DHL – Deliveries from HelL

Ha! You saw DHL and thought that I was one of those delivery guys. You couldn’t be more wrong.

I might not have the most glamorous job in the world, but when it comes to the most interesting, then I’m theclear winner.

See, I do delivery parcel all around the world but not from the likes of you or any Tom, Dick or Cecil. I’m not interested in gifts to your buddies or shipments from some business that nobody’s ever heard of. I deliver parcels from Hell, and I’m damn good at it.

The time in Hell doesn’t move as far as it does in your world, it moves at one millionth time slower. Let me explain.

If you were a second away from your world, you’d stay 277.77 hours in Hell or 11.5 Days. That’s how we get things done down here you see. But on the flip slip, the big man gives us a necklace that allows us to come back to Hell at the same time we left. A gift of god he says. Anyway, it’s pretty impressive that I don’t miss out on anything whiles I’m away topside, and no jet lag. Bonus.

There are two methods to get to Hell. One is the tried and painstaking tested method of breaking one of the cardinal sins. The second is via the loading bay door at our warehouse in East London.

It’s a bit of a bumpy road to start with, having been dug out eons ago by the bare hands of tortured souls. But once you get past the physical domain, the roadway becomes smooth enough. Although your body will want to purge whatever content is in your stomach, it’s a dimensional thing. Once you’ve done it a few thousand times, it gets easier to control.

Like most of the old age religions have explained you will know that we have to cross the river Archeon. The barrier that separates our world from yours. Partially – thanks to these poetic dim wits –  you imagine that we do this with some old decrypted fool who rows a boat made from his body across a turbulent sea.

Stuff that. We built a bridge a long, long time ago. Charon didn’t like it, but he was becoming a Prima Donna about his right to ferry across the souls. It became insufferable, especially when wars happened; the backlog could take years to clear.

Its ok, Charon is a tourist attraction now, for the new souls, it’s still a coin a piece for the ride, and he gets a healthy amount of business. It’s not every day you can take a boat ride in Hell, and let’s face it; it can be quite romantic for courting demon.

On the other side of the Stix, we touch down on the barren soil of Hell’s outer circles. First, we have to drive past the flaying fields, and it’s not for the faint of heart.

The souls come out every day, dragging behind them their wooden torture racks, each heavy burden a symbol of the deeds they did on earth. The souls are skinny and withered, bones poke from sagging skin, and gaunt faces stare fixedly at the ground as they shuffle toward their fate. Left to starve and waste away, they find no sustenance in Hell.

With military precision, they stop at their lots, a small patch of blood-soaked earth. Thousands of souls as far as the eye can see. All the while we will drive past them in the cozy aircon cabin of my van.

Just when you think they are about to fall, spiked vines thrust from the parched ground. Hand like appendages snatch the crosses from their back and drive them into the cracked earth. More of the vicious  vegetation snake out, barbed thorns eliciting their sides as they string up the souls like puppets for a puppeteer. Once the useless dangling mockeries are suspended, the fun begins.

Only the butchers reading this will understand the satisfaction of skinning an animal. Imagine now, skinning one of these soul alive with brutal, wicked slowness. They indue hours of pain as their skin is flayed from their bones, never slipping into unconsciousness or allowed a single iota of mercy.

It’s astounding how many souls I see on the fields; endless rows of the damned who have succumbed to the sweet temptation of sin.

After the flaying field we get to the sixth circle; The Marshes. Repugnant swamps that ebb and flow like tides of the sea, although there is no moon down here to control their movement. But instead, another ingenious way to torture a soul as they are stuck fast by the gluttony mud.

The damp ground bubbles slowly with the rising water as if pumped from below. The damned squirm and wriggle, but the muck holds them tight. The murky backwash soon spills over their chins, and they scream into the toxic air, plead and promise with nothing to give but what has already been taken. Excruciatingly slow, the water trickles up and over their mouths and nose.

I don’t know if its an automatic response, but they always try to hold their breaths, the water doesn’t care, it can wait. Soon they will lose that breath, and it will surge down their throats and into their lungs, burning their insides with its acidic fury. Once they drown, the water ebbs away, and the souls cough up and purge the muck from their lungs only for it to begin again. A vicious circle indeed.

Thankfully the stink from the decaying waterlogged bodies only lasts for a short while, finally burnt off in the fire pits, as you can imagine by the name, souls are scorched alive in the most innovative ways. Once we clear the fire pits, you will notice twenty feet tall cauldrons of boiling oil and the metal platforms above. The demons usher and push souls into the vats to boiling them alive.

The road takes a gently curve from then on as we round the red stalagmites into the third circle Hell.

Who doesn’t like a good old serpent? The big cheese took the form of the beast to entice the first sin of man, and we just love them down here. However, the souls most certainly do not. It’s hard to love something that squeezes your jaws apart and slithers down your throat, choking and suffocating you as it’s bulbous body wiggles its way into your stomach, only to exit most violently.

After the vats and snakes, we descend to the second circle and my favorite. The guilt chambers. Souls trapped by their everlasting guilt are made to relive the moments that they regret the most. Moments that shaped their lives and lead them to us. It’s a great way to enjoy your days off, It never gets old watching you humans suffer from guilt – we don’t feel emotions like you do – and I’ve often taken a companion with me for a day out. (Beats your theatres.)

When we reach the last circle, you will notice that the souls are gone, replaced by administration building, a windowless  concrete jungle of our own, – not the skeletal frames depicted by Hollywood. (Another of our franchises.) It’s very much like your earth only hotter and better organized. Our world is very similar to yours; we (demons) have positions that need filling and jobs that require executing. Because let’s face it, you’re not going to stop sending yourself here and frankly, It’s the reason why the big boss conjures us.

While graduates of demon school will inexorability chose possession as a career path, – because it has the most rep, – there are far more fundamental roles that require attention. Soul gathering is one, the art of torture is another; While I don’t have the stomach for that, I chose to deliver Hell’s propaganda, A cute little slice of sin in a box. Every box different; tailored made for the receiver by the Sinnermen.

You see, we exist as a by-product of Heaven. Its ok, we don’t need your pity. By believing in the big man upstairs, you ipso facto believe in us downstairs, and that gives us power. We exist on a belief basis. If you don’t believe in Heaven and respectively Hell; we don’t endure. It’s quite simple really.

So I chose to keep Hell alive in the minds of men by delivering packages from Hell. I don’t know whats in them, and I don’t want to know. I imagine that whatever it is in the black and red box I place on your doorstep, it’s enough to make you unequivocally believe in us. I’ve delivery to some famous people in my time, The bushes, Kayne West, The carpenters, Gene Simons, Britney spear, even Jorge Bergoglio, and equally to people like you reading this.

Today, I was one up on my orders; I don’t know if the sinnermen gave me one too many or if I’ve missed a delivery, although I’m pretty sure its the former. I’m not going to bring it back to the sorting office because if I do, I won’t be sitting in my nice aircon van anymore and the temperature will get to a boiling point if you know what I mean.

So I thought, as its nearing Christmas, I will deliver the last box to one of you guys, but only if you can convince me that you’re the one who should have this package.

Remember I’ve seen people go on to great things with the gifts my boss gives out and I’ve also seen them in the flaying field, the swamps, the fire pits, the boiling pots and the guilt chambers. So chose wisely


But then again, what do I know I’m just the delivery guy?

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