Let’s pretend for a few minutes, give or take, that Hell isn’t a place consumed by fire, but flooded by blood. Let’s pretend that instead of burning in your immense sorrows and sins that you’re forever drowning because of them. Imprisoned under a surface no doubt thicker than water and more suffocating than it as well.

Feebly, your limbs flail as you try to reach the surface and escape the pain of eternally not being able to breathe. Don’t kid yourself by thinking that you will fall unconscious after mere minutes of this torture. Don’t kid yourself of this after hours either. I would tell you not to kid yourself of this after days, weeks, months even, but while in pain, time tends to blend, doesn’t it? As if you’d really want to think of something like that while hurting anyway.

No, you’d want to be thinking more along the lines of whom to blame or how to escape from this madness. The latter would undeniably be the most important to a frightened mind, however once said latter is accomplished, no doubt, you’ll be looking to point fingers. Pointing is aggressive, at least, that’s what I’ve been taught. Whether it is or it isn’t doesn’t really matter, I suppose, just that person to blame. God forbid it would be yourself who you should blame, right?

Of course it’s going to be you though, whether you like it or not. Sure, sure, that person told you to be bad or forced their evil powers into you. You had your choice though when this person told you to do bad things and don’t give me that bologna about having evil forced into you. If you don’t want to be evil, then rid yourself of these powers that were supposedly forced at you. I don’t believe in that anyway, so it’s irrelevant.

Where’d the blood that floods this Hell come from? Let’s pretend the following. It came from all the blood that touched, and still touches, the Earth. It’s somehow absorbed into the Earth and then taken to fill Hell. All the war that causes bloodshed, all the suicide, all the murder, all the accidental death contributes to this supply of blood if blood is indeed shed because of it.

Isn’t playing pretend fun? Let’s now pretend, really pretend, that you are indeed trapped in this bloody Hell. Close your eyes if you have to; envision it with all the imagination you have. What are you doing? Are your limbs flailing feebly, as already said? Or perhaps you are gasping for air, but only meeting the taste of others’ blood as you do this. And just like with swallowing water, your lungs begin to fill with blood where air is necessary, yet you won’t die because you’re already dead.

I wouldn’t be surprised if by this point many are turning or have already turned away from this disgusting possibility. Perhaps it is too vivid in their minds and they’re actually beginning to believe this will or is happening to them. Oh well, I suppose that is their prerogative. If this is your prerogative as well, you may turn away for I don’t know how much longer my mind will conjure such disturbing things and I will not ridicule or reprimand you. Go, go now. If you have not left, let’s continue with this twisted game of pretend.

Pretend now that there is some form of a Satan in this blood drenched Hell. Obviously Satan would have to have some way to breath and survive without pain, wouldn’t he? He, or maybe this Satan is a she, whichever, wouldn’t want to suffer, they’d want to taunt and torture. Yes, cause that’s Satan’s job as the ultimate evil, right?

Maybe Satan would merely laugh at you or maybe something worse. Maybe it would be something like pushing you down further into the bloody mass, or perhaps Satan’ll somehow force you to attempt to gasp for air like through hitting you in the stomach. If hit hard enough, this action will naturally wind you and with winding I would assume that you would gasp for the air that has escaped you. Oh that precious air, all gone now, never get it back. Like it really matters because you couldn’t have really used that air anyway.

Playing pretend as a child wasn’t like this, was it? When you were younger you probably pretended you were some hero or something else you couldn’t be. Maybe it was your favourite animal or an airplane or something ridiculous and impossible for your form to take hold of like that. I’m sure you did that, even if you don’t remember.

Or if you didn’t pretend you were something, you had an imaginary friend. At a young age you would deny that you were only pretending that that friend was there either because you just wanted a friend even if they weren’t real or they were so completely real to you that you believed they were right there by your side. What were your imaginary friends? Probably something safe and friendly that would always be there for you. Nothing that would ever dream of hurting you.

These versions of pretend were safe, harmless, a thing (or phase as some parents call it) of childhood. My version of pretend has possibly frightened you or made you laugh if you think it’s a pathetic attempt at a horrific plot. Whatever the case may be, this is my pretend, so let’s continue.

My pretend didn’t always entail Hell and blood and various other gory and horror story type scenarios. Right now though, it does. We’re going to now pretend that somehow you’ve found a way out of this bloody Hell for some sort of second chance. Of course you wouldn’t want to go back to this Hell, so you would attempt everything possible to not go back. Nah, I doubt it’d be possible to escape, so let’s cease this portion of pretend immediately.

I don’t know anything about Hell, don’t know if you’d be able to escape it. Perhaps you can. All these are merely my speculations, the “what ifs” my bored mind have conjured up due to the saying “bloody hell”. Don’t believe it’s true because I said these things. I don’t know the truth; let’s pretend.