Purgatory

It was there in a puddle of rain on the side of a lonely, seldom-used road in the middle of nowhere. It trembled in the cold and damp world it was left to die in, waiting for some resolution, in the middle of hope and despair, rescue or release. The rare machine that sped down that forgotten highway never slowed down to notice what was left there.

But no resolution came.

Voices were heard from afar, encouraging ones, as if they were coming closer. But no one was ever seen. The machines that moved people from place to place at great speeds would occasionally slow and one or two even would seem to stop at some distance, but they continued on their way without notice.

A constant, severe pain shook the being in the puddle of rain. It felt Death stalking it, searching for it, but like its saviors, Death paid it no notice. The forgotten form simply continued to exist in an eternal state of physical, mental, and psychological pain and torture.

It was pointless to cry out, for no one would hear, and no one would listen. It was pointless to move, because it could not go far. It was trapped in its own special kind of purgatory, neither Heaven nor Hell. But there was no heaven, and there was no hell, no gods, no devils. Just those who passed by and refused to look. A purgatory of indifference, of hatred, and of selfishness. This was the world it watched from the side of the road in a puddle of rain.