A Creation Mine Own

Through flames mine own, my mettle tempered; quenched by those unknowingly absent. Transformed but not remade.

Hel is, indeed, a place on Earth. There are many theories as to how and why it resides with us here. Some argue we construct it with our guilt, self-loathing or torment; some say it is multi-faceted, with layers of nuance to prevent escape; it is thought that we alone are both prisoner and warden but that may not always be quite right. Confusingly, all of the above is true in a sense for hel is unknowable until one can escape and view it with the benefits of both distance and hindsight. It remains however, a place of gut-wrenching torment, pain beyond compare; to rip and tear and bite and crush all that makes the individual, replacing them with a soulless husk of their former selves should they be unfortunate enough to remain.

Hel is tricky, hel is clever; while its appearance may change to deceive its patrons, one constant remains: repulsion. Once exited, to prove a place truly an aspect of hel, no compulsion to return must exist. The previous host must vow never to return and keep that vow for as long as their resolve or situation allows. Hel is tricky, hel is pernicious; it claws at its victims to fill the vacuum they leave for, without stewards, hel is nought; it baits and teases the host’s return for a prison without a prisoner is pointless. Hel is tricky, hel is seductive; it’s true what they say: Hel’s road may be paved from any location and from any foundation, good intentions or bad.

When last I thought of hel, I had not long been scorched by the flames of another’s; failing to realise it was merely a gateway between the layers, a reprieve for the wounded, a twisted way-station betwixt punishments. The first brick was laid on a day like most others; a seemingly innocent action, a mere domino in the chain of things yet to pass. In a group of friends, I ingratiated myself, swiftly currying favour and climbing the social ranks. It was surrounded by these newfound allies that my construction began. One shone brighter than all others: a sinner of saintly visage. Through charm and flattery, the doorway completed. I stepped through. The door sealed with a kiss. Forest invisible from the trees, my hel formed around me. Juxtaposition reigned; isolation, dread and longingness bandied me with objectification, pleasure and lust. To my warden I was merely a plaything, a model to be posed and admired, used when needed and discarded when it suited. Resistance was met with guilt and false understanding, boundaries treated similarly. At a time, I was offered freedom; the doorway reopened but the allure remained too strong, my self worth too weak. Exploited, coerced, I found myself alone with none but my warden to keep me from insanity; mistakes were made, ambiguous of the responsible party. In the flames I found my resolve tested once more. My emotions a weapon against me as the warden continued to abuse. Eventually, I was pulled from my hel by another; at least I thought.

I travelled the flames of another, merely a corridor, gateway, between the layers of my hel; a moment reprieve to facilitate a change of leadership. Now alone, I became my own warden; this new helscape constructed of bricks recycled from the last. My guilt, shame and worry formed the structure; repelling the same charge I carried with every attempt to move closer to the true exit. In this place, I discovered the secrets of my hel; the isolation and pressure it had exerted. I rebuilt my connections, remembered my allies and remembered myself. I returned to my core and built mass to overcome hel’s pull. Guilt and remorse over what became of my warden kept me firmly in place, incidents I blamed myself for; but as the exit neared, all became clear and the words of the wise came through. Though I laid the path and built the doorway, I held not the keys. Naivete and curiosity my only mistakes, a matter that soon became clear. I passed the tests, came out clear, and watched as it all crumbled without me. Through flames mine own, my mettle tempered; quenched by those unknowingly absent. Transformed but not remade.