The sulphur is what you notice first. It burns you throat and lungs. Some retch. Others feign fainting. As if by some miraculous chance they wake up somewhere else. They don't. Prayers won't save them. Too late for that now. And it won't be heard anyway. Any and all last reproaches, pleas and cries are but folly. It is not scorned, but ignored. For the other side is too terrible to consider. But it is what awaits. The eternal doom of their own choosing. Poor bastards.
The wailing never ceases, as it is endured. The screams pierce what remains of the flesh, beseeching the God they called their own, as now, the devil calls them home.
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