'Life is a test. You've just failed.'

There are words to live by.

These are the words you die by.

A slightly mocking, cynical voice surrounds you.

A little girl greets you.

'Did you know your heart just stopped?'

Funny, she doesn't seem to care.

Don't you know her somehow?

'You know me. I'm everything you ever loved, the things you most

passionately hate.'

In her is every failed attempt, every lost dream, every shame every time you turned a blind eye.

You watch her smile coldly, patronizing. 'Didn't you know? They didn't tell you?'

Death. No one ever said it would be like this. To be marked by your every failure, to see everything you should have done.

Where was your dead grandmother to greet you?

Where was heaven? Hadn't you earned it?

Where was God?

'Where were you?'

You don't want to listen to that sing-song voice.

'Where were you when the wolf was shot?'

'Where were you when the children starved?'

'Where were you when the forest cried?'

Weren't you a good person?

Didn't you love Jesus?

'Weren't you arrogant?'

'Weren't you indifferent?'

No, of course you weren't. The lives you abused, even by way of apathy were only creatures made for your pleasure by god. Animals didn't go to heaven.

The people who didn't believe in Jesus were already condemned, it was your right to think less of them. Sinners didn't go to heaven.

'Do those hollow excuses for your arrogance still ring true here?'

You could learn to hate that voice. But then you already know how to hate.

'You know. You understand.'

And you do. There is no great savior. No one person or faith can absolve you of the guilt of a lifetime.

You are marked by your actions not your faith.

You and only you know that you have failed.

Welcome to your personal hell.

Welcome to what you made.