Science fiction is fantasy with bolts painted on outside.
Things have no power that humans don't put there.
"And what would humans be without love?" Rare, said Death.
There are, almost by definition, an unlimited number of Hells - potentially at least a personal one for every living sapient being.
I can't be talking to a tree. If I was talking to a tree I'd be mad, and I'm not mad, so trees can't talk.
We have been so successful in the past century at the art of living longer and staying alive that we have forgotten how to die. Too often we learn the hard way. As soon as the baby boomers pass pensionable age, their lesson will be harsher still.