Hell found me. Whoever came up with the notion that hell was hot never experienced the misery of a frigid northern winter. Or perhaps the idea was born because once frostbite sets in on your fingers, they actually start to burn.
Relieved to end my workday despite the fact that it was already dark at 5:30, I yanked my frozen car door open, sat on the hard seat and listened to the engine reluctantly turn over. I twitched my nose as the hairs froze with each inhale.
After shivering for ten minutes as my car warmed so I could see, I finally pulled out of the garage into the frighteningly unsafe area of town I had to cross to get to the interstate. Frozen tires rocked my car from side to side.
BOOM! I jumped as my steering pulled to the right. Dread filled me as the realization flooded in- I had a flat tire. In -10 degrees with a -30 wind chill, in the dark, in a dangerous part of town.
Hell had found me and it wasn’t hot.
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You know, Dante's version of Hell, at least one level, was that it was frozen cold. And as cold natured as I am, spending an eternity in a winter like you describe would be just as bad!
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