[ WP ] A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell , only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over

I remember my life on Earth as though it were yesterday, despite all my attempts to forget it. 
 
 I was the first born to a family of junkies. I was obviously an accident, and as such was considered one. My father spent all available money on drugs and alcohol. This included any of my money. I remember with clarity my fifth birthday. Tearing excitedly into an envelope from my grandmother and exclaiming with joy as I lifted out the crisp twenty-dollar bill. My father looked up from his bottle and promptly snatched the bill from my hands. I started to protest, only to receive a swift backhand and a harsh `` Shut up you little twerp.'' I looked with tear-filled eyes to my mother, hoping maybe she would stand up for me. Her dark, sunken eyes gazed into mine for a second or two, and then she left. I never saw her again. 
 
 That whole `` All mothers have love for their children'' bull crap? I never felt it. 
 
 As I grew up, I realized school was n't easy. The subjects were fine, but my peers were another story. My father continued to spend all his welfare money on substances, so sometimes I could n't have a shower. Food was also hard to come by, so my ribs were always visible behind my pale skin. I was different, and so I was never accepted. I was given names, such as `` That Dark Kid'' or `` Smelly''. Beatings were a regular occurrence. I got them at school from the other kids that felt inadequate, and when I got home I got them from my similarly inadequate father. 
 
 It was probably high school when the Depression set in. I was constantly told things like `` You'll never amount to anything'' and `` You'll be just like your father.'' After so long I began to believe them. I had no dreams, no ambitions, and the only thing I looked forward to was a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and maybe a few pills waiting for me at the end of the day. These only made the Depression worse. All the self-loathing grew and grew, until it seemed like it would overwhelm me. 
 
 After high school, I stayed with my father for a while. I eventually grew tired of his abuse, and so I left. I sought refuge in homeless centers, but I could never stay long as the other residents did n't like me. I certainly did n't have a charming personality, and sometimes a simple disagreement over where to sleep could turn into a full-out brawl. So I spent most of my time sleeping on park benches. It would get so cold sometimes. I would lay there, shivering, thinking, `` Tonight is the night. I'll die right here on the bench.'' But I never did. Part of me always wished I had. 
 
 It went on like this for about twenty years. I would occasionally find jobs, but I would always be fired quickly due to my smell and `` rage-prone behavior.'' Money was scarce, and so was food. Any money I got would usually go to drugs and alcohol to feed my addiction. On top of all of this, the Voices in my mind would never stop. Sometimes they would sound like people in my life, like my father, or sometimes they were completely new. Whatever they were, they always tore me down, worsening my self hate. 
 I just wanted to die, but I knew I could never to it myself. 
 
 And then that day came. 
 
 It was a Sunday morning. I was laying on a bench after yet another sleepless night. The voices were screaming, all at once, and they would n't stop. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I prayed. `` God,'' I said, `` Have mercy on me.'' I began to cry, just laying there, letting the last bit of hope slip through my fingers. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder. 
 
 `` I hear you,'' it said. 
 
 I looked up and saw a man in brilliant white clothing. His face shone like a thousand shards of glass. The sun seemed to shine directly from behind him, and his hands glowed like bronze. `` Your time is up,'' the man said. His voice was low and pleasant, like one I'd never heard before. It carried with it a sense of compassion, which in all my years I had never experienced. 
 
 My tears continued to fall. `` Man,'' I sobbed, `` I do n't know what you're talking about, but anything is better than this. My life, it's like a living hell.'' 
 
 At this the man gave a small grin. `` It's funny you should say that. That's exactly where you've been.'' 
 
 
 Edit: grammatical errors 
 
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