Inferno Short Story (Siobhan)

~The Inferno~

Assignment: Create your own Inferno story.

       My breath seemed to freeze in the air around me.  The first thing I had noticed when I was whisked to this terrible place was that it was so cold!  I had believed myself to be so knowledgeable when it came to Hell, having read Dante’s Inferno countless times.  Yet nothing could have prepared me for the moment when Dante himself appeared at my bedside and whisked me away through the night to this terrible wasteland of oppression and filth. 

       As we walked through the regions of Hell, Dante pointed out sinners that had never made their way into his Inferno.  Punishments for sins in our modern world filled me with dismay.

        The first area of punishment that struck me was the part of Hell dedicated to people who denied sin.  This area was full of people who were walking endlessly in a circle.  A horrible creature with a long whip made sure that everyone stayed in line.  All around the circle shades enacted horrible tableaus of rampant wickedness.  History seemed to be unfolding before my eyes.  I saw the terrible whip of the slave-trader, lashing its way through the frozen air.  I saw the gas seeping out of the gas chambers that proved the death of so many.  I saw the trigger being pulled on a gun, pointed at masses of innocent people.  Suddenly I saw someone who seemed familiar to me.  “Might I talk to that shade?”  I inquired of my guide.  Dante nodded and led me to the edge of the circle.  I started walking around and I asked, “Is it really you?”

        “It is I!  Oh, my dear friend, when you return to the land above, do not waste any time.  Put into writing what you see here.  The world above is so utterly blind to the sin around them.  I was once a member of such a society.  Believing that there is no sin is so much harder than believing that there is.  Just look around you!”

        We then entered a cavern and stood on the edge of it.  The cavern was filled with filth; all around the edges was a bubbling hot red river.  In the center of it stood a washbasin, with a pitcher of water.  Everyone scrambled to reach the washbasin, but none of the punished shades could make it.  My repulsion and shock were great; I could barely stand the stench.  My guide called one of the oppressed souls over.  He began to tell us his story.  My heart sank within me as I listened.

        “During my life I was esteemed for many things.  I was successful in everything—and in nothing.  We are suffering punishment for the millions of innocent infant lives our own hands quenched.”

        “Why do the shades all fail to reach the basin?”

        “We all try to reach it and purge ourselves of the despicable muck we are all immersed in, yet we can never be clean.  We are never able to wash the filth off of our hands…” The shade was swept up in the river, and we saw him no more.

        We passed by many other shades that day, but these moved me the most.  I shall record the others someday, but at the present I have no heart to recall the dire punishments of those who have gone before us to the land of utter misery, hopelessness, and fear.