Knocking on Hell's Door

The paths we choose are they destined or given to us? I've lived a full life and chosen my choices clearly, but some have been tainted by the blood of impulse and now rake down my soul as if they own me. So head down, I keep walking through these dark streets not looking up, afraid of what I'll find. The darkness is suffocating, filling my lungs like smoke in a barrel. I can hear each twig or stone I unknowingly kick, hearing it break or collide in a vacuum of silence. I stop and look up as I'm distracted from walking. A crow sitting over a skeleton which decomposed years ago greets my eyes as if it was waiting for me. With no words spoken I hear it speaking to me, in a haunting voice it pleads me to stop and turn away but I wish I could adhere its advice and stop but too much as passed and too much has been left unsaid. The silence has deafened me for far too long now and I must find my own way home.

As I reach my destination I see a door blocking the entrance to the end of my path. Taller than the sky itself, an unbreachable man made beast of a sculpture which seems so inviting. I stop to think and decide whether I should knock but it's hopeless trying to think because the decision had been made before I set foot on this path, before the first stone was thrown and way before I was born.

As I raise my hand to knock on the door I am taken by surprise as I can see the door is made up of heads of corpses which seem to have been decaying in these doors since eternity. A true masterpiece stands before me and what lies ahead. Was it destiny that brought me here or my choices? No one will ever know, no one will ever care, no one will ever see how a man of such wisdom and riches became so lost and poor. So here I stand with tears of blood running down my face, no turning back now as I plead for forgiveness and raise my hands which are broken and sore to knock on hell's door!