Hell

So lets say that for a great many people, hell is getting lit on fire and poked with pointed sticks. And being spit on and a great many other bad things.

Now for the intelligent and the self-aware, what if hell is lighting people on fire and poking them with sharp sticks and spitting on them and doing a great many other bad things to them? For the first while you hate it because you have to deal with the screams and the fact that you're being really rather mean to other people. The fact that now you've become a murderer a thousand times over.

Then eventually you get used to it. Now it's just a job. You get your lunch break and you flirt with the secretary. You make friends and have a couple beers with them after work. You all swap stories about how that fat guy lit up like a chri- pine tree. Everyone has a good laugh, the secretary from before smiles at you. You smile back. You love your job.

Then one day you wake up and realize it.

You love your job. You love torturing all of those people. Watching them writhe and scream. Watching them burn into piles of ash and bone. Lighting them on fire and stabbing them and kicking and spitting on them and throwing them into pits of rats.

And you can't stop doing it.

Is it the magic of hell that keeps you, or is it your own twisted mind?