If there was some sort of judgment beyond death, if I had the opportunity to defend my case, I would have prefaced everything with a weak voice.

  "I was born in... well, actually, I don't know where I was born," I would admit, my words trailing off. "The first thing I remember, I was in the streets."

  I would pause, my mind painfully drifting back to those early years of my life. "Sure, I do remember some people—if I could even call them that. I lived with them for a time, but I'd been passed around so much that I wouldn't even be able to name their names or count the number of days I spent by their side."

  Taking a deep breath, my thoughts would return to the streets that had been my home. "Most of my earliest memories were of me in the streets, living off dumpsters like a trash panda. Back then, while life wasn't particularly good, it was good enough for me. I even got a nickname—Hassan, Prince of the Streets."

  A weak chuckle would escape me, laced with bitter irony. "Of course, I understood that that particular nickname was sarcastic. I was too lonely to be a prince of anything, too antisocial to have goons or retainers of my own, like a prince should. But still, I was holding up pretty well on my own. I wasn't particularly respected, but I was feared, and that was enough."

  I would then continue to share my life's story, memories of my journey unfolding like the bittersweet tapestry of survival and ambition that it was.

  "I don't specifically remember what caused ambition to sprout within me," I would admit, my voice wavering slightly. "But I had ambitions—not particularly great ones, but reasonable ones, at least in my own account. I wanted to leave those slums I grew up in. I wanted a house of my own, a car of my own, nice clothes to wear. That's what I wanted."

  I would recall the moment when ambition had ignited within me. "I was roughly twelve when I first manifested that ambition, and from then on, I began working toward it. I started working on my antisocial behaviors. I became a goon—because, logically, that was one of the best ways to claw my way to the top wherever it was. I switched gangs, changed alliances, climbed the ranks. I didn't develop much of a concept of loyalty because I knew these people I allied with wouldn’t really take my dreams any further. They were steps, and I treated them as such—steps for me to walk on."

  My voice would then grow more reflective. "I'm not even sure how many times I did that, but I was around fifteen when I had a fortunate encounter with something that brought me close to my dream. I was picked up—by an underground organization specializing in all kinds of shady business. That organization was led by none other than him."

  His face would flash in my mind.

  "I'm not really sure what caught his attention about me," I would muse. "Maybe it was how much of a perfectionist I was, how dedicated I was. What else could it be? Under them, in no time, I achieved my dream. No, actually, I even surpassed it. Luxurious cars, several mansions, classy and stylish outfits of my own—the organization made it possible for me—-Sir made it possible for me."

  A sense of gratitude would creep into my voice. "Sure, people call me cold and unfeeling, but I was never ungrateful. I knew I owed them everything. Sure, I was doing the 'ugly' and ‘disgusting’ parts of the job, but let’s be honest—what's the difference between breaking the skull of some idiot trying to take your spot in the slums with a brick and drowning an old retired mafia boss in his pool? The answer is none. If anything, the only difference is the value attached to it—the price."

  I would then pause, my eyes reflecting the complexity of my moral reasoning. "I've heard people call me a monster. I'm not. I'm very much human, just like anyone else. I don't decide the price; they do. I'm just acting upon the price attached to it."

  "It was through the organization that the price was available to me," I would continue, my voice growing increasingly strained. "So yeah, I sure as hell respected it. I dedicated myself to it, gave the organization—and the one leading it—my utmost loyalty, something I didn’t even know I had. Yet here I am."

  At that moment, I couldn't help but question the fairness of my situation, a sense of injustice bubbling up within me. "Did I deserve this? Sure, perhaps I did, but shouldn't there at least be some kind of judgment where I could advocate my case to a higher sentience? I would’ve told them about my tragic backstory, my poor upbringing that led me to this life of sin and murder—just like I already did. Why am I just being thrown here without a chance to explain myself? This... this is absolutely unfair!"

  My words hung in the air, deafened by the sound of my own loud, bitter screams and lamentations. "It burns... It burns so much... It hurts so much..."

  I was lost in a state of agony and confusion.

  I believed I was lying down, but I couldn't be sure. I couldn't see anything except for a blinding, overwhelming light. The color was indistinguishable, and I couldn't even tell if I was seeing anything at all. It was as if the sheer presence of this radiance was enough to scorch me, to consume me.

  I had no awareness of my body, my flesh, or my limbs. Yet, I could feel the distinct sensation of being engulfed by an intense radiance. It was an excruciating experience beyond anything I had ever known.

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  I couldn't hear the screams of others, nor could I see them, but their presence was palpable. But amidst all of that, there was this noise—no, calling it a noise was incorrect. It was something else, yet the closest way to describe it was: the sound of someone faintly crying. And it wasn’t me. While that sound at least made me feel like I wasn’t completely alone, in my agony, I ultimately was. Trapped in place, surrounded by an ominous and unsettling atmosphere. I had the distinct feeling that I had indeed arrived in the place I had been told so many times to go to—hell.

  As I writhed in the midst of this unbearable agony, time itself seemed to warp and distort. There were no discernible moments, no relief from the relentless torment. Each passing second felt like an eternity, and yet, I couldn't escape the ceaseless pain.

  Memories of my past life, if this was indeed some sort of afterlife, flashed before my mind's eye like fragments of shattered glass.

  Shouldn’t this be the part where the faces of loved ones, long-forgotten moments of joy, and the warmth of human connection resurfaced in an attempt to help me cope with this reality? Instead, all I got were the distorted faces of all the people I had killed. Where were my mansions, my cars, my expensive suits? This was exactly where I needed to see them, to prove to me that it was all worth it.

  It didn’t take long—well, actually, it felt like it did—for me to finally understand: it wasn’t.

  At that moment, I began to think, "I should've gotten married earlier, taken a nice 1m75 blon—actually, even if she wasn't blonde, it would've been fine. We should've had some babies—one boy, one girl, two boys, two girls, or all boys or all girls—it wouldn't have mattered. Everything would've been better than this. Seriously, why was I so picky?"

  Having come to that understanding, I longed for release, for respite from this excruciating existence, but there was seemingly no escape. It was as if the very concept of hope had been scorched away, leaving behind only the stark reality of unending agony.

  In this hellish realm, there was no solace, no redemption—only an unrelenting and merciless fire that consumed not just the body, but the very essence of my being. The screams and lamentations, which I could neither see nor hear clearly, served as a constant reminder that I was not alone in this wretched place, that countless souls were trapped in this eternal suffering.

  As the indistinguishable light—an existence that I had begun to consider as similar to that of a cold and unfeeling god, just as I always believed they should be—continued to sear my existence, I couldn't help but wonder if there was any way out, any chance of redemption, or if this torment was to be my eternal fate.

  The uncertainty and fear gnawed at what remained of my consciousness, leaving me to contemplate the unimaginable horror of an existence without end, without hope, and without respite.

  In the midst of this unending torment, I desperately searched for any glimmer of meaning or understanding in all of this. That’s all I could do. Was there an end? What could I do to put an end to this dreadful fate? Was there any possibility of redemption, or was this truly the end of the line—an eternity of just this?

  But the answers, if they existed at all, remained elusive. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, and I was left adrift in a formless void of suffering, devoid of hope.

  In this nightmarish existence, time was both my enemy and my companion. It dragged on endlessly, a cruel reminder of the eternity of suffering that lay ahead. Yet, it also allowed for moments of introspection, moments when I delved into the darkest recesses of my soul, searching for some semblance of understanding which I admit I was hoping would lead me to some sort of redemption.

  The memories of my past sins, mistakes, and regrets haunted me relentlessly. Each one played out before me like a twisted, malevolent theater. I relived the pain I had caused others, the opportunities I had squandered, and the moments of cruelty or indifference that had marked my journey through life.

  Amidst the ceaseless torment and introspection, a realization began to creep in—a stark understanding of the depths of my transgressions. "I get it now," I whispered, though my voice was a mere echo in this desolate void, barely reaching my own ears. "End... suffering... end... existence..." The words were fragmented, the plea filled with a raw, primal urgency.

  The echoes of my plea reverberated through the formless expanse, mingling with the distant, haunting cries of others who shared this abyss. In the interminable silence that followed, I clung to the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, someone or something would heed my desperate entreaty and grant me release from this eternal nightmare.

  And as the endless ages stretched before me, I began to wonder if this suffering was not just a punishment but also a chance for redemption. A chance to confront the darkness within and, through the purifying radiance of suffering, to find a path towards forgiveness and atonement.

  Yep, I think at that point I was starting to lose my mind. Yeah, that’s most likely what was happening. Yet for a time, I’d been thinking that with somewhat loose belief and desperate hope. It was better than thinking that this would be without an end, right?

  But that road to said “redemption,” if it at all existed, would be long and treacherous, and I knew that the journey through this hellish landscape was far from over. The silent screams of the lost souls around me served as a constant reminder that the battle for salvation if there was one was just beginning, and the question that gnawed at my very core was whether I had the strength to endure, to find a way out of this infernal abyss, or whether I would be forever consumed by the unrelenting flames of despair.

  In that timeless expanse where seconds and eternities merged into an indistinguishable flow, it happened—whether it was then, before, or after, the concept of time itself had lost its meaning.

  From the same overwhelming radiance that had relentlessly consumed me, the very source I had started to perceive as a manifestation of divinity, or perhaps a higher power beyond comprehension, came forth a burst of light.

  It erupted like a colossal pillar of blinding brilliance, extending from the very heart of that radiant presence. It surrounded me, swallowed me whole, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no pain, no torment. The all-consuming light became my sanctuary and my deliverance.

  As I bathed in the purity of that divine radiance, a profound sense of peace washed over me. It was a peace beyond words, beyond understanding. The agony that had defined my existence for so long dissolved, leaving behind only a profound stillness.

  In that moment, I no longer begged for an end to my suffering or existence. Instead, I surrendered to the infinite embrace of that transcendent light. I became one with it, my consciousness merging with the boundless essence of whatever lay beyond.

  Whether it was salvation or obliteration, I could not say, for words had lost their meaning. All at that point was that I was finally free.