She thought hell might be someplace not unlike where she was. A little quieter perhaps. More gods maybe. With bigger fists. Smaller heads. Loud trucks. And bright light bulbs that never go off. People toiling. To live. To work another day. And so on and so forth.
Not so different from heaven she surmised. Hollow pussies. Big breasts. Scores of crying children. Wondering where their mothers have went.
When she talked to God she always imagined Him listening, but had trouble with how he could hear her. Everyone talking at once. Dying. Lost in the rush. The intricate diseases of this stubborn flesh.
She'd say God wants us to stop asking. To live like he's not there. We don't need to find him. He was never lost.