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Rated: E · Short Story · Mystery · #2090386
A Journey through hell
As a poet, I liked to be like Dante Alighieri walking through hell towards God. In passing this great inferno, I had to clothe myself against the suffocating heat of more than 212 Fahrenheit.

So I went to the shop and got myself a nice little outfit to enter this explosive area of mourning and grief. It took me two hours of shopping before I got the right robe. It was a red velvet cloth with silver sashes covering my shoulders down to my feet. It had a hood attached so I could be totally covered and almost invisible.

I was ready; I was able; I went into this place with nine stages of high temperature.

It was hot.

I walked towards the sunset into the dawn for seven miles, slowly contemplating my moves once entering into hell. Would I melt like a normal human being, or would this red clothing shelter me from the flames? There was no other way of knowing other than to enter and keep my fingers crossed.

It became even hotter.

There was this sign at the entrance of hell: do not enter, this is hell, keep the hell out! But my judgment was clouded by the thought of achieving victory, mind over matter—stage one.

I pushed this golden gate open, and instantly my mind played tricks on me. I saw this huge tree with its branches lifted toward the sky, its roots pushing downwards into the black earth. It was on fire with yellow and white flames lighting the place up like a bonfire on the fourth of July. Stage two.

I could not come closer.

So I sat down and chanted the Gayatri Mantra:
Om bhur bhuva shava
Tat savitur, varenyam
Bhargo devasya dhimahi
Dhiyo yo nah prachodayat

Which translated into:
Through all layers of experience, It is the true nature that illuminates existence, the all-mighty One. May all creatures through subtle and contemplating intelligence be aware of the high splendor of enlightened consciousness—stage three.

Suddenly the sky above me changed into this dark and ominous field of clouds, and it was starting to rain, putting out the fire of the inflamed tree—stage four.

There was peace in my mind.

I continued my path, making sure I watched the footsteps that were visible on the soft soil. Following or making traces? Stage five.

The stifling heat made me thirsty, so I went downstream, filling my hands with soothing water, refreshing myself—stage six.

In the darkness of the second night, I saw this vision of the Roman poet Virgil who waved me to come closer. I was on the right track—stage seven.

At the end of the third day, I got tired. My eyes were blurry, and my sight compromised. Unicorns and fairies with white wings came to haunt me in the night—stage eight.

The joy of being close to the truth faded.

Hell had lost his function and its purpose; I saw what it was for the first time. Stage nine.

So I closed my eyes, leaned against a tree, and wished I was somewhere else.

Opening my eyes again, I was walking down Mainstreet. The temperature still above normal.

Word count: 534

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