A Grotesque Coldness Only Found in Hell

A Grotesque Coldness Only Found in Hell:

What is this grotesque feeling of ice within the pits of my stomach? Is it fear I feel? Or is the emotion that of an uncanny sadness? I can’t seem to quite identify the exact emotion—there is a feeling of death hovering over my shoulders; over my shoulder there is a fear of death. Still, the only movement I can manage is my cowardly body curling, retreating, into a ball, running from that feeling of ice within the pits of my belly. I only mange to sob uncontrollably. Slowly. Violently. The tears can’t be shoveled into the back of my throat, a second longer and I might freeze. 

Listen. Listen, boys aren’t supposed to cry—but this ice-cold feeling in my belly has me hunched over, grasping for happiness, crawling for air to fill my lung, as I command the floodgates from my eyes to shut stronger. My cheeks become red with fear; I reach to cover my mouth; my brown blushing cheeks become filled with air. Saltwater showers stain my air-filled cheeks.

There is no strength left in my tears; there is only an ocean: salt, sandy moons and blood. I can’t seem to recall where the bleeding started, or even when it started—I can only recall the heat from the blood leaving my body, never to return, it is never to return. The feeling of ice did not leave, it instead decided it was to amplify, the coldness in my belly, distorting the architectural of my face into grotesque configurations. 

Now tell me: what am I do with this pain? The artic has colonized my belly, and there is nothing I can do to stop it: snowfalls, blizzards and freezing suns, make this colony their home as they flutter like deep blue pheasants. 

There is an unbearable sadness beating itself against my belly—a grotesque coldness slithering in my entrails. “Behold, it is I, a sadness greater than anything you could become.” 

So, I took a blade and I used it to open up my belly; there was no pain—thick black blood oozed from my incision. The grotesque cold did not cease, my blood, instead turned to slush, hunched over in a ball I wept. But in my moment of distress it dawned on me; I had never checked my surroundings; I realized I had no idea where I was. I was surrounded by nothingness—no, I was surrounded by everything, but it was beclouded in mystery. I shouted into the colony of nothing, into the settlement of everything and ask: “what is this? Where am I? Release me from this obscure prison.” 

My wails were met with silence and an icy coldness, grotesquely lurking in the depths of my stomach. I wish I could recall the heat that once coursed through my veins. I wish I could recall my death.