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I never believed in Heaven or Hell. I was always a proud atheist. I figured if there was no hard evidence for angels and demons to be real, then they must not be. Although I could see how faith made people feel like they had a purpose, some kind of reward to strive for. I never needed that. I just figured that life was all I could see, one universe based on science and reason. How I miss science and reason.
Ever since my arrival in hell, I felt out of place. So many of the people here were either from a completely different era, or had died too old to connect with. The magic of it all was jarring, the monstrous forms these former humans had taken. I was brand new, died at age 21 in the year 2024, February 14th. I had taken the form of a feminine feline, a fairly tall pink cat. I had become exactly what I hated, a woman.
Not that I hate women! No! I love women, they’re great. I just don’t like being one. All through my life I tried to transition to a man, and I had gotten as far as I realistically could. My chest was flat, arms hairy, and a modest patchy beard was right at home on my face. People were often surprised when I told them I used to be a girl. I really felt at home in my body.
But now, all that is gone. I was back at square one. I had breasts again! I didn’t realize how heavy they were until I got them back, I basically forgot about them. I had a tiny waist and wide hips, features I’d enjoy on anyone else. My majestic cardboard box figure that I had worked so hard on was gone. My lashes were long, my eyes were perpetually lidded. It gave me this sultry gaze that I did not like. It made it seem like I was giving everyone bedroom eyes. I had long magenta hair, way longer than I could ever deal with in life, and my hands… paws… were dainty and delicate. I looked like a mockery of a woman, and I felt humiliated.
I had dealt with catcalling before, but never to this extent. Almost everywhere I walked there were whistles and awoogas. Each wink and blown kiss felt like a stab into my heart, a direct attack to my manhood and to all womenkind. I wasn’t sure if it was my over-exaggerated body or the horny and shameless nature of the sinners. It’s was probably both. There was one particularly tall man that seemed ever interested in me. He had to be about ten feet tall, wearing a floor length red cloak and tall red top hat, both accented with striped fur. He would stare at me through his heart shaped shades like I was an object. Many times he’d offered me a job in the porn industry. I refused each time. The last thing I wanted was for all of hell to see my vagina.
I wanted to go back so bad, I wanted to be seen as a real man again. I tried everything I could to look more masculine. Slouching, wearing baggy clothes, binding, cutting my hair. But even the baggiest shirts couldn’t give the illusion of having no curves. No binder could make my chest flat. And my hair grew so fast I had to cut it every other week.
And the catcalling never stopped. Sinners were still thirsting after me, even when I dressed as modest as possible. That tall man, who I learned was a crime boss called Valentino, still wanted me to work for him. I felt worse than I ever had before. I had to wonder, what did I do to deserve this?
My only hope was this Hazbin hotel. Some kind of last attempt at redemption. I figured that heaven must be better than this, so even if I never truly believed in it before, I might as well try to redeem myself. The place was endorsed by the Princess of hell herself, so it must be legit. I saw the commercial on one of the TVs on sale while I was window shopping. They were in need of new residents, their only current inhabitant the porn star Angel Dust. He worked for that Valentino guy I hated, he’d probably fallen into the moth’s trap. The thing that intrigued me the most was the promise of free housing. I don’t understand why more people weren’t flocking to the hotel with a promise like that.
The staff seemed welcoming enough on TV. The main presenter in the commercial was a shorter woman with white hair and grey skin. She had a spunky attitude and a hard, one eyed face. I liked her. The Princess herself couldn’t make an appearance, but she seemed nice enough from the photos. She was paper white with rosy cheeks. Angel Dust was definitely a porn star, acting provocative to an annoying extent. He was also freakishly tall.
The maid was hardly never actually facing the camera in the commercial, but she seemed sweet. Her hair was rose red and she was no bigger than a poodle. The bartender -something that felt very out of place for a virtuous establishment- was grumpy winged feline. Another cat demon, how nice. And then there was tall a man in a dark red suit. He was always either shrouded in shadow or glitching out the screen, so I never got a clear look of his face. But he had an interesting voice, a trans-Atlantic accent I believe.
Overall the hotel seemed worth the trouble, so I made my way to the dilapidated building. By foot, as I didn’t have a car. It’d be a long trek, but it’s worth it. Anything but Hell. Anything but dysphoria.