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Hell is Heaven

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I won some writing thing with it last year so I just wanted to see what other people thought about it. It's just some fiction story i wrote so... uh... here it goes.

--Hell is Heaven--

A loud shriek echoed and a heavy artillery shell thundered onto the desolate cemetery. The earth shook as if rocked by a slow and steady hand. The scene, however dead it may be, seemed alive with every crash, explosion, and even the slightest movement. Even the most intelligent and mentally sound soldier would have gone mad at the sight of the wicked dance. A dance that seemed to go on forever in an endless daze. Maybe this was Hell. Maybe the corpses of the fallen soldiers weren’t trying to break free of their earthen imprisonment but were trying to escape this hellish world. A world we call home.
Zechial rolled from his bed coughing and vomiting blood. He never thought he could have imagined a sight as chaotic as that. Tears were rolling down the side of his face. This was the third time he had dreamt of such a morose scene that he had had no recollection of seeing in his natural life. Why was such an abnormal thing happening to the most normal of people? It just wasn’t making any sense to Zeke.
The dreams all seemed to be of about the same time period, which seemed strange. The first dream was of what looked like some kind of death camp but something wasn’t right about it. There were people he knew there alongside him and also people he had never seen before. What was worse was that he could even feel the pain his imaginary self was being subjected to and when he woke he was bleeding in spots. The doctors were puzzled and not a single one could give him a straight answer. All of them, though, told him to see a psychiatrist. He didn’t listen. What did he need a head shrink for? He would be fine.
The second dream was even worse and the pain was unbearable. This time it wasn’t a physical pain but emotional and mental. He was working in a hospital and his “physical” form wasn’t that of his true self. He knew because in his dream he had looked in a mirror and he was a younger woman. It had been the first time he had seen death like that and it was devastating. People depended on him and he could do nothing. When he finally woke he wanted to die.
He went to a see shrink the first chance he got. What he had to say didn’t help Zeke. The psychiatrist prescribed sleeping pills for a “deeper and better night sleep”. That was what seemed to have induced the last dream. Whatever pain he thought he knew was blown away like dust. He was shaking like a leaf in a tornado as soon as he fell asleep. He somehow knew it was coming. He willed himself to resist it but it swept over him. The dream entered his head with the forcefulness of a juggernaut and he could do nothing to stop it. He was putty. His yearning for death after the second dream was easily overcome by his urge, his desire to be in the protecting arms of death as he was brutally desecrated by this one.
He hated all of this. He wouldn’t take this anymore. He wouldn’t last. Not another one like that. The psychiatrist had been right about one thing; the pills would help. The bottle contained sixty pills when he bought it at the drug store and he took two last night, which leaves fifty-eight pills. He was ready for this. Fifty-eight pills would quiet this demon. Hell is heaven and the Devil loves sin. Suicide’s a biggie.

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