Michael makes his way into the Hell community.
|After getting done in the Snow Room, the guard nudged his pike into my back and led me through an icy tunnel. The pike sent a burning sensation into my skin for some reason. I went where he led me, just trying to outrun the pike.
“Go.” It said as we arrived at a portal.
After my first 1,500 years, I still hadn’t built up the nerve to test Hell’s security. So I went.
In what seemed like the moment I walked in the portal, I found myself standing next to several other souls. Their naked bodies rubbed up against me as they all walked in the same direction. They moved at a deathly slow pace. Not wanting to get trampled by a turtle-pace stampede, I started walking with them.
Around me, I noticed an endless amount of souls in all directions. At the horizon in all directions was a bright blue fog. The fog seemed like the only source of illumination. I noticed that all of the other souls were walking in the same direction.
I looked up and saw an icy ceiling that went on endlessly in all directions as well. It seemed about six or seven stories high. I also noticed digital clocks neatly installed on the ceiling, every twenty or so feet in every direction. They displayed the year in S.B.T. (since the beginning of time) for all of our convenience. The clocks read “10,081,623,666 S.B.T.” These clocks are incredible because each person sees them in the number system and language that they used in their life. Never learned how to read? Tough.
An author friend of mine told me I should always describe how I am feeling whenever I enter a new section of a story. So here is how I was feeling at the time:
The area I had entered is known as The River. It got this clever title because it is an endless river of souls. It’s hard to say how big it is because no one really knows. However, it is easily the largest section of Hell. It is the main “highway” in Hell. Most of the portals from smaller subsections dump into The River. It serves the mere purpose of storage.
The River used to remain stationary. Wherever you were dumped was where you stayed until you were taken to another area of Hell. One day, some guy started to walk. Others followed, and after many years the entire River was walking. It hasn’t stopped since. People who stop get endlessly trampled. Handicapped people are screwed to begin with.
So anyway, I was eager for some conversation as soon I got dropped in. 1,500 years without using your larynx is 1,500 long years. No guards were around, so I assumed talking was allowed.
“Hi.” I said to a young looking male soul on my left as I shuffled along with rest of the River. He glanced at me slightly, but didn’t respond.
“How ya doing?” I asked to the decent looking woman on my right. She didn’t even flinch.
“What’s up man?” I said to the ambiguous infant in front of me. Who was I kidding? This kid probably never learned to talk.
Great. None of my neighbors spoke. I contemplated moving ahead in the River to find new souls, but then I heard a voice behind me.
“Not many people like to talk around here.” A man said. I turned around and saw a dark-skinned man with a Samoan look. He was a few inches shorter than me, but had a stocky build. I couldn't help but notice that his penis was relatively big. Not that that matters here.
“Why’s that?” I asked. I slowed down a little in order to let him become my new right-side neighbor.
“Most of them have been here so long.” The man said. “After about a hundred years, most people enter a zombie state. They finally realize that they are never getting out, so they just zone out. It’s the best way to deal with it.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” I said. “That must mean you are still new then.”
“No.” He said. “I’ve been here about five-thousand years. I tried to blank out, but I never could.”
“Wow, 5,000 conscious years of this shit.” I said. “You must be on the verge of going nuts.”
“I already went through that.” He said. “About 800 years ago. I’ve accepted my fate. I’m in a surprisingly stable state.”
“If you say so.” I said. “You sound like a clock watcher.”
“There’s not much else to look at.” He responded.
“Good point.” I commented This guy has a smartass undertone which I enjoy. He doesn’t overdo it like I do. He’s a little more subtle.
“How do you know English?” I asked. This was a big curiosity throughout my lifetime.
“After 5,000 years worth of new people to converse with,” He said. “you pick up on a lot of things.” Yeah, this guy is cool.
“I’m Michael Jensen.” I told him.
“Uk.” He responded.
“English.” I told him, thinking that perhaps he had a temporary lapse and forgot which language he was speaking.
“My name is Uk.” He said.
Damn. I figured I looked like a jackass at that point. But Uk didn’t care. He went on to tell me about his life story:
Uk was a Mayan who lived sometime around 3,500 B.C. In his parallel universe, the Mayan culture was more advanced than any culture of the present day. They had the equivalent of the “flying cars” which were supposed to run rampant in our skies in the year 2,000. They also had space travel, teleportation, time travel, all that shit. They were even working on immortality. However, their civilization was destined to get wiped out by a huge comet. So all of the Mayans evacuated to another planet. All they left behind were obsolete buildings.
But Uk died long before the evacuation. He lived a great life. He was a leading engineer for the Mayan government. He had a wife and three kids. He was great to them. However, he ended up in Hell because the Bible wasn’t released until three-thousand years after his time.
So then I go on to tell him my pathetic story.
After talking with Uk for a while, I decided that he was someone I didn't want to lose. He is the kind of seasoned veteran you want to meet. He is quick-witted and has all the answers; not necessarily because he is smart, but because he has probably heard all of the questions thousands of times before. I figured I was nothing special to him.
The big thing that I liked about Uk was that he apparently was on good terms with Satan. Uk would not tell me why, but I believed him. It was at that point I realized that his support would be integral to my stay in Hell. I mentally scanned my observations of Uk before asking the question:
1. He can speak English.
2. He is on good terms with Satan.
3. He is not in a zombie state.
“Will you be my best friend?” I asked.
“Sure.” Uk said. He didn’t seem too thrilled. It didn’t matter though, because he was my new best friend.
So we continued walking along with the River and talking. Shooting the shit. He told me more about his Mayan life. I listened and pretended I cared like best friends do. It was at the moment that I asked about Satan that two creatures flew up to us on a small floating barge and hovered above us.
Uk and I looked up at them. They carried pikes and were covered in steel-plated armor. The parts of their bodies that were exposed, including their faces, were made of rotting flesh. This ability for rotting corpses to move and talk like humans is really amazing to me.
The barge lowered to about a foot above us. The creatures mumbled some demonic shit and pulled us onto the barge. I didn’t bother resisting, because the River sucks. As one of the creatures pulled me up, I realized he/she was a more legit looking Snow Room guard. I then assumed that they worked for Satan. They went ahead and pulled Uk up too.
With Uk and I sitting down in the seats, the barge started to move. I couldn’t help but notice that no one was piloting it. I noted this as strange.
“How d..” I started to ask Uk. I was interrupted by one of the guards mumbling something demonic that I assumed meant "Stop talking." He thereafter smacked me in the face with his pike. The smack didn’t hurt as much as the burning sensation that came after it. It felt like someone had cut open my face and poured an entire bottle of hydrogen peroxide into the fresh wound.
I need to get one of those pikes.
I looked over and saw that Uk was staring straight forward, silent. Not wanting more punishment, I followed the seasoned veteran’s lead.
The barge cruised over the River at a brisk pace. We traveled for what felt like miles. Then the barge slowed down and started to head towards the ceiling. I looked in that direction and saw a small, dark tunnel in the ceiling. We went in.
“If we go in the same direction that our path is metaphorically implying,” I thought to myself, “I’d say we’re fucked.”
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