His sin was repetitive and eminent, so after his eyes closed for the last time, he was not surprised by the black hooded figure who guided him towards his current surroundings. The door was large and mysterious, contrasting drastically against the infinite white wall as if an off tune piano key against the harmonic white surroundings. It continued its need for diversity by clashing with the gravel, which seemed painted by a cloud. The black abyss of fear and glory was oddly inviting. He watched as his shadow fled from the scene, but his own feet remained planted as he could not raise the courage to move. His eyes stayed focused on the deep crevice appearing now through the heart of the perplexing door. Even his breath was sucked in, also retreating in fright. But he knew he had to stay for the coming battle. And again, he stood still. He waited. But the doors would not open for him today, or tonight, or when the sun rose monotonously from the bosom of the earth, the same earth to which he no longer belonged. For this, and whatever else lied for him behind the ironic threshold to hell, was his new home. He pondered what would happen if the door were to suddenly burst open. His last conscious decision would have to be whether or not he could muster the strength it would take to approach the open archway. But the thought was weak, and subsided as quickly as it had come. When he felt secure, he let his eyes wander from the seemingly thinner stripe down the center of the gate.
A macabre scream bellowed through the vast eternity. He felt his throat burn in agony. Pure unyielding agony. The scream had possessed his lungs, his soul, and his being as he came to the conclusion that it was his own voice roaring into the silence. He cried for what seemed like days, though they could have been just a few confused and brief moments. He cried in panic and sorrow for the sight that had most recently crossed his green, radiant eyes. He wondered why he dared to approach the contorted mess of despair and solitude. He wondered how he could possibly still be standing there just glaring at the distorted bodies of all ages protruding through the calm piano key. He reached out to try and sympathize with their pain, their loss, and their grief. But he could not, for he knew of their greed, their decadence, and their self-pity. He wanted to end the suffering of the attendants at the premature parade of death, but the sea of bronzed over affection noticed his hesitation and immediately lost artificial hope; hope that he knew was constructed as a blank façade. And since he knew of these empty synthetic emotions, he continued to look around.
Adam and Eve stood nearby, erect and tortured. Forever apologetic to the souls that now acted as gracious decorations. He sat down on the lonesome stone that appeared from the corner of his eye. He tucked his tight fist under his jagged chin and did the only thing he thought he could do. He sat and waited. Until, like the others, the bronze began leaking toward him. His momentarily pale complexion was infused with the hot foreign substance. Slowly, he grew to love this sensation and when the darkness reached out for his hand, he grabbed on, agreeing without reluctance. The material stretched over his emerald eyes, and his transformation had been completed. He was raised into the air, still sitting on his rock. Still waiting. Forever destined to solemnly gaze out atop the cordial door, surrounded by the others, waiting to be granted forgiveness. But he knew this could never happen, for behind this large and abrupt wooden barrier there was no priest silently listening to his unyielding confession, and in turn, no pardon to his indulgences. The mass of regretful beings watched as they were accompanied by yet another; as they were accompanied by him. They just watched for they knew of his fate. It was also their’s: to await the day, in shared solitude, when their apologies will be heard and the gate to hell will finally stand ajar.