I feel the heat. It starts very mildly, but increases gradually. I feel desperate, not because I was afraid of being burned, even in the chaotic state I’m in I know I can’t be burned, what it really scares me is the pain. Heat always hurt me, that’s why I’ve always hated it. I used to sweat and suffer at 30 degrees, imagine how I would feel in 1000 degrees.
Terror is psychological, my body being disintegrated is less scary then the heat I feel. I regret being asked to be burned, I should have thought less about people and the planet, I should have been more selfish. I preferred to spend eternity sat in my body, under the ground, in the dark, watching animals and fungi tearing my body apart then spending another minute in this infernal furnace.
But here I am, in the heat, in the infernal furnace. I did I have to be so sceptic? Why couldn’t I accept there is life after death? If I had accepted it, this wouldn’t be happening, I would take no chances. I would have thought that my soul could be tied to my body (I was always sure I wouldn’t go to heaven) and I could feel the heat.
What I was seeing of hell was very different from what I imagined it would be, finally, I had arrive in the hell I knew. The flames and the heat of the furnace were identical to what everyone says hell is like. If there was a camera inside the furnace, anyone who watched it would think demons had opened a whole and hell was arriving in the world.
Why did I asked to be cremated?
The heat doesn’t soften, and I don’t get used to it. It only ceases when my desperation surpasses my will to go on, and I pass out.