Modernity has reached the gates of hell.
Orcus’s jaw remains gaping while the
Organic matter has peeled back revealing
The chromatic bones beneath, shining 
Unsettling in the darkness. Inside, proud
Productivity works his sisters, Sleep and Sloth,
With no reprieve, their bleeding, tired,
Typing fingers providing the constant
Clacking of ambient noise. The Gorgon,
Social Media, entices the disfigured, who
Turned to stone are unable to break their stares
From the flawless woman who captured
Their souls and self-image. The twin harpies,
Hope and Disappointment, shriek while
Carrying out unseemly attacks on the souls
Below; Hope skewering them through
The chest and lifting them into the air
For Disappointment to deliver death with
A cutlass stab in the back. The sea monster
Scylla devours eternally the poor souls
Who wander out to the sea to escape 
The torture of a purposeless life, providing
No solace and no escape. War’s ravaged 
Body has been augmented with technological
Limbs, his hammer fused to the bone
Of his arm, his legs lost long ago, replaced
By a snake tail, scales formed from misshapen
Shields of fallen foes. Look there, Achilles’
Shield, with the earth, sky and sea blending
Into each other, the dents deforming
The clear divisions causing the constellations
To bleed into the land and sea, there the
Men and women dancing bleed into the field
Being plowed, the farmers plowing the young 
And ripping limbs with their hoes, planting
Bodies in the ground. The two cities appear
In flames as monuments and temples rise
Into smoke. The vineyard appears untouched
As the children remain always about to pick
The grapes, however the lions seem to have
Finally conquered the bull and the herdsmen, 
The blacksmith having hammered the scene
With enough force to erase the valiant 
Fight. Beyond War lies faithful Cerberus,
Guarding the gate, guzzling coal to continue
The combustion inside, creaking unoiled
Paws as he paces to and fro, the reek
Of acrid smoke burning nostrils of unlucky
Visitors, the vice like snap of sword sharpened 
Teeth promising swift death to all that
Attempt to pass. On the polluted River
Of Styx, Charon feeds the coins of the dead
Into a contraption that roars the motor
To life to ferry the souls across, spilling 
Excess gas into the once pristine water. 
Across the river, Tartarus is divided by offense
Or in some cases, the lack thereof. The children
Killed in war wander the shores searching
For their parents that failed to protect them
From the horrors of the world. In the valley
To the left, sleeping souls are tortured
With anxious dreams of unmet promises
And broken intentions, tossing and crying out
As they fail to fulfill their word again and again.
Besides the souls of peaceless sleep, 
Warriors rage in continuous battle against
Simulated combatants, never finding the
Searched-for satisfaction of a solid deliverance
Of death until weary and blinded, their
Sword finally hits the unsuspecting victim
Of battles waged, collateral damage created
By the soldiers unquestioning faith in his
So-called just cause. Across from these
Cogs of war, the puppet masters sit, chained
To their throne of greed, those leaders
Who in abusing the power given to them,
Caused suffering and death in the name
Of progress. There, unholy Advancement
Slices open and surgically removes organs,
Muscles and sinews, seeing which are truly
Necessary to survive. Just as sweet unconsciousness
Would relieve the pain of Advancement’s
Macabre experimentation, the souls are jolted
Awake with electricity and the removed
Portions of self regrow to be removed again.
To the right, Love and Lust play games
With those who, fearing their lover would
Flee from them, were unable to conquer
The grips of neuroses and loved tightly, 
Torturing and abusing their beloved in the process.
Love and Lust inspire desire in these souls
And generate a beloved who promises 
To be true and seals her promise with a kiss
Infusing the toxic lover with parasitic nanobots
That crawl through the bloodstream, growing
Larger until they burst through the veins, 
Displacing body parts and eventually ripping 
Out of the ribbed torso, scattering away from 
The corporeal cage. The beloveds hum happily
As they put the souls back together to begin
Their torture anew. The deepest area of Tartarus
Is filled with those who committed the most heinous
Crime, those who whether in a fit of rage
Or out of apathy for required respect,
Destroyed the family unit, disregarded
Those that needed them and decided 
Death was easier than protection, for who
Can a babe rely on but the ones that begat
It into the world, and when age has dawned
On father and mother, is it not the child’s due
To repay the love it once received? For those
Who not only reject the onus of responsibility,
Pervert a natural love into hate, and deem
Those that are owed a life of ease worthy
Of a death instead, these souls endure 
The worst punishment the God of hell
Can deliver: first, craniums are cracked 
And brains removed, and with a quick
Slice and squish, a microchip is inserted
That inflates the conscience, enrages
Empathy and contests with the original 
Stream of thought. The pain of injustice
Is compounded as the chip generates 
Electrical signals to the unused portions
Of the brain (and not indelicately so) that
Control mortal’s ability to feel for another.
The torture is compounded as the souls 
Know that each thought is not their own,
The scream of the conscience as pain 
Is inflicted replaces the self and the souls
Are slowly erased with only occasional
Release from the torrent of guilt, a quick breath
Of air prior to being shoved below the surface,
Where deluges of condemnation assault
The consciousness. As torture is more effective
With an intact humanity, these souls are primed
For experiencing hope and loss, expectation 
And disappointment, the betrayal of those
Considered closest. Happiness enjoys 
Her time in hell, showing the souls pain
And release, the babe releasing its infant cry
Followed by a caring mother’s loving arms.
Sacrifice shines in her true splendor, showing
A father suffering the strain of the world
For an unknowing child, placing a false smile
On his face as he sees the innocent babe.
Altruism meekly appears to show the child
Grown and the parents on death’s door
Enduring together the time before inevitability
Occurs. Simulations completed, sadistic Memory
Returns the past to the souls, their unwarranted
And unforgivable actions replayed again and again,
The synthetic conscience begging for release.
Sweet Retribution answers the call, as when
Memory is done with them they are taken
To a parking lot, chains locked around
Torso and legs by their unsympathetic
Family, who allow the cold links to flow
Through their hands as they attach them
To the hook on the front of a truck,
Weave their way to the driver’s seat and link
Eyes before roaring the engine to life and
Reversing ever so slowly, the chain digging in
Stretching the sinew that connects the body
To the trunk until it starts to tear, starts
To rip a little at a time, the chip suddenly
Silent as the soul receives what it deserves.

The key to good torture is meticulous,
Precise repetition. The souls are reformed 
And the process begins anew. This continues 
For all souls until that blissful day the souls
Are allowed to drink from the poisoned 
River of Lethe. As the Earth has been destroyed,
So too has the underworld. The magic of Lethe
Has been diluted with pesticides, trash and pills,
Causing the souls that choke down as much 
Of the sacred waters as they can to only partially
Forget the torture enacted in both life and death,
Each soul returning to Earth a little more broken
Than they were before. Presiding over|
All this pain is Hades and his love engaged
In continuous love while the scenes of Tartarus
Play on LED screens, screams of passion 
Mixing with the pleading for relief. There is
Lore that Persepina once requested the volume,
At least, be turned down and when her good
Husband attempted to acquiesce, the wails 
Of the wounded became louder and louder,
For the sins of humanity are reaped even upon Kings.

[Samantha Casey is a Military Instructor in the English Department at the United States Naval Academy. She enjoys sailing, playing rugby, and reading poetry. She has been published under pen-name Porter Jenkins with The Minison Project: Sonnet Collection vol 4 and Wrong Turn Lit. Her Poetry Collection, Erotic Trauma, was published with the Naked Cat in October of 2023.]