The Mistake

Flames snapped at his heels.

Shadow’s turned into demons.

    Screams from below echoed in his skull.

Smoke stung his eyes.

   Sulfur and burnt hair filled his nostrils.

He covered his mouth and nose with his shirt, as he ran away from the darkness behind him. 

    He didn’t belong down here.

No, not him.

   A mistake, that was it, someone made a mistake. 

He had to get out.

   He couldn’t stand one more second down here.

His mind would melt from the screams, if he stayed.

    A nice guy like him—an honest man—he shouldn’t be in hell.

He screamed as loud as he could. 

   No one heard him.

He searched frantically for a way out. 

   There was no light.

No light at all.

   Just darkness. 

And some darkness was darker than darkness.

   He had seen his heroes down here.

Everyone he had ever admired was tied to a desk above the snapping flames.

    People that had loved him were there.

Family.

  Friends.

Lovers.

  Writers.

Philosophers.

   Politicians.

Celebrities. 

    They were all chained to desks.

He had yelled at them, asking them what they were doing at those desks,

    But when a deep and sinister voice answered for them,

Telling the man that they were making him money,

   He decided not to ask anymore questions. 

Running desperately, arms flapping around, bloodshot eyes bulging out of his face,

   He tried to escape,

Because,

   He truly believed that someone or something had made a mistake. 

  Hell was not his fate.

Not for him, he was supposed to be great.

   And he had to get out of hell

Before it was too late.

CH 3/9/25