When you go to hell, you are not taken there. It comes to you instead. The reality you are in simply begins to evaporate. You can see and feel it being replaced. By a continuous transformation the new reality takes form. The walls close in and begin to flow. A sharp grain pierces the center of your experience. At first the pain is slight and seems to affect only the smallest of spaces. But like the universe from nothing it inflates in your awareness and consumes every part of you. It eats and grows and this thing that is being converted in both size and degree is the substance of your perception, as it magnifies and and copies and all of it is simultaneously aware of all the rest. It is as though you have an infinitely expanding array of eyes and each one of them is subjected to a blinding light that keeps growing impossibly brighter forever. You have become a feedback loop of pain, a dipole of eyes and light feeding its own increase.
One by one Colta’s limbs betrayed him. They locked up, no longer under his command. He sweated and moaned and panicked and tried to cry out but even that was taken from him. Mechanical arms swung out from the ceiling and pierced him with hypodermic needles and electrodes invaded his skull and a high buzzing pulse filled his head and his breath and blood throbbed in his eardrums and he thought he heard himself shrieking. Everything became far away like he was falling backwards into a dark black pit, some kind of tunnel to the fiery center of the earth, no longer attached to his own body at all, and the vision began again and demonic faces came out of the amorphous darkness and then he could see her, only she was a massive sheet of raw flesh stretching out over an endless industrial field and punctured by iron pipes and oily gears and spewing thick bilious clouds of smokey sludge into a nightmare sky and horrific beings in endless hordes entranced and beguiled him with alien intelligence and dazzling malevolence and it was all perfect and forever and crystalline and fated and now he knew that the world was and always had been only a trick of the Evil One, that his soul was forfeit from the beginning, and that salvation existed as a means to torment the damned with its eternal and unfulfilled promise of heaven.
Dj screams and curls up naked in the dog kennel. The drug has kicked in. The TV next to him plays non-stop videos of war footage. Executions. People being burned alive. People restrained to gurneys and having their genitals mutilated with razor blades. Animals being hung up by their legs and skinned while still alive, their little limbs flailing as their hide is peeled off whole, revealing the slick muscle and white sheets of connective tissue underneath. Videos of autopsies including babies being split down the middle.
The drug is LSD. It is amplifying his emotions. The screaming through the speakers is dragging him to hell. Demons appear out of the darkness. Reality has been revealed to be timeless and cosmic and his hopeless situation here is absolute and forever. He has visions of his former life and realizes it was a mirage to set the stage for this inescapable and eternal suffering. This isn’t realized in language but in a sort of visionary revelation that overpowers and awes him the way religious ecstasy overpowers the saint. The difference is this experience has been carefully prepared by someone to whom trauma is like paint for the canvas of childhood.
Mommy. Daddy. Please protect me from these bad people.
With the static of a bad radio broadcast, a voice swallows his awareness:
But we can’t, little one. They’re everywhere. Slinking around on all fours like animals, you should learn to accept it. It’s okay. We we’re all your age once too. We’ve been through this before. Know what it’s like. Hurts, don’t it? Hurts in ways you can’t tell anybody about… Shush shush, its okay now… I won’t tell if you don’t…. Feels good, too, not like you need to be ashamed, but you pretend to be, and that’s so ugly, so unbecoming, so conditional, so prosaic… You’re such a special little toy and you should know your place is bent over under my body. I’m going to keep you forever, my secret wound to make bleed in just the way I like…
…Dj awoke to the sound of screaming. It was the boy in the dog kennel next to him, the boy whose hands were tied behind his back, ankles bound together.
The Device (him) explains: “You see, Dj, what is happening is the wasp’s eggs are hatching. Inside that boy’s eyes and balls the maggots are coming out and beginning to eat him from the inside. And it hurts, oh yes it does. He hasn’t eaten in a long time either because now he’s become food and food doesn’t need to eat. Food is what gets eaten. You don’t want to end up like him, do you? He was a naughty boy. He didn’t want to play games with me. You won’t be naughty, though, will you? You don’t want maggots eating your eyes out, do you? You don’t want your balls and your dick to get worms coming out of them, do you? He’s going to be screaming for a long, long time. Days and days while they feast. And then finally they’ll come out as adult wasps to sting you a thousand times. But if you just do as I say I won’t let them lay eggs in you. Okay?”
“Alright. I’m going to let you out now. Then we can play a special game because you’re a special boy. It’ll be all kinds of fun, and in a nice soft room away from all this noise.”
The Device (him) opened the door to the cage and Dj shakily got to his feet. He could hardly stand up, and kept looking over at the maggot food torture victim in the other cage. His captor grabbed his arm and pulled him up and carried him out of the room…
…He was hung legs splayed by the ropes around his scrotum and penis. Suspended in midair like an apple about to fall off a tree. He didn’t move because a shift in weight would result in torque and more pain. He screamed until no sound came out, until time stood still and introduced him to eternity’s cruel carress, its relentless touch invading the core he tried to hide in. Every part of him was entered, stripped, ground up and burned, and as he watched his soul dematerialized and he became the pain itself.
In visions he would be sexually mutilated into a grim parody of a girl as payback for not standing up to his abuser when he had the chance. He’s restrained on a gurney with thick segmented straps around each extremity, bright lights shining down from above, anonymous faces in surgical masks go this way and that way and don’t ever say anything to him. A whirring sound begins after a click. It grows louder. He cries like a little kid and shakes in the restraints but no one does anything. They talk hurriedly amongst themselves about things unknown and indistinct. Someone pulls his pants down and his shirt up. His penis is exposed with the sound of the surgical saw humming just out of sight but right there next to him. All the faces look at him with dead fish eyes, there’s no soul in any of them, as if they are in a hurry to get done with work and he is only the grotesque lead ball on their chain of a job.
The rotary saw comes into view, held by a dark figure. Its surface shimmers with reflected light. The gloved hand holding it comes closer, until the machine is just over his groin. His muscles all go rigid.
…Your body is stiff as a board. You scream in a kind of high grated ribbon getting woven into the overtones of the saw itself, battling and compromising and bargaining with it, trying to, but it is relentless and consuming and just gets louder until your own voice is drowned out and you can’t tell if it’s the saw that’s screaming.
Sharpness starts and it’s very fast. The sting is an exponential curve that rises as the blade cuts deeper. Your system is overloaded like a grain of rice that puffs out first to the size of a marshmallow, then a couch, than a skyscraper, than a mountain, a planet… This is the amount of sensation that courses through your tunnels, and its so vastly bigger than you’d ever suspected it could be, and you’re everywhere at once to feel all of it and time just doesn’t happen here, which translates it to eternity because nothing shifts it just freezes in place and becomes forever.
Along a horizontal axis of motion, from forth a mouth opening to a deep tunnel stretching off the side into the unseen distance, a giant’s head glided along a track, moving to the right out from the tunnel’s mouth, it’s surface in the darkness all red and black striations of bare and glistening muscle, it’s features radiating the purest predatory hunger, it’s brain a gigantic super-computer of unimaginable intelligence whose only purpose was the infliction of impossible suffering, of pains so profound and intense that they expanded the victim’s own capacities to make way for the demon’s intentions.
The mouth of the monster opened and ejected a creature that had no will of its own but was the eternal slave and puppet of this purified evil. Its body was a container of unendurable sensitivity whose every fiber was a conduit along a perfect network of tissues that brought into existence its own experience of undefinably vast agony. It could never die or protest or resist and it knew this, for the monster that orchestrated its reality instilled the knowledge of damnation into the substance of its perceptions, into the panicked thoughts which spiraled in upon themselves in constant sensory overload that when it seemed no more could possibly be felt, a further means was made known and the expansion began again in ways too intelligent, too malevolently clever, to be anything other than the work of a supreme being whose position was chief architect of a hell that encompassed the capacities of the universe entire, infinite and eternal, a hunger that fed itself and looped in on itself and grew it’s own limitless and unstoppable desire for still more sensation and the hate needed to ensure everlasting torment.
The plushy’s hands and feet were cast into blocks of concrete and it was naked and on all fours and helpless with its useless extremities. Always this clunky sound as it shambled about dragging its heavy and awkward burdens. Its eyes had been dug out and its ears poked through with needles. It existed only to feel, to be touched and used and violated. It had never learned to speak, had never read a book or recited poetry, had never whistled a tune or even heard one. It had been born and bred to suffer in ways that caused its brain to develop into unprecedented configurations. Lacking visual and auditory input, its neurons focused on the sense of touch, rewiring vast regions for heightened response and increasing its own capacity for suffering a million fold over that of any normal human being. Where others could only imagine this prodigious capacity, the plushy lived it in a state of extraordinary uniformity and intensity. It was pain incarnate. It was the body of hell. It was the flesh God abandoned.
The Device said in a whisper: as compared to the existence whose creation is my object the Devil Himself achieves Sainthood.
There were great labyrinths of machines, and the machines were made of living tissues. They were interlaced with networks of circuits conveying many types of information. The structures began to grow like forests over the whole surface of the planet.
The forests had specialized regions which stretched on for endless miles where colossal planes of various types were cultivated. There were varieties of sensory tissue which routed their vast supply of experienced data back for processing at specialized banks of hybrid collectives. These engines and detectors and thinkers were automatic and synchronous and unyielding.