When I die and IF there is a hell it will be this:
Constant weeding and pruning. Weeds that pop up overnight, where there is no soil, or water, or sun. And give me the wrong tool for the job, like a kitchen fork or a plastic spoon.
Insatiable appetite for foods that I cannot have. Tastes on my tongue and smells of aromas and oils released into the heat of a pan even in my dreams, so that when I awaken, the torture is tripled.
Dogs that leak fluids everywhere they go.
Cars that leak fluids everywhere they go.
I leak fluids everywhere I go.
Strangers telling me I am not trying hard enough.
Familiar faces telling me I am not trying hard enough, not following rules, not remembering my own history correctly.
Winds that blow my clothes over my face so I stumble into obstacles.
My feet will become logs, throbbing at the heaviness of carrying the rest of my body.
Hoards of creatures wanting to be fed, watered, cleaned, groomed.
Lines of people thousands deep, waiting for instructions, hoping for admission.
Eyeglasses that magnify the dirt, the filth,the lies, the hurt.
Hair that plasters to my face, reeking of the sludge that has bubbled up through the earth’s being for centuries.
Wings that sprout from my shoulder blades. Burned at the tips, mangled, missing the necessary feathers that take me somewhere, anywhere.
Heartburn born of lifetimes of fear and lack of solace. Fire that churns and glows in my gut, set on the plains of a far away land in the night that took the very soul, sold for so many pelts meant to be worn by Kings.
Oranges, smooth and soft, void of flesh and filled, instead with the trimmings of those who would tell the stories of their tortuous years.
Memories that have faded to smoky flashes in my mind’s eye. Smells of her hair, the blankets from the chest, the dirt in the fields, the babies held to my breast…evaporated.
Moons that rise only to the edge of the mountains. Suns that remain in constant twilight. Shadows that harbor frightful beings, watching every move, every vulnerability.