle cars of coal when he lost his footing and plummeted backwards into the lake below. He did not come up, so I rushed into the cold, muddy water. I found him, brought him to the surface. Others helped me carry him to the sandy bank. His chest was still, no sign of life. Morris, the shift boss leaned heavily on his diaphragm. Louis coughed up muddy water. He opened his eyes, and came up screaming, “Please, don’t let them take me back to that awful place.” “What place? What are you talking about?” He fought us, jumped to his feet. His eyes said panic. “That awful place with the shadow bodies, the evil ones.” Morris said, “Louis, when you fell, I prayed for you.” Louis breathed hard, “Then, then, that’s why they let me go. Pray for me right now.” Morris prayed. Louis went to the infirmity, and came back next day a changed man. He told me, “I ain’t afraid no more. Morris showed me how to pray for myself.” Louis even climbed back up onto that trestle.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

In the darkness of hell Donald no longer had use for his eyes. He sat on the damp ground, adding the moistness with his own tears. God had asked him to come through to heaven but he had shaken his great shaggy head. He had failed that November night forty years ago to save his children from the house fire. Now he wanted to burn too, but the gate to the furnace stayed closed no matter how many times he beat on the door for admittance. Then from his left he heard his son's voice and he was afraid to look at his charred skin. A beam of light slanted across him as if a door had just been opened to summer and three children came bursting in, whole, happy, unharmed. They bundled onto him with cries of "Daddy!" Before he could argue they lead him away from hell's gate and into the warmth of heaven.

I watch the deep flames of the enraged fire through blurry eyes. I can’t breathe, nor can I hear even the simplicity of my heart racing in my chest. I continued to choke and splutter under the thick sack, my struggling ceasing. The smoke smelt of kerosene, and had a strange scent of perfume through it. My mouth gapes in a scream as they eat my flesh, licking greedily at my skin, but no sound comes. Each lick is harsher, more painful- leaving a greater black burn each time. I can feel it pull my very life away, but this has happened over a hundred times. Am i too lost to be saved?Is this forever to be my life? Dying in the flames of hell?

The underworld ocean was black under a sunless sky and the fumes rising from the surface were no water vapour; instead they curled and eddied with a silvery-white luminescence. Tara's eyes became fixated on the wisps as they danced ever closer. In moments her eyes, nose and throat became blistered, closely followed by the rest of her skin. It was a fire that didn't consume, it just kept on licking coldly. The boat bobbed on toward the sound of laughter on the shore she couldn't see and never became any closer to. Though she wished to black out her mind remained sharp and clear. She was given an option- to remain in this boat for an eternity in hell, or take the place of those she'd tortured and killed in the worst moments of the agony she'd inflicted. Instantly she was seeing a green field, cool grass underfoot, and a couple were walking toward her with a puppy. Her heart fell, it was her and Claus and she knew what was coming. Endless re-runs, only with her as the victim. Hell.

"What is hell for you?" someone asked me once.
"Hell is loving someone in your sleep and waking up alone" I answered.