/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.18635252]

Are there any good books on what Hell is like?

[Anonymous No.18635270]

inb4 dante's inferno

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !!bGBGaUpA8kS No.18635273]

>>18635252

[Anonymous No.18635291]

>>18635252
An Oral History of Hell - audiobook, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yOifDZQgUsQ

This is a pretty good short story. There are some sappy boring bits, but the depicted hell is cool

[Anonymous No.18635671]

>>18635270
but this

[Anonymous No.18635675]

>>18635252
Hell is bad and you wouldn't enjoy it. Whatever you read or imagine that makes you go "that's not so bad" it's worse than that

[Anonymous No.18635694]

>>18635252
Encyclopedia

[Anonymous No.18635718]

>>18635252
He suffered an absence of sensation that could only be called falling. Void was a spinning place, or so he learned, for he did not move, and it spun about him.
Then a mad, existential jarring, as if he had slipped from a precipice to be swatted motionless caught upon a ledge …
He opened eyes within already opened eyes … Cheek against the turf, shadows thrashing about and above, a scissoring forest of horse-legs … Men battling Men? Yes. Galeoth knights vying with golden-armoured Coyauri.
Mengedda?
By the God, his fury felt so empty, so frail against the earth …
He was already gazing across trampled turf. Motionless, he saw a young man fallen the same as he, heavily armoured in the old style, sandy-blond hair jutting from his mail hood. He watched him reach out in horror and confusion and grasp his own hand, squeeze the leathery fingers, the glass nails. He felt nothing …
A nightmarish moment of recognition, too surreal to be terrifying.
It was his face! His own hand had clasped him!
He tried to scream.
Nothing.
He tried to move, to twitch …
Absolute immobility encapsulated him. He felt only void across his exterior skin, but within … It seemed a door had swung or swollen open.
And he knew the way all the Dead knew, with the certainty of timeless recollection.
Hell … rising on a bubbling rush. Agony and wickedness chattering with famished glee …
Demons, come to pull his outside through his inside, to invert and expose, to bare his every tenderness to fire and gnashing teeth …
Damnation … in spite of everything.
There was no describing the horror.
He tried to clutch with dead fingers … to hold on …
Don’t! he tried to call across the space of a dead man’s reach. But his ribs were a breathless cage, his lips cold soil. Don’t let go …
Please! he screamed at his younger self, trying to communicate the whole of his life with sightless eyes … Fool! Ingrate!
Don’t trust Hi—

>R. Scott Bakker. “The Great Ordeal.”

[Anonymous No.18635734]

-- They lie in exterior darkness. For, remember, the fire of hell gives forth no light. As, at the command of God, the fire of the Babylonian furnace lost its heat but not its light, so, at the command of God, the fire of hell, while retaining the intensity of its heat, burns eternally in darkness. It is a never ending storm of darkness, dark flames and dark smoke of burning brimstone, amid which the bodies are heaped one upon another without even a glimpse of air. Of all the plagues with which the land of the Pharaohs were smitten one plague alone, that of darkness, was called horrible. What name, then, shall we give to the darkness of hell which is to last not for three days alone but for all eternity?

-- The horror of this strait and dark prison is increased by its awful stench. All the filth of the world, all the offal and scum of the world, we are told, shall run there as to a vast reeking sewer when the terrible conflagration of the last day has purged the world. The brimstone, too, which burns there in such prodigious quantity fills all hell with its intolerable stench; and the bodies of the damned themselves exhale such a pestilential odour that, as saint Bonaventure says, one of them alone would suffice to infect the whole world. The very air of this world, that pure element, becomes foul and unbreathable when it has been long enclosed. Consider then what must be the foulness of the air of hell. Imagine some foul and putrid corpse that has lain rotting and decomposing in the grave, a jelly-like mass of liquid corruption. Imagine such a corpse a prey to flames, devoured by the fire of burning brimstone and giving off dense choking fumes of nauseous loathsome decomposition. And then imagine this sickening stench, multiplied a millionfold and a millionfold again from the millions upon millions of fetid carcasses massed together in the reeking darkness, a huge and rotting human fungus. Imagine all this, and you will have some idea of the horror of the stench of hell.

>James Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

[Anonymous No.18635768]

>>18635734
It's like, really dark and smelly and hot.......