I can never say I’ve been to,or seen, Heaven or Hell. I don’t know what I should see or what I really don’t. From what I’ve gathered, from the myths, the legends, the stories, the fairy tales, is that Heaven is a place you want to be, and Hell, is some place you don’t. I can only fantasize about what it would be like to live in such a setting, both light and dark. Are there angels with wings? Or do I see demons that are the epitome of darkness? Bliss is the ecstasy of having the perfect life where you can be carefree and see the light of life in everything. But for me, I can personally only focus on the warmth of the torture that tantalizes you with a sinister grin that lures you even closer. The sadistic things it has lurking behind it, full of suffering and endless days and nights of screaming in agony and oppression. Bliss is my paradise and oasis to escape the reality surrounding me, but the undying torture that lies in wait, can be seen as a horrific image of my deepest fears.
I awake to the sun, stinging my eyes. The bed is still warm from where he had been sleeping. His warmth is so comforting, I could just curl myself in his arms and all my troubles would melt away with his embrace. I get up from the bed and go to the mirror above my ornate red wood vanity. I gaze into my own rich brown eyes, noticing for the first time, how there are the most miniscule flecks of color settled in my iris. I smile at myself, I’ve grown quite tall, for being twenty-one. I slip into a curve hugging  purple sundress he had just bought me for my birthday. I hear the birds chirping outside, their sweet melodies encapsulating me in a whole different fantasy. I look fixedly out the window at the sky, and see that it’s finally started to snow. I reach out and touch the snow. It’s not cold, as one might think, but it’s warm, like the milk from a baby’s bottle. It doesn’t melt in my hand, it rests in my palm, never melting. I let the snowflake continue its journey to the ground, and head for my kitchen. I smell hot chocolate wisping in the air and the scent of cookies dances around my nose, teasing it. I hear the sound of laughter erupt, from my husband, and my beloved child. In the fullness of this Heaven, they notice I’m standing at the entrance to the kitchen, watching them with a smile plastered on my face. My husband and son race over, and squeeze me so hard I think I might burst. Of course in a good way though. I kiss them all over in an attempt to make them let me out of their death hug. My little one squeals as I kiss the back of his ears, and eventually I’m free from the hug. I lift up my son and his midnight black hair swishes over my eyes and I tickle him even more. His giggle is contagious and I laugh even harder. I release my son after a quick peck on the cheek and give him a cookie. I pivot on my heel ready to chase after my son, but come face to face with my husband. He smiles, and reaches a hand up to stroke my cheek. I conform to his hand’s curvature. Again, feeling the intoxicating warmth that emanates from him. I look into his warm green eyes and smile once again, for he makes me smile no matter what. He kisses me and the warmth goes all over me. He pulls back after the moment, and twirls me around, admiring how I have the purple dress on. He grabs my hand and gives it a tight squeeze, still gazing into my eyes with his earthly green ones. We chase after our son, out into the snowy meadow where he ran off to. The cold is nonexistent. The snow does not give off the feeling of freezing, but the coziness of being cradled in his arms. My family and I cascade down to the snowy ground. We spread our arms and make the infamous snow angels. The laughter begins again, making my ears have a sense of euphoria. The laughter is my haven. It tells me everything is alright. It tells me that my family is happy, that my family is whole. My husband, son, and I all arise from our masterpieces and head back inside our cottage. I bake a pumpkin pie and the scent drifts to each corner of the room. My husband and son playing next to me. I can’t help but smile, that’s how much I love them, they make me smile just by being there. As an extra touch of taste, I add the honey we made from our flowers, and drizzle it atop the pumpkin pie. I slice it into pieces and hand my spouse and child a piece. They dig in furiously and of course are done in no time. When the sun has eventually descended, we are off to bed. My husband and I tuck in our sun, wishing him the sweetest of dreams. Then, my husband and I are off to our room and we lie in the bed. He cradles me in his arms and sings to me. His song melts away any stress I had built up. His song warms me along with his arms wrapped around me. I fall asleep, but not before he kisses me goodnight. Each day after that is just as pleasant and utopic as this one. I never age and neither does my husband. Our son grows till he’s twenty-one, and then we are all the same. We live together forever in pleasure and joy, in the peace of our winter meadow.
Even when a person can think of a blissful dimension, they can only think of the complete opposite, one of never ending torture. I can only think of one thing that haunts me most, and has been in my nightmares for as long as I can remember, being alone. I can’t see, hear, feel, or speak anything at all. I know no one is around me, because for some reason, I know everyone is dead and I’m the only person left on this desolate planet. I wander aimlessly hoping that I’ll at least regain my sight or my sense of hearing or touch. I don’t know if I’ve bumped into something, since I can’t feel anything. I can’t tell if I’m hurt or bleeding. All my nerve endings are fried, never to work again. I can’t see, or at least the only thing I see now is an empty black void encapsulating my vision. My ear drums have been blown, and I can’t hear a single thing. Even though this world is dead silent, I wouldn’t be able to hear that metaphorical pin drop. I can’t speak, I haven’t felt my mouth move to form words in ages. I guess a person could say I’ve been tongue tied for the last year or so. There is one thing that I do have left of my senses. I can smell, and I can taste, but it’s not very pleasant. I can smell the scent drifting in the breeze I know is there, but can’t feel. I can taste the flavor of the things I eat. The only thing I smell and taste, is that of the dead bodies all around me. I smell the rot seething out of every pore on the people I knew. I can taste the gushing blood that seeps out when I bite into their decomposing flesh. This is how I know everyone is dead, because I killed them all, just so I could taste and smell just one little thing. I could only keep myself sane by getting rid of what everyone else had, their senses, and quality of life. I did this for myself, but I ended up only having myself in the end. All alone, left alone, forever to be alone. I did this to myself, I killed everyone else, and that’s what haunts me the most, not the fact that I can’t see, hear, feel, or speak. I live with the fact that I’m a monster, that I caused this to become a desolate world, that I need help, but there’s no one on this planet that can help me, and it's my own undoing.  To draw to a close, Heaven and Hell are two different depictions of a person’s alternate reality. They tell what one feels, or wants to feel. They tell what one sees, hears, smells, and tastes. They tell what one wants to see, hear, smell, or taste. They are the epitome of one’s soul. They bring to the light, and dark, what everyone is thinking, and what everyone doesn’t want to think. Hear these words, I have a Heaven to escape to, but I have a Hell that I can’t escape from.