Witheren wrote:
You look in the mirror, and you see you.
You're pretty.
You sit in a blue velvet chair and study the blue floral walls.
They're pretty.
You move your focus to a picture of your mother holding you when you were just a baby.
She's pretty.
You try to remember how you got here, this remarkable blue room. You see light, flickering. Where's the source? Your eyes roll back, everything turns white. You're not in the room anymore, you can feel it; it feels different, warm, yet shivering cold at the same time. The blinding atmosphere is so dreadfully gruesome, you begin to tremble. Your lips are shaking. Your core, quivering. The white fades to black, except for a speck of light in the distance. There is no question. The only choice is to go, so you go.
Now, there is more. You can see an oval shape, and you're getting close. This light calls for you, wants you to see. What does it want you to see?
Your eyes are glued to it, you can't look away, though you want to ever so badly. Inside the oval, everything is blue, except for you. Through the mirror, you see your skin; it's burning red. You see your eyes; they're punctured. Thick, purple liquid makes its way down your cheeks. You see your big smile, containing yellow, rotting teeth. You're ugly. You can't bear the sight any longer. You turn around only to find the mirror even closer on the other side. You start to hear voices, reminding you of every wicked word you ever spoke to poor, innocent souls. They get louder, and the smile in the mirror gets bigger. You scream and punch the mirror, but it won't stop. "I'm in hell, aren't I?"
Your scariest experience was death.