I stared at the woman, gobsmacked and blinked 1, 2, 5 times doing anything to buy myself more time to process what clearly had to have been a hallucination. Maybe I truly was having a stroke. Maybe I was dead, and this, right here, a perpetual boarding full of cream based pasta paired with seafood, was my hell. After all, I cheated on that test in 6th grade. A religion test no less.
But what kind of vengeful God would damn even the worst someone, to this?
The row of people in front of her gazed on in horror as I pathetically cried out, “Your what?”