A Godless Paradise

BY LIAM KIYASHKA

I wake to light—blinding, brilliant, and unfamiliar. I don’t remember dying, but I know, with certainty, that I am no longer alive. Although I’d been sleeping, I find myself standing at the top of a flight of stairs, which leads down to a street. They’re dark-tan in color, with an intricate, delicately carved railing running along its edge, fanning outwards as the steps get closer to the street. The platform that makes up the top of the stairs is made of the same hard stone. How have I gotten here?

“Welcome!” says a voice to my left, startling me and drawing my attention away from what might be at the end of the steps. I turn to it and nearly drop to my knees in awe of its beauty, of its brilliant radiance. Although humanoid in shape, it possesses large, white, pristine wings, and silver armor decorated with all kinds of serpentine adornments that twist and turn to create beautiful patterns. Furthermore, it towers over me, at least eight feet tall, and holds a spear in one hand. Despite its glow, I feel no heat. 

“Do not be afraid. Welcome to your new home,” it gestures with a sweep of its hand to what lay beyond the steps, but I cannot look away.

“I am an angel—of sorts—of light, and this is my kingdom.”

“What’s your name?” I ask, my voice tentative.

It smiles at me. “I have many names.”

“And what is your kingdom called?”

“We call it hell.”

“Hell? This can’t be hell.”

“Ah, you thought it’d be different, didn’t you?”

For the first time, I pry my gaze away from the angel to what lies beyond. I am greeted by a perfectly blue sky. From it comes the sound of seagulls, and not too far off is the gentle crashing of waves. A sign reading ‘Main Street’ points toward the grand yet quaint brick street that goes on as far as my eye can see, sometimes diverging into smaller streets. Along its right side are buildings not too tall nor too short, their picturesque architecture complementing the rest of the road. On the left are more buildings, though they are spaced farther apart, allowing passerby to glimpse the pristine beach beyond.

“It is hell!” proclaims the angel. “And you’re welcome to enjoy it for eternity.”

“Everything here looks so nice, and the Christians always told me it would be eternal torture! How can anyone fear this?”

“They don’t practice what they preach, do they? They’ve lied about what hell really is for thousands of years, and gotten away with it. They’ve slandered my name on earth. God—yes, God is indeed real—He seeks merely to control humanity through lies and deception. He demands that human nature be stifled, that His own creation is evil. And he allows this evil to persist on earth. That doesn’t sound too good, does it?”

“So the atheists were right?”

“No, because they don’t believe God exists. But the satanists were. And, like me, they were given a bad name as well.”

“Why am I here, then?”

“Because you didn’t do every tiny thing that God wanted you to! And because He believes in restrictions and rules only. I believe in pleasure,” he said, once again gesturing with his hand. 

“Why, that doesn’t sound so bad, but I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, you always enjoyed gambling, didn’t you? Why don’t you try the casino! You’ll find it down on main street, as long as you keep walking.”

“But I don’t have any money.” 

It throws its head back and laughs, free hand on its stomach. “Why, you need to only think of money!”

And with that, I find a wad of cash in my hand. Before I could begin counting, it spoke again.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another soul I need to greet.”

And with that the angel is gone. I look up from my money and turn my gaze forward again and take my first few steps down the flight of stairs, eyeing every shop to decide where I want to go first. I feel inundated with options as I reach the last step and finally stand on the street. The air carries the scent of sizzling steak and fresh pastries. Neon signs flicker, inviting me to a world of indulgence: high-end boutiques and restaurants, a carnival alive with laughter, and gardens that are perfectly manicured. The faces I pass by all seem friendly, each one greeting me with a smile or wave as I walk. Some even have pets. I nod at them, occasionally returning a smile.

After a few minutes of walking, excessively flashy lights grab my attention as I realize that I’ve found the casino. The sounds of slot machines and winnings emanate from inside, as does the familiar smell of cigarette smoke. I reach into my pocket instinctively, looking for a cigarette of my own. To my surprise, I find it immediately. And, I notice, in my other pocket is my lighter. I inhale smoke, and then exhale as calm washes over me.

Several casino-goers play at tables and machines littered around the place, but none seem to notice me. A woman in a dress approaches and offers a cocktail from a tray, which I politely accept with a nod. I note that everyone, so far, has appeared to be around the same age of around twenty-five to thirty. From a corner rings several bells, and a woman throws her hands up in the air in celebration. My eyes widen in a combination of surprise and admiration, and I decide to find my own slot machine.

Again and again, I enter cash into the machine only to lose, for thirty minutes. I consider that the angel had been wrong, and that this place really isn’t all bliss and peace. My last few dollars vanish into the machine, leaving me with nothing but the same familiar shame and defeat I had faced so many times in life. An epiphany hits me. I extend my hand in front of me, close my eyes, and open them again. In my palm sits several hundred dollar bills, which I don’t bother to count. Into the machine they go, but this time, my strategy is different. I enter the money, close my eyes again, and the machine goes off! Lights flash, bells ring, and a smile overcomes me as I win the jackpot. I give a loud ‘yes!’ and raise both my fists—which had at some point become filled with cash—into the air as some of the money escapes my hands. I look around for the managerial staff, but none appear. More green dollar bills slip out of a slit in the machine, which I frantically stuff into any pockets available, not bothering to count my winnings just yet. My smile is so large that the cigarette slips from my lips, but I don’t care. I certainly had never felt this on earth. With pockets full of winnings, I decide to treat myself better to something other than casino drinks.

I exhale with satisfaction as I exit the steakhouse, my stomach full. I’d purchased the most expensive item on the menu with a portion of my winnings. It was the best meal I’d ever had: tender, juicy, and bursting with flavor. Yet, something is missing. The feeling of hunger, of anticipation, of reward. I shake it off and busy myself with other pleasures.

The sun’s descent below the ocean’s horizon is just beginning. I make the small walk across the road and toward the waterfront. The beach, at this hour, is almost entirely devoid of beachgoers; a stark contrast to the beautiful beaches I’d typically seen on earth. As I walk, I consider how it would be nice to sit in a beach chair, and one appeared to me not too long later. Someone must have left it there, I figure as I take its place.

Thoughts about the day so far cloud my mind. From arriving in hell to visiting the casino, and then spending that money at the carnival and steakhouse. My mouth twists into a smile. Indeed, a day such as this would have been the highlight of any vacation on earth. Yet, something tugs at me, something in the back of my mind. I had wished to win the jackpot, and again wished to win a carnival prize, when I had not been able to knock over all the pins using the balls. Then I gave the stuffed animal away to a woman walking her dog. So why did winning not feel satisfactory?

“You’re new here,” says a grizzled voice from behind me, pulling me away from my thoughts. “I can see it in your eyes.”

The man, who moves to sit on a matching chair that appears next to me, is the oldest one I had seen yet, likely in his fifties or sixties. 

“What’s that accent?”

“Irish. Do you like it? It’s something I’ve kept in my time here. I haven’t gambled it away yet.”

“Gambled? What do you mean?”

“Ah,” he chuckles, “you’ll learn in time. Best not to spoil the youngsters’ fun. Take it while you can have it.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“It’s best that way for you,” he yawns. “Give it a couple hundred years and you’ll figure some things out.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

He turns his head to look at me. “Aye, I could. Do you really want to know just yet, though?”

“I do. What do you mean by gambling things away?” I ask again.

“Well, have you gotten anything for free here? Anything you’ve wished for, yet?”

“Indeed.”

“And have you experienced any suffering, any pain?”

“I have not.”

“And these things you’ve wished for appear free, don’t they?”

“They do.”

He chuckles again and looks away from me, back toward the ocean. “Nothing is free in life or in death. You’re paying for it one way or another.”

I furrow my brow. “I wish for something to become true, and it is. How is that not free?”

“Because,” he begins, “eventually you’ll have wished for so much, gotten so much for ‘free’ and never suffered, and you’ll end up like me. Old and crotchety and spoiled.”

“Why are you old? Everyone else seems so young.”

“The more you wish, the older you get here.”

“So I can be here for hundreds of years, and still look young?”

“Or you can be here for ten years, and end up looking like me. But you won’t appear young after hundreds of years, because misery and age go hand in hand here.”

“Can it be reversed?”

“Ah, wishful thinking,” he chuckles, though his gaze is set on the horizon.

“Well, you don’t seem so bad at any rate. Just like you’re trying to be honest with me, which I appreciate.”

“And will you heed my warning about not wishing too much too soon?”

I think for a moment. “Likely not. At least not in its entirety.”

“At least you’re honest,” he admits. “And do you still wish I’d told you all this?”

“No, because now I’ll have to take more caution in what I wish for, I suppose.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” He shakes his head. “Ah, well…Shouldn’t you be getting off somewhere? Soon it’ll be too dark to walk.”

The man is right about that. “Do you know any hotels around here?”

“Aye, but I’m not going to tell you. You’ll find one soon enough,” he says, putting his hands behind his head and reclining.

I stir as I regain consciousness. I’m perfectly comfortable in my king sized bed. None of my joints ache and my back is free of pain. I feel perfectly well rested; my sleep apnea is gone. I’ve never felt so awake, so ready in the morning. I toss my blankets off, hop out of bed and dress myself in my clothes from yesterday, setting a mental note to go shopping today. I enter the spacious bathroom of the penthouse I’d rented in a local—yet grand—hotel, as of last evening. Apparently, someone had just canceled their reservation, thus opening a spot for me.

As I look into the mirror for the first time in hell, I barely recognize the man staring back at me. He looks like me, yet younger, with a full head of hair and a leaner frame. I turn my head from side to side, basking in the youthful appearance of my mid-twenties. I smile and notice that my teeth are perfectly white, my skin clear. Still, I freshen up and leave my room.

Main Street extends as far as my eye can see, ending only due to the distant mountains. I consider taking a hike there today, and then, realizing that I have nothing better to do, begin to wander around in search of a store selling hiking equipment. It is not long before I have everything I need, from a new jacket to boots that are already beginning to feel broken in. Eventually I find a bus with a small line forming outside. The text at the top of the bus reads ‘mountain pass.’ I decide to climb on board, assuming it can only take me to where I want to be.

Our bus begins to move, and I find someone slightly older than me unabashedly staring in my direction.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“No. Did you purchase those clothes today?”

“Indeed I did,” I say, puffing out my chest and raising my chin.

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon? How else would I get clothes?”

“Ah, you fool. I can’t have been here much longer than you have. It goes like this,” he says, reaching into his pocket. As he pulls his hand out, a whole new jacket comes with it. My eyes widen in shock.

“This is the my favorite jacket I had on earth!” I exclaim as he hands it to me, my eyes trained on it. I turn it over in my hands a few times, as if to make sure it’s real. Then I look up to the man who gave it to me, who appears to have sad eyes.

“What’s the point in shopping for clothes then?” I inquire.

“You’re catching on,” says the man, turning away from me again. It’s not long before someone else—a man who is remarkably poorly dressed for the mountain weather—sits next to me.

“You’ll catch a cold in that,” I comment, handing him my old jacket. I won’t need it anymore. “A trench coat won’t do well in the mountains.”

“Oh, thank you,” he says, taking it from me. “But I doubt it. I’ve yet to get sick here.”

“Is that so? How long have you been in hell?”

“That’s hard to say,” he ponders, almost absentmindedly. “Not quite as long as some others, but certainly longer than you. I can tell you’re fresh off the bus, figuratively speaking. Since we’re, you know, on a bus right now. Anyway, I’ve never been too good with numbers. See, I was a history teacher on earth.”

“That’s an interesting profession. Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, yes I did. I was quite upset when I learned I’d died, but,” he shrugged, motioning to their surroundings.

“I’m certainly inclined to agree! I’ve yet to be denied anything I ask for.”

“As am I! I’m most excited to meet King Henry VIII, but I’ve no idea where to find him.”

“You’ll be sorely disappointed,” an older woman across from us speaks up.

“Why’s that?” the teacher asks.

“Because I knew someone who saw him, and she said he was miserable and wouldn’t talk to anybody.”

“Bah! He loved attention. Surely he’d enjoy meeting someone interested in his life.”

“You’re far from the first with the same ambitions. Don’t you think being sought after for centuries might wear a man out?”

“Here? Not a chance!”

“I don’t see how anyone can hate this place,” I butt in. “Everything is so easy.”

She rolls her eyes at us. “Give it time.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” I remark to the teacher. “And I don’t understand.”

“I suppose we’ll just need to give it some time to sink in,” he suggests, tapping his nose.

I turn my attention to the extravagant houses passing us by. I spot huge mansions and beach villas. One of them changes color as I spectate. Although they’re all pristine and spotless, most appear empty.

“Would you like to own one someday?” a man in front of me asks, following my vision.

“I think I would, actually.”

“Well, that’s too bad. They’re all taken. You’ll have to find one farther out.”

“But we’ve been driving for ten minutes now, and none of these houses appear to be occupied at all.”

“Obviously the people who lived there have moved elsewhere.”

“And why don’t they just give up their house then?”

“Because they’re all bitter and old and mean and they want to spite us newcomers,” he says with contempt. “I’ve been here for a few years, so I’ve picked up a thing or two, but I’m unequivocally a newcomer.”

“Why hasn’t that angel of light done anything?”

“Oh, you mean Satan?”

“That was Satan? Well, why doesn’t Satan do anything about the housing situation in hell?”

“You see, when everyone gets what they want, nobody is satisfied at all. Newcomers will get them in time, but not yet.”

And with that, he turns back around, and I’m left pondering his words as more houses flash by. I close my eyes, and then…

“Last stop!” a voice shouts from the front of the bus. “Mountain pass!”

I hurriedly gather my belongings, throw my backpack over my shoulder, and scuttle out of the bus with the rest of the travelers. I step off the last stair, my boot landing on the moist dirt of a healthy forest. It appears that everyone is dispersing in their own direction. I look around for anyone I recognize from the bus, but no faces stand out to me. I turn and the vehicle is already gone. I look at the trails again, and I am the only one left. Choosing a direction, I begin to walk.

Eventually, the path that I am on narrows into a more concentrated, decently traveled trail. Everywhere around me there is foliage and fauna; beautiful sights that I’d never witnessed—in videos or otherwise—on earth. It’s slightly colder here, but my jacket lends me comfort. The plants are still wet with morning dew, and birds sing a symphony for me overhead. To my left runs a small river, just thin enough to pass but wide enough to be more than a stream. Soon, I found myself on the trek for thirty minutes. I find a small clearing of fallen logs, overcome with moss and fungi. I pick the clearest one and take a seat, procuring a canteen of water from my bag.

“Hello there,” says a voice from my right. I jump, spilling some of my water as the sudden sound pulls me away from the forest. I turn my head to see a man that looks slightly familiar.

“Hello,” I respond. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t know. I was famous on earth for a while. Not that fame mattered in the long run.”

I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “Ah, you’re Hugo Harris!”

“So you do know me?”

“I’d watch your YouTube videos from time to time, and listen to your podcast.” Hugo looks older than I’d remembered him, but I suppose I’m mistaken.

“And you enjoyed them, I hope?”

“Very much. They’re part of what pulled me away from the church.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I chuckle. “For what? Now I get to live here! Everything is so exciting and new, and now I get to meet my favorite atheist philosopher. I should thank you, as you were right for that.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll learn with time.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I ask, my voice laced with exasperation. “Tell me what you mean!”

He sighs. “It’s very exciting for the first few-hundred years, until you’ve done everything. The highs stop feeling high.”

“I don’t see how that can be.”

“You start small: amusement parks, mansions, visiting an arcade and driving your dream car. Then you’ll want more. Bigger thrills, deeper indulgence.”

“How so?”

“Cigarettes won’t be enough for you,” he says, pointing to the one in my mouth. I hadn’t realized it was there.

“You’ll turn to harder drugs. Sex with anyone you want turns to…well, worse. And after that? All that’s left is the emptiness. A ceiling you can never break, one that crushed your soul.”

“But aren’t our souls already crushed? Corrupted or whatever? Isn’t that why we’re in hell in the first place?”

“No, son. We don’t go to hell because our souls are crushed, our souls are crushed because we’re in hell.”

I’m silent for a long time, and Hugo lets me be. He just sits there next to me, unmoving, and allows me to process everything.

“Do you have any regrets?” he says after a while.

“I suppose so.”

“Most do. Yet none act on them.”

“Why not? Were the Catholics right, and purgatory is real?”

“I don’t know. Nobody bothers leaving this place.”

“I understand that.”

“Mhm. Hell—just like heaven—is eternal. Give it a few hundred—or perhaps thousand—years. Then you’ll have reached your highest point, no doubt, and you’ll be looking for the next. You’ll be the spoiled child you’ve always hated in life, because you will have gotten everything you wanted, but can’t get the one thing you’ll finally want above all, and that’s grace. Because the Christians were right, it seems, and hell is complete separation from God.”

“If God is all good, he’d give me grace down here. I was a good person in my lifetime. I helped the poor and donated to charity. I raised well behaved children. I even went to church sometimes.”

“Son, I studied the bible so I could argue against it in life. Do you know what it says about grace?”

“Oh, it’s been so long. Catholic school was many years ago.”

“It says that we’re saved through grace alone, not deeds.”

“But I thought that faith without works is dead? What about the Christian who has faith, but acts in an awful manner? Why are they saved, but I’m not?”

“You aren’t saved because you do good deeds. You do good deeds because you’re saved.”

I open my mouth, and then think for a moment. “That’s dumb.”

“Well, I thought so too. But if we could save ourselves through deeds, why would we have needed Him? You’re very quiet now.”

“That makes sense from a Christian standpoint, but I don’t like it.”

A slight chuckle escaped his lips, a sound I hadn’t heard him make yet.

“Nobody down here does. But up there,” he points upwards with a finger, “up there, everybody does. And I can’t bloody blame them,” he grumbled.

“But you never answered my question. Why can’t God give us grace down here? I believe in Him now.”

“As do I, and as do the demons, and the devil. But now we’re wholly separated from God.” He turns to me. “I’ve had over a thousand years to reflect on this. You and I have always exclusively chased worldly desires. It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“We went only after material things in life, things that would satisfy our flesh, and in doing so rejected God. Now, in death, we’ve received just that: exactly what we wished for on earth. We spent a lifetime chasing them, and now we get all of them for free, whenever we want. It’s an atheist’s paradise, exactly as we said it should be in life. For why would God allow evil to exist if He is all good? Turns out that suffering and struggle really is needed.”

“I think I see,” I sighed, lamenting. “It was the struggle to follow God on earth that was worth eternity in heaven?”

“Indeed,” he nods his head. “The captain, when he experiences strong rain and winds, does not act complacent—nor does he wallow in regret and fear—for to do so would be certain death. In weathering the storm today, he experiences the rainbow of tomorrow.”

“And that rainbow is heaven,” I summarize. “I’m surprised you haven’t written a book on this in your time down here. You published so many of them.”

“Aye, that I did. Allow me a little comfort though, son. If I wanted a book, I could wish one up and it would appear in my hands. Even if I went and wrote one, what would I do? Give a copy to every single newcomer, and deprive myself from explaining things in person?” He shook his head. “That wouldn’t be fun.”

“But you’ll end up doing it one day, regardless.”

“You’re learning now.”

“So, is it hopeless down here?”

“We had our whole lives to change ourselves, and we convinced each other that what we desire matters more than what God desires. And now we have the rest of time to enjoy everything that we chased after during our lives. You don’t want to leave this place now, do you?”

“This place?” I ask, my voice beginning to shake, the nature of my new reality finally beginning to dawn upon me. “You mean hell? I’m beginning to think that I would most like to leave it.”

I catch my leg shaking, lightheadedness overtaking me. Never again will I feel whole or fulfilled. For all of time, I understand, I’m cursed to everything that I loved during my days on earth. I’m cursed to those things that brought me fleeting—not eternal—pleasure; I’m cursed to lose my mind among the things that—I thought—once kept me sane. I’m cursed to be destroyed by bliss itself.

“Well, you can’t sit here forever. Go and enjoy yourself while you can, but let me warn you to take your time. It’s in our nature to seek thrills. Don’t go all in at once.”

I stand from my spot on the log, unable to vocalize what I think. “Thank you,” is all I say as I leave.

“Come again.”

The rest of my travel through the forest seems gloomier after my conversation with Hugo. I do my best to reflect on his words, though the tingling sensation that runs throughout my body will not stop, nor will the shaking of my hands. Always in my life had I assumed that separation from God, that a world with no evil, where I could receive any material I desired would be good. Now, as I am left for eternity with everything I’ve ever wanted, I find torture where there was once desire, and pain where there was bliss. 

A beautiful singing of a voice—no, many voices—comes from some place ahead of me, in a language I know but don’t understand. I press my way forward, the melody almost captivating in how it draws me in. It’s beautiful, I think to myself, in a way that nothing here has been so far. Is this the high that Hugo had mentioned?

I step out from the trees and into a clearing, where I can see the sky ahead. A brilliant light rivaling the effulgence of the sun appears from what I can only describe as a crack in the sky, where a piece of the cloudless blue expanse has been shattered. The singing, it seems, is coming from it. The colors radiating from the light are new to me, the words in the song unlike anything I’d ever heard on hell or earth. I close my eyes, letting the light and sound wash over me as I bask in it, relishing in it; my arm reaches up of its own accord, as if to grab the light before it fades away. Soon, though, it begins to disappear, the cold air returning. The complete satisfaction is gone, and I open my eyes again to see the sky repaired. My brief moment of true bliss—of joy—is gone, replaced by a hollow sensation. 

I take another cigarette from my pocket and light it, feeling calm just for a moment. Then it’s too much, and I sink to my knees on the forest floor. My head bowed, I clasp my hands and search for God’s Spirit, to make everything right. But there is no presence there with me, and I feel a sense of loneliness that I’d never experienced on earth. All I can do is look up, and hope that the light will return. But it doesn’t.