Mass Grave

RAFT Entry …And I felt the souls of other heathens and heretics all around me. They crowded me in and fought for more space than they were allotted, the space which they were used to while they were still living. It seems as though the warden of this macabre underworld had grown lazy at one point and has dug graves for a few and then stuffed the graves full to their gullets with the unfortunate spiritual remains of those who, in life, remained unspiritual. The putrid stench of sulfur and brimstone and ash and burning flesh are ever ravaging my senses, overpowering and nullifying my smells and tastes and sending me into a powerless state for short periods of time. When I swoon, I am unable to hold myself up but I need not worry myself for my hot-iron branded inmates are so dense in such a small, hot coal lined grave that I stay propped up until I regain my manner. We are so great in number that I am both treading on and being tread upon by other malevolent souls, all ablaze. The mood in our shared tomb is melancholic and depressive at best. Hopeless are we for we took heed of the warning at the gate to this dark and fiery chasm. Ever burning white hot, our flesh and insides flamed and the screams are unbearable. So desperate, so shrill, so hateful the screams were, that they penetrated and rewrote my very soul. I could no longer bear the curse of the embers searing my flesh. I so desperately needed a way out of this sub-level of hate. Had I tears, I would cry them now for as far as I can recall, there is no way out. There never has been and there never shall be.