Once upon a time, way back in 2008, I read a story on the internet about a saint who had terrible visions of Hell. I read other’s stories of people who were dead for a few minutes and given glimpses into the suffering beyond. I tried to find the story again recently, and I found the article which had all of the stories, but I could not find the vision which haunted my mind since high school. So, here is my vision:
I was dead, this I knew. This was all I knew, as I could not remember who I was, how I got here, what I had done. I was bare naked and magnetized to this large marble sphere. It was infinite within, a darkness so deep I could not comprehend light within, and I could not move. For fleeting moments, I could see myself and others out of body, and I could see others also magnetized to orbs of marble darkness. Each were over a pit, the orbs suspended above a needle stalagmite.
Robed spirits gathered around me, conversing between each other in whispered prayers. I would try to look at them, fearing what they could want, what they could mean. The closer my eyes came upon them, the louder their prayers would become. The spirits would become angry that I dare see my beholders.
All fell silent upon the arrival of one, its presence quelling my every emotion. My fear turned to perception, though my understanding was absent. It came to me, and let me gaze upon it as I lay paralyzed to the marble darkness. I would cry, when I was able, as the vast abyss within the cowled robes stared into the depths of my soul. Time would be lost as he studied me.
After so long, the lead spirit would do something. I could not see, but its manner had changed. A great pressure would come upon me, my flesh pulled outwards as if caught by hundreds of hooks. Bones would compress, everything pushing hard into the marble. It was without agony. In fact, I felt calm, as if I were in surgery watching doctors operating. The dwelling, stressful, numbing moment would pass, and from the bottom of the marble would collect and fall a single drop of blood. The blood falls on the tip of the needle, splitting into multiple droplets as it rolls to the bottom of the bowl.
The spirit would relax, its inexplicable tension released so quick as it was noticed, and it would turn and leave as silently and solemnly as it had arrived. The other spirits would approach me, one by one, in a cluttered line. Some were more eager than others, though never were more than one spirit with me at a time. They would do the same as the first: study me for a moment, tense something happens, then they relax and leave as a drop of blood falls. The spirits left me tense and scared, I felt less I was being healed and more like I was being harvested. The pain would come more and more, and with every spirit that passed I wished and prayed for the first one to return. Its unique compassion gave me a moment of peace I knew would never return until the pool had filled.
