Hell is sometimes underneath

 This yellow abandoned trainstation that stood wrapped in weedy trees,
wattles and skeleton tall coprosmas.
The structure had no symmetry in it's basic front door and windows.
It had no semblance of a face either.
But as I returned from my walk it transformed into a face.
It Beraded me.
"This is not your place. You should not have come back.
You will not come in. This is a sacred place.
You are not welcome."

I started to shrink, instead of panic, I grinned.
The yellow trainstation shook in fury.
Then trembled in fear.
I became the size of a four year old.
I pulled out a box of matches. Knelt next to the trainstation.
Flicked it true, sparked a flame, into the dead grass beside it.

In minutes the outer wall became an upside down river of flame.
Child me celebrating the greedy fire.
"Put me out." It said.
But I just stared at it's contorted face.
The heat of the roaring fire and the fake sun heating my tiny body.
In the excitement of the burning trainstation.
Perhaps the heat and euphoria I fell and vomited across the ashy ground.
I looked at the contents, to my amusement there were serpents in the spew.
Discolored by the stomach acid, they raced toward the flame.

I felt myself grow back as the smoke blessed me.
The serpents slid into the flames and started growing.
Their intricate scales and colors became incredible as they were now the size of full grown pythons.
The forest caught fire. The local false wind and sun wanted it to happen.
The child in me wanted it to happen.
The flames washed through. Burning all the way along the train tracks.

The burning continued for many of those purgatory days.
The wind died, the sun was blocked by the smokey darkness.
The ruins of the old town were still there, now standing above the ashes of the local forest.
Even the sign at the entry point.
-Relinquite omnem spem.