Make a gruesome story about Jenson getting hit off a truck etc etc and burning in hell starting with jenson should

Jenson should never have been on that highway that fateful day. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the asphalt, but he felt a dark cloud threatening his thoughts. Distracted by the weight of his worries, he barely noticed the massive truck barreling toward him. One moment, he was lost in his mind, and then, the next, everything exploded into chaos. The deafening roar of the truck's engine drowned out all sound, and the world blurred as he collided with it. The impact was like a thunderclap, sending him flying into the air, limbs twisting grotesquely during his brief flight. Time seemed to stretch as he fell, and in those fleeting seconds, he realized he was flying straight toward his demise. The unforgiving ground rushed to meet him with a bone-crunching ferocity. Excruciating pain exploded through his body as he landed awkwardly. Broken bones jutted out grotesquely, and blood pooled around him, soaking into the pavement like ink spilling across a page. His vision clouded with agony, he barely registered the frantic sounds of bystanders shouting, someone calling for help, the police sirens wailing in the distance. But it was too late. Jenson's battered body lay in a crumpled heap, and his soul was already spiraling into darkness. As consciousness began to slip away, a familiar chill swept over him. Memories of his past flooded his mind—an endless reel of choices, regret, and the deeds he wished he could erase. Though life faded, those memories would not—his failures, betrayals, and the people he had hurt echoed in the back of his mind like a chorus of lost souls. In an instant, everything changed. Jenson felt himself pulled from his broken body, the searing pain replaced by a soul-wrenching numbness. He found himself suspended in a vast void, surrounded by shadows that whispered his sins. In the distance, a fire raged, illuminating a macabre landscape that twisted and writhed with despair. Suddenly, he was dragged forth into the inferno, and the searing heat consumed him. Souls like him screamed in agony, their forms twisting in the flames, forever trapped in an endless cycle of suffering. Jenson's skin blistered, hair ignited, and the acrid stench of burnt flesh filled the air. He felt the harness of his own darkness tighten around him, the chains of guilt and remorse tethering him as the flames licked hungrily at his soul. As he writhed, surrounded by other tortured souls, their faces mirrored his own horror. They were those he had wronged and discarded, their eyes burning with vengeance and heartache. They reached for him, fingers clawing from the shadows, accusing and blaming him for not just their pain but his own. "Welcome to hell, Jenson," they whispered in unison, their voices a cacophony of despair and blame. "You thought you could escape it?" And in that hellish place, where flames and shadows danced together, he realized he would never escape the consequences of his actions. The eternal fire would continue to burn, a reminder that suffering and guilt waited just beyond the threshold of life, eager to consume him whole. There was no forgiveness, no redemption—just the relentless torment of his own making, burning in hell for all eternity.