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Rating: R just to be on the safe side
					Newfound Depths
Hell. Funny that word. It means so much and yet so little. Hell...the fiery burning pit where all the unworthy souls are sent. Looking around now I don't see any sign of *that* hell. I've come to a startling realization in my time here; hell is of your own making and I fed mine well!
There is nothing but pain. Pain...and a darkness so blinding it hurts the eyes to see it. At some point I was sure pain would no longer exist for me. Sadly that was also a mistaken assumption.
Again and again they find new ways to hurt and torment me. There is no sign of the damage inflicted upon me. No, that would spoil their fun. I scream until my vocal cords are just so much raw meat. Bleed so much that I was sure my time was near an end.
Yet never an end do I see.
On the surface I killed as mercilessly as any assassin, tortured as many as I could. As much carnage as I inflicted was returned to me. How do I know? How can I be so sure? I can feel the hysterical laughter building up again. I know because I am Pain! They think it's funny, and maybe in their sick, twisted minds it is.
When you're treated as I am, your mind tends to wander and wander it did. My time on the physical plane was enough to garner all kinds of useful and insightful things. It's little things that most people take for granted like breathing, and let's not forget something very important...blood. I didn't know that there were subtle textures and scents to blood, not at first.
Dying isn't a luxury I can afford any longer. I heal no matter what they do to me. It's strange because I should have died. I want to, beg for it, and its tender mercy never finds me. No matter how much damage is done, when they return I'm whole.
I'm not witch, nor lycanthrope, nor vampire, nor even the most lowly of demons. I don't think I'd ever been human. So what am I? It's a good question, a very good question, but one with no answer.
They call me the thing that should not be, neither of the living nor of the dead. Yet despite it all, here I am. I'm not dying though I think my hold on sanity is rapidly fading. Tears have long since lost their meaning to me, and they never had any effect on my captors.
This brings me back to my original topic. Hell. Hell isn't some flaming dimension with all kinds of perverse demons running around tormenting those they can lay their hands on. No! Hell is the total lack of hope. They haven't broken me of that yet. I still hang on to hope.
It's funny, in a sick sort of way, that hell inspires my hope. It lays in blue eyes, the smell of lilac, and the soft cold whisper of the grave. I know that she's looking for me and I know that she'll be my salvation, if only I can hang on long enough. My salvation is truly close to me. And hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; let's hope for my sanity that she's truly riled. Maggie, hurry up!