I walked down a long and dark corridor with many others, with my (then) husband next to me. Suddenly the corridor opened up onto a square of a city. It looked like Naples—crowded, noisy, dirty.
A large university was on the square, and I instantly felt hope, but it was grimy, crusty—it hadn’t been used in years. Insects were everywhere, crawling, flying. Dirt dirt dirt.
At some point I found out I had to stay for 26 years. My (then) husband eventually disappeared from my side. All activities and accomplishments from past and current life dropped away. Only people remained, but I couldn’t find anyone I knew. So I stayed in strangers’ apartments. It seemed newcomers didn’t have places to stay.
I didn’t know why I was there. People told me I’d find out soon enough.
There was no music. No eating or drinking. Just smoking. But there was noise—where did it come from? And there were movie houses.
At some point, the term of my stay was lengthened 4 years. I never saw devils (or Satan), or any mention of him. There were no advertisements of any kind. No one was trying to escape. I couldn’t figure out: What do people do in Hell?
I was only able to cry when thinking of people I would no longer see, like my mother. And, before he left me, I cried on my (then) husband’s chest.
There were churches in Hell (many), where people sought a hopeful way out—but could it be hopeful?—and to seek mercy from God. Even in Hell there were many religions, all seeking the answer, “Why are we here?”
I could not remember why or how I had died, or any details about my life.