Creative Story: Personal Heaven/Hell
Him
The man in the white lab coat hands her a small plastic cup with several purple pills. His face stoic, emotionless. She takes the pills and swallows her medication with ease, mechanically. The same medication that puts her deep underwater that does things to her mind that would be torture for any person, has become her daily routine, her life. I don’t enjoy watching her suffer, but after deciding many fates, many afterlives, I am unphased.

My problem with people like her is that the wrongs she has committed are no more her fault than mine. She is a victim of the defects of her own mind and her own psychosis. Nevertheless, people must take responsibility and be punished for their sins. I cannot predict what her visions will be or how it will aid my decision, but it is a process I must endure day after day. Her personal paradise may be as twisted as her mind or as plain and ordinary as the paint on the walls of her room in the facility. I review my notes, set my glasses on my nose and prepare for another day of deep contemplation.

her
What has my life become? I had just started a family. I was finally where I wanted to be in life. I was content. I was keeping my life under control instead of spiraling out of control. Yet again though, I took everything I had for granted and f***ed things up. Now my life is an endless string of purple pills and faceless men in lab coats whose bulging arms restrain me when I have what the doctors call “episodes.” I took my daily dosage, now I lie in bed, waiting for the vivid visions that are induced by the pills. My eyes are glazed and my toes are tingling. I can’t anticipate each day’s hallucinations. Some days I never want them to end and wish for them to be my reality. Some days I feel that even death would be a better alternative. To kill time I trace the cracks in the dull white paint of the ceiling with my eyes.

Suddenly, the bland eggshell color brightens and the cracks fade away. I’m staring at a soothing marble color contrasting my favorite shade of blue. The soft material of my late grandmother’s quilt is pleasant and familiar beneath my palms. I inhale the fresh fall air and feel the calm breeze brush against my cheeks. Soft melodic music fills the void of silence that had been weighing down on me moments before. The strum of the acoustic guitar complements the rustic scenery. I sit up and take in my surroundings. I can see a glistening lake at the bottom of the small hill on which I sit. The grass is the greenest I’ve ever seen it and tall pines tower above me, reminding me of a childhood so innocent and blissful. Camping with my family, sitting around the fire roasting marshmallows to that perfect golden brown. Peaceful mornings huddled together in the tent with layers upon layers of soft blankets and pillows.

A baby’s wailing pierces the air. I turn around and there sits a small home, a familiar home. It is the same dark blue front door that I locked every day before I left for work; the same front door I carried my beautiful newborn through when I first brought her home. A stream of smoke emanates from the red-brick chimney and I long for the old woodburning fireplace in my living room. I turn the brass, rusty doorknob, still in a state of wonderment, and let the door creak open. The smell of a home-cooked meal overwhelms me and I begin to feel light-headed with delight.

“Oh! Thank God. I was cooking us dinner and she just started bawling. I don’t know what’s wrong with her! Here, please, take her.” He hands me the infant, wild-eyed, “ I’m just trying not to burn the house down.” My husband Eric retreats back into the kitchen.

My eyes well with tears. I had forgotten how it felt in the beginning. Both of us frazzled and exhausted with the new task of being parents but loving every second of it. I cradle my baby in my arms and feel the steady beat of her heart. She hushes almost instantaneously. My baby. I’ve missed her.

Eric pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway, “Dinner’s ready.”

I enter the kitchen and on the table is the most delicious looking meal I have ever laid eyes on. Several different dishes are presented beautifully before me. All different types of pastas and meats and sauces, all for me and Eric.

I sit down in my seat and I take a bite. Flavor explodes in my mouth, and I look up at my beaming husband. He leans down and plants a soft kiss on my lips.

We eat for hours after that. The food never runs out, and I never get full. I talk nonsense with my husband and we laugh; it’s been a while since I’ve laughed. My baby coos and giggles beside me and I am truly happy. There is no place I would rather be than sitting at this table now.

All at once, the sun rises, our daughter is napping, and Eric and I are sitting in front of our fireplace drinking hot cider. His arms engulf me as we watch the large, powdery snowflakes fall steadily from the sky and cover the ground in a cold, white blanket. Thick socks shield my feet from the freezing temperature and the buzz of the radiator is familiar and welcoming.

Through the baby monitor we hear a faint babble.

“I got it.” Eric gets up and makes his way upstairs to her room.

Why did I deserve this life? It was too good for me, but it was mine nonetheless. This was my life.

The fire diminishes, and the stone fireplace before me morphs into a dull white wall. There is no longer snow falling outside the window. There is no longer a window. My feet are bare and cold and the thin sheets are rough beneath my palms. It wasn’t real. It’s never real.

Him
Her heaven is nothing but ordinary. She just wants to be with her family although it contradicts her actions on Earth. Now my issue is just weighing her wrong-doings against her intentions. Do I send her to hell for her backwards mind? Or to heaven because her heart is pure? I scribble a few passing thoughts into my notebook and sip on my coffee. This is my least favorite part however, it plays a pivotal role in my decision and her fate. There is only one way to come to a just conclusion.

her
I’m falling. There is no ground in sight, no landing. No place where I’ll crash and this feeling will stop; this feeling of intense panic and hysteria. My heart pounds so violently I think it might rip through my chest. There is nothing but black space around me and I’ve lost control.

Suddenly, I plunge deep into cripplingly cold water. I struggle to swim to the surface and my limbs are stiff and numb from the cold, frozen. As I prepare to break the surface and feel the relief of that deep breath of air, I hit something. Ice. I strike it frantically, using the last whisps of strength I have left in a futile attempt to break it and breath in the frigid air above but it won’t so much as crack. My chest constricts and the need for oxygen is overbearing. Just as I brace myself to inhale the water and feel the calm unconscious wash over me, I hear screams.

Harsh overhead lights flicker, giving me glimpses of blinding white walls. Steel doors line both sides of the narrow hallway, each with names scribbled on small chalkboards beside them. As I walk forward, I am surrounded by the sounds of anguished screams and the hearty crunch of bones. I hear the cracks of whips and people’s strangled sobs. I try not to gag from the repugnant smell of human waste and sewage. I reach the end of the hallway and am met with a doorway identical to those I’ve been passing. However, when I notice what’s different about this particular door, a shiver runs down my spine and my bones are chilled. It is my name written on the chalkboard beside it and the door lingers wide open. I can’t help myself. I step inside and sit in a fragile looking wooden chair in the center of the room. Leather straps are tightly constraining both of my wrists.

I hear the whir of a projector and in front of me I see myself as a newborn baby. I see clips of my loving parents raising me well. I see myself shoving my brother into the lake at our house in the Berkshires. I see myself in my cap and gown, diploma in hand, smiling. I see Eric standing at the end of the aisle at our wedding and the birth of our beautiful baby daughter.

And I see my house in flames. I hear Eric’s cries for help. I see myself standing on the front lawn, looking up into our bedroom window, watching my husband holding our child, both of them choking and sobbing.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I try to stand up and run away but the restraints hold me down, the tough leather chafing my wrists. I can’t control it, but my eyes open. I see countless days of me being unable to hush my babies cries, of Eric being able to so easily. I see myself villainizing them both. They don’t love me. They don’t need me. I see myself finally losing it, pouring gasoline through the hallways, up the stairs, all over our house while Eric puts the baby to sleep. And I see myself light the match and set my house aflame.

I’m screaming at myself. How could I have committed a crime so monstrous? How could I have robbed the world of two beautiful, wonderful human beings?

I see my face, just after I had killed them, my eyes devoid of emotion.

I’m physically unable to close my eyes. I can kick and scream but I can’t close my eyes. I watch this moment over and over again and it gets no less painful each time. My throat burns from screaming and my eyes sting.

The projector stops and, once again, a bland eggshell white surrounds me. I stare at the cracks in the paint on the ceiling, shut my eyes and go to sleep.

Him
It’s just what I expected. It is the same thing I see daily when I sit behind this desk and delve into the depths of people’s minds. However, she committed an unforgivable crime. She stole two human lives. She doesn’t deserve to be happy with her family in heaven if she is the one who put them there in the first place. Her sins are heavier than the goodness of her heart. People must take responsibility for their actions. My mind is made up. I pick up my pen and write my final decision into my book: HELL.