Here’s a new project I’m working on. It’s about a group of people who throw a suicide party and end up in Hell. Then the main character actually sees what hell is really like, obviously really really dark, scary, bad, awful. And who knows where it goes from there. Point is I want to write my own Dante’s Inferno for 2022, but make it as dark and gritty as possible.
I attempted something like this in Second Sight with the White Room saga that happens right after Norcastle and also the final 3rd of The Snow White Murders happens in Eden (aka the dream world) this is not going to be part of that series. This is a standalone about the actual biblical Hell and exploring the concept in as much dark, gritty, and disturbing detail as possible. Here’s the opening (not edited yet, too early for that).
The gun in Jacob Hill’s hand was made of fine cold steel. It was silver, and polished to a perfect sheen. A beautiful weapon manufactured for one purpose, and one purpose alone. To kill or destroy whatever it was pointed at.
That gun, with it’s perfectly smoothed out barrel which had never been used was pointed at Jacob Hall’s right temple. He stared at himself in a mirror with lit candles on the sink in the bathroom of his small apartment which sat right off of Midlothian Turnpike near Richmond, Virginia.
His eyes were locked with his own in the mirror and for a few moments he could think of nothing. His mind went completely blank. He felt truly free for a moment, but back to the task at hand. He put his finger on the trigger, took a deep breath and pulled it. The gun clicked… it hadn’t been loaded at all.
He flinched as he heard the click and opened his eyes only seeing his reflection in the mirror again. He had not forgotten to load the gun, only that he wanted to see how it would feel in his final moments when the day came, which in his mind was soon.
There was no second guessing it. He was going to take his own life, in that very bathroom, with the candles lit and a revolver in his hand.
He would be shot by his own pistol, with a bullet that he had chosen for himself, and he would finally be free from the horrible world that he had grown so tired of. But today wasn’t the day, he wasn’t ready quite yet.
He had some arrangements that he wanted to make before hand. Some letters that had to be sent, and a suicide not to explain away why he did what he idd. He wanted to leave no stone unturned, and no T uncrossed.
He wanted no one to wonder why, how, or if they could have stopped him. They couldn’t have. They had no choice in the matter, it was part of his plan for years. He was only 23 years old, and from the time he was 7 he knew that he was going to take his own life.
He had been in and out of the psychology offices at Crossroads or various private practices and they all said the same thing. He had depression. It wasn’t quite true at the end of the day.
His raging hormones had been suppressed by drugs given by doctors who some called pill factories and those medicines lead him to his inevitable outcome he faced now. Staring in a mirror with a 38 revolver in his right hand.
The doctors he saw didn’t see him for more than a few moments. They immediately said depression, scribbled on a paper, and sent him off to the pharmacy for his Zoloft, Prozac, Trazodone, or whatever drug of the month they put him on trying to fix his depression.
In reality his depression was nothing more than frustration from a shitty home life he had dealt with for years that was forced upon him. He had no choice in that matter. The only choice Jacob had was his own death.
The day. The method. The notes. The letters. The ending. He had that control in his life and he craved it. He obsessed over it. It became a facet of his life.
He fantasized about his own funeral, and in his mind he couldn’t wait to be gone from this wretched hell he lived in. But it wasn’t time yet… he projected the date. October 31st, 2022. He wanted to die on the 23rd Halloween of his life.
His favorite number was 23. He didn’t know why. That number in particular simply spoke out to him. 23. It was a great number. Started with a even number and ended with an odd number. 2 went into 3 one time. One. Two. Three. Just like the song said. ABC is easy as 123.
He became obsessed with that number and knew that when he finally reached 23 he would be free from this death marble flying through space. He would take his own life. He would get back at all those bastards who passed him over in school.
He would get revenge on his father for his endless drunken beatings, and he would get back at his whore mother who opened her legs to the streets and let ever man regardless of race or gender take their turn with her. She didn’t care.
Man, woman, transgender, even a dog had free reign to her disgusting crevice from which he was birthed. They all came happily, and left happier than before. With a nice parting gift that they would keep for life no less.
He figured that on his 23rd birthday he would die in an automobile accident, but it never happened. He waited, even drove dangerously on purpose, but it just never happened.