Interestingly enough, some of my dreams are hazy and fragmented, but others are quite vivid and appear to be very real. One of those that seemed like I was actually living it, including feeling pain with all of my senses intact, was a vision of hell itself.
I lived in a compound with thousands of others, who all wore the same drab, gray outfits. Men and women looked alike, as there was no distinction made through cosmetics or clothing. There were no children, at least, in our compound. We all had rules to follow, and we were all punished equally for failure to comply or failure to submit.
It took me a while to familiarize myself with my surroundings. The structure had three elevations with the basement containing the exercise area, two dining facilities, and public showers and restrooms. There was no privacy. The sleeping arrangements were similar to prisons with cells with bunk beds. I slept in the upper bunk bed, while my roommate, who did not introduce himself, covered his head with a scratchy, brown blanket in the lower berth. His loud snoring kept me up most of the night.
The meals were bland and tasteless. I had hoped that if we still had to go to the bathroom in hell, we would receive decent food, but that was not the case. People moved around in lines for meals, restroom visits, and recreation. There was no room for individualism anywhere in the compound. Freedom was defined as being allowed to exist.
All control was totalitarian. Stoic guards who never talked were everywhere. I suspected that they were robots. Some of the older prisoners were called “trustees” and they made certain that you understood the rules and requirements to submit to whatever was asked of you.
I watched one prisoner attempt a breakout that ended in failure. The gentleman zipped out of line and ran for a door, only to find it locked. He bumped off guards like he was in a pin-ball machine. The guards had expandable, black batons that thumped him into submission. They carried him back to his cell where he died.
At that point, I wondered if dying in hell would be better than living in hell. Hopefully, this poor soul was in a better place. But fear of the unknown is sometimes worse than fear of the known. His body was dumped into a well, but it seemed like a three-minute fall before I heard it hit the water. Nobody seemed fazed by this activity as they continued to shuffle off to their next destination.
The trustees were constantly attempting to get the prisoners to do bad things… either convincing them to hurt somebody else or allowing the trustees to have sex with them. The idea was to get everybody to submit, one way or the other, to evil within the compound. You couldn’t get away from the incessant torment. If you failed to submit, you were punished in a separate area of the compound, which had various instruments of torture. The pain seemed very real.
Thank God, I woke up during my torture. However, my body ached for the remainder of the day just as if I had actually been beaten. The dream seemed too real to dismiss it lightly. I wondered what would have happened if I had submitted to the demands of evil. I was certain that I would be tested again and again and again… a hellish world without end, amen.
Part of hell is feeling like there is no advantage to resisting. You want to just give in and face the consequences, which may be less painful than the torture you will receive for sticking to your moral code. However, remember that morality is choosing to do the right thing when doing the wrong thing is easier. Holding to your moral values is not for wimps.