Holy Punchers

I think hell to be like a midnight grocery store shelves filled with burning crucifix and pestilence. Bloody-black water up to the necks of Half-souls. Groping mindlessly in the dark... searching for God in brackish hopelessness. Flint and wooden carts colliding- black water biters abound. The checkout line is a turnstile manned by faceless- dripping things wielding holy punchers eternally pocking your debit card soul. while howling Next!