Base
Name

Samara Rayne

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Hell
[hel]
NOUN

1. place regarded in various religions as a spiritual realm of evil and suffering, often traditionally depicted as a place of perpetual fire beneath the earth where the wicked are punished after death.

Her so called “gift” came at the tender age of fifteen during finals week of her first year in high school. She lived a normal enough life, so nothing could explain why fate chose her for such a nightmare. Her parents were divorced. Her mother a British author, who’d come to the states for a new start. Her father, an American doctor who took too easily to the nurses that worked with him. Her mum found him between the legs of a nurse he worked with during one of his lunch breaks. It didn’t take long for everything they owned to be split in two, including her. Sam hopped between homes for years until the visions began tormenting her. The first night was the worst. She’d been in denial for a long time, chalking it up to lack of sleep and late Taco Bell. But after a few days, she went to a psychiatrist for help. In the middle of studying she’d heard a knock on the front door downstairs. 

It was in the middle of the night, who could be at her door at this hour? She remembered walking downstairs, to the front door. The shadowy figure that stood behind the glass door loomed in a way that made her stomach turn. And then it was like her body was no longer in control. The door would open slowly and she was already turning to run. Whoever it was, wanted her dead. The chase was brief, the figure closing her in a corner before stabbing her in the abdomen and dragging his blade across slowly. She starkly remembers the feeling of her insides slipping out and colliding wetly against the floor. Blood colored the plain white tiles in copious amounts. The pain was unbearable, a fire and clawing that left her absolutely breathless as she crumbled to the floor. And then there was nothing. The blood was gone, her insides back inside of her, and the gaping hole in her abdomen gone. She laid on the tile for an hour before crawling her way back to her room. As she made it to the top of the stairs, she’d hear the knock, and the footsteps coming from her room. A girl, who looked just like her, would peer out of her room in confusion before slowly making her way downstairs. The scene would replay 5 times that night, herself the star, as well at the audience.

 
Obviously, she was deemed unstable. Given plenty of medication to sedate an elephant and the nice new title of Schizophrenia left her feeling more alone than ever. High school was hell, especially when the visions hit in the middle of class. She’d see visions of herself walking down the halls before disappearing. Visions of friends nailed to the walls, bleeding, chanting her name. And after every single vision, an upside down cross would be carved where she could see. Sam has spent hours researching, but all that comes up is a place some fear and others hardly believe, Hell. But how could she endure Hell if she wasn’t dead? Her spirit was still firmly attached to her worldly self, right? Before long, Sam was thrown into a mental institution. She lived out her teenage years in a straight jacket and drugged so intensely that the visions were muggy, but the pain still there. She learned to bite the bullet and fake a smile, anything to leave the hospital. It’s been three years since her release and two since she threw away her medication. The visions only grew with intensity, but stayed the same in number. Her research still leaves her at the same conclusion. Her soul was in a never ending loop of her own personal hell. Each time is a different torture, but the ending is the same. The one difference she’s found in her research is that it takes a pretty powerful Satanist or Satan himself to cause this. She’s gone to a priest, only to be turned away. Maybe her next stop will be the Vatican, who knows? Hell, nothing is worse than brutally dying twice a day. 
 

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