Hell and the plant

If I were to die and be sent to Hell it wouldn't be a fiery pit of everlasting pain. Hell to me would be these four walls with mould creeping up every corner, headache noise rising up through the floor and the walls, bare cupboards and an empty fridge. Broken appliances and a half hearted attempt at being alive.  No washing machine, no microwave, no oven, no bathroom sink, no taps on the kitchen sink, no flushing toilet, no toilet at all, no central heating on, no weather proof windows, no carpet or appropriate floor of any kind, no banister on the stairs, no hope. One thing after the other, if one element of this nightmare is so lucky as to be fixed or replaced after generally a year or more of going without the next thing decides to jutter to a stop and promptly dies. It's as if there is a black cloud over these four walls that hangs like a dead corpse from a rope around its neck. I can't stand it. Hardly any hygiene, even less intelligence. I can't stand it.

I was eleven when we had a school project to grow a plant from a seed. My seed grew on the classroom windowsill and I checked on it everyday. My little green shoot was the only one to survive and grow into a five inch sprout at which point I could take it home. One day. It lasted one day before shrivelling into a brown lifeless strand of something which was once alive. I had a very miserable and deep moment for an eleven year old then and decided that anything that came into these four walls was doomed and if I didn't myself out soon enough I would shrivel in the same dark and mean way. It's been ten years since then and I'm still trapped here and still think exactly the same as I did then. It wasn't a thought I grew out of, it was a very real belief and to this day and the day I die I'll believe it.