#hence the mentions of campus and mafia. It's a rumor among residents.

[brb-on-a-quest]

So the other day I made a post about writing fanfiction about Dante's Inferno, and I've come to you all with about 3 weeks left in the deadline to ask whether it's good enough plot-wise to submit (because I'm a coward and I don't trust my own judgment and to share my writing with people who know me IRL is kind of a nightmare). So I ask, if people have time, for gentle critiques or whether I should toss it into the eternal fire (I'll save the jokes). One massive thing about it is that it's 800 words over length, so I may have to double-submit it (because that's an option for us, it just counts as double the points and I don't trust my writing that much), or talk to my professor and see if he can help me decide what to cut.

It's about 2.2k in length, and trigger warnings that it takes place in hell, so there are mentions of violence and abuse, but it is very light.

A Modern Pilgrim’s Guide to Hell

By brb-on-a-quest

He had found me while I was walking in the woods; I had strayed far from the safe arms of campus and ran into sight of three mafiosi: one who barked like a wolf and told me to “go to hell,” one who barked like a leopard, and the final one shook his lion-like mane as he told me to “turn around and don’t come back here for the sake of your soul.” 

I, not wishing to be murdered on a fine day, turned around and walked in the other direction. The woods grew more vast and dark. My shoes crunched on twigs and leaves and I realized I, somehow, had turned off very far from the way I had come, and I was unsure how to get home. 

All too conveniently, he had appeared. “You look lost; can I help?” Before me stood a man in a gray suit, the hair all but gone from the top of his glossy head. The moon illuminated his presence, making him seem somewhat transparent and ethereal. He was smiling at me in a sort of familiar, grandfatherly way that made me want to trust him, despite alarm bells ringing. 

“No.” I was not going to walk with a strange man, even if I was lost. I wasn’t about to get murdered-

My stomach grumbled, I realized I hadn’t eaten that day and must have been near dinner now. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was hungry. “If you could point me back in the direction of campus, that would be great.” 

“Alright, prepare for a journey through hell.” He laughed. “I’ll get you home eventually.”

I blinked, chuckling awkwardly. Please let that be an exaggeration. 

“I’m sorry, I believe I didn’t get your name.” The woods were getting darker as we moved away from the mafiosi. There was a building, several yards ahead, that the stranger seemed to veer towards. Raindrops came through the thick canopy and hit my face, shoulders, and hair, at first intermittently before progressing all at once. 

“Ah, yes, pardon, where are my manners? It’s Clive. C.S. Lewis.” He turned around. “I was sent here by a friend of yours. John Tolkien?” “John Tolkien?” I blinked. “As in J.R.R. Tolkien?” “Well, he goes by Jolkein Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien nowadays after seeing that go ‘round the Internet, but yes, the very one.” 

“He considers us friends?” 

“You visited his grave once when you traveled to our homeland last year and prayed for his soul; one doesn’t forget that kindness; therefore, he’s decided to help you with that writing inspiration you were asking about the other day. Regrettably, he can’t meet you until much later, but he does send his regards.” 

“And you’re C.S.-right? Oh my god.” My jaw dropped as I finally put the two pieces together. “You’re the Clive Staples Lewis. You wrote my entire childhood. I loved the Chronicles of Narnia-” The words tumbled out of my face rapidly, like a cascade of water over rocks. “My Dad would read your stories to me every night. And now you’re here. This is a dream. I must be dreaming.” 

C.S. gave a little bow, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Oh, I know. Happy to be of service. Please call me C.S.-- it sounds a bit nicer than Clive Staples, don’t you think?”

I nodded, my body felt too airy to fully speak all of the words I was thinking. After a moment’s pause, C.S. gestured to the building ahead of us, “Now, shall we continue? I’d rather get out of this rain before going forward.” 

I heard the screams first before we had toed the lines over the threshold. Loud, guttural screams rang in my? ears and made my heart stop beating for a moment. “What is that?” My voice was warbling. I hadn’t heard that much raw emotion in a single cry for months. 

“The damned, the poor devils.” C.S. shook his head. 

It was then I took notice of the building in front of us. It could barely be qualified as a shed. There were profanities graffitied all over the side of the building, looking as if it was dripping and blurring in the rain that beat against it. Shingle pieces fell off the roof, rust corroded away most of the metal pipes. We approached the door that looked slightly off-center in the proportions of the building and had words etched into its wooden panels. Or it did at one point, they had been clawed through multiple times so that it took more effort to try and follow what it had once read: 

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here. 

“This looks like a haunted house. Or a mob front.” I chuckled awkwardly, partially to my guide and partially to myself, as a way to cope with the awkward feelings in my throat. The wet grass did not mix well with the strong odors of paint that always gave me a migraine. Perhaps I have been duped. And I let myself be duped. But then how would he know about the Tolkien Trip-? My thoughts were cut off by the doorknob shrieking, the noise grating against my poor ears. 

He entered, and my feet followed, though my spirit was unwilling. The shed was surprisingly spartan on the inside. Chairs lined the wall and went down the middle. Heat blasted against my face, burned my skin, and my clothes instantly felt dry. 

My guide went up to speak with the front desk, and bade me to follow him. “Stay close, no good getting separated here.” 

I scowled, my rage rising to the roof of my mouth with its iron taste. I just wanted to write my paper and maybe scroll through social media for a while; I didn’t want to go on an entire spiritual journey. I don’t have time to go on a spiritual journey. I have to write my final paper and check my messages. 

I didn’t hear what C.S. told the front desk, where a half-bull, half-man creature sat flicking a whip at one of the souls in front of him, marking him with a certain number of lashes. One. Two. Three.  My skin jumped with every crack. I turned my face to bury it in my guide’s shoulder. C.S. grabbed my hand and squeezed as Minos grumbled something about ‘upper management interference’ and flicked his whip in the direction of the wall. It opened to reveal another room. “That would be the second circle of hell. Come with me, please.” C.S. started pulling me closer to the door. 

The heat grew more intense, and I squinted to avoid it blowing into my eyes too much. The smell of smoke and burning brown muck overpowered my nostrils. Something squished audibly underneath my shoes, and I recoiled at the sound. Ahead of me, I saw many creatures furiously smashing away on keyboards attached to these boxy computer monitors from the 90s. Most of them were round and bulbous. Their chins bled into their necks, and the fat dangled from their arm-like appendages and stomachs. Horns emerged from the top of their head and curled around to pierce them at the temple. 

“What are they?” I shuddered, all the input overloading my senses until I wanted to scream. 

“It would be better to ask what they once were,” C.S. said as he took my hand and patted it comfortingly. 

Instinctively I knew that they, like me, had been human once. “This isn’t what I thought hell would be like.” I mean, it was and it wasn’t. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but when I read Dante’s version, I had imagined much worse.

“Times change. God’s divine justice doesn’t change, but sinners do; the way they need to be punished will vary differently.” C.S. said very matter-of-factly. 

Suddenly, a ding rang throughout the room and the goblin-esque figures began to cry out with one voice, a shriek of eternal wrath and pain cuts appeared across their skin. I jumped and hid behind my guide. “What’s going on?” 

“Ah, a new message.” C.S. patted my head thoughtfully. “Don’t worry, they’re too absorbed in their own worlds to hurt you.” 

“What’s going on?” I repeated. 

“These souls have committed sins using technology for evil intentions. Cyberbullying, harassing, wrath, lust, and envy.” 

“And their punishment is to continue what they did in life?” I edged out from behind C.S.’, taking another hard look. 

“They prioritized screen time over God, so God allowed them to reap the consequences of that choice. Come, I promise, they’re too caught up in their screens to notice anyone around them, and we have more things to see before we’re done.” C.S. grabbed my hand, and I followed him, cringing at the squishing noises underneath my feet made by this ooze. Looking over their shoulders, I saw sausage-like fingers furiously typing at janky keyboards, long paragraphs filled with profanities, uncharitable arguments, and negative emojis. Whoever they were messaging seemed only to goad them on further into their hell, as none of the souls even turned to give me a momentary glance. 

“There’s no rest for the internet troll, thus they do not deserve any in the afterlife.” 

At least I’m not like them. I felt a mix of pity mixed with disgust at the damned souls that were grumbling and typing away at either side of me. There was one up ahead who had a very coppery orange tan that made his hair look even more bleached. Is that… Donald Trump? I didn’t know he had died. I had the temptation to poke him on the shoulder, to grab his attention, to ask their name, and to strike up a conversation. The oozing pus dripping down their back and their broken, hunched posture made my mouth feel dry. I started reaching out anyway before C.S. Lewis smacked my hand. “It’s not recommended. There will be others who will be more gracious in terms of talking to you.” 

I followed him, feeling meek as a rebuked child. We entered a new room that was completely barren, minus the souls existing there. Some of them were tearing at their hair and shrieking like banshees. Others were lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, half immersed in this squished mixture.

“What is happening here?” 

“Those who were addicted to their phone and neglected their growth as a person now have to live without it.” I took in a deep breath and exhaled, thinking of how my screen time on my phone had steadily increased over the past decade. A deep sense of guilt and shame struck into my very core, my former prideful thoughts coming to mock me. I am exactly like them. 

“What are you doing here?�� A voice came from below me. “You’re not like them.” 

“I’m-” It seemed imprudent to give my actual name as I looked down at a damned soul lying face upward in the gloppy muck. “-a pilgrim.” I finished. “This is my guide.” 

The soul scowled. “They’re just letting anyone in here now, aren’t they, walk around as if they own the place. This is not very swag of them.”

“I have my orders from heaven, if that does not satisfy you, take it up with management, not with us,” C.S. ordered in a very firm tone. “What’s your name?” 

“I am James Charles. I am here because I spent every moment of my conscious life behind a screen, whether it was a TV, a smartphone, or a computer. I was a content creator for YouTube and TikTok.”

“It seems absurd.” I cried out. “To punish someone for being dependent on technology as we are. Our work uses screens, our recreational time uses screens, it doesn’t make sense to punish people for using tools.” 

“Not their usage, but their abuse.” C.S. corrected me. “Charles, how much screen time did you get again.” 

“My screen time was over 22 hours a day. I took little sleep or food except what was needed to keep me going back”

“That doesn’t sound like a sin-” I cut in, still stubborn, my personal shame rising ever higher while feeling my gut sink lower. 

“I used the internet to get to other people.” James continued. “I manipulated others into believing that I was correct and a god while behind the camera while using the internet to… hurt others. Particularly the children.” His face beamed with unrepentance. “They were so deliciously young-” Disgust choked me and I turned back to hide and swallow the rising bile in my throat. I had seen the news articles, about how the internet had turned on this man when the scandals had erupted. His consequential suicide had been in the news for about a week, with more and more details of victims' stories emerging to only add to the horror. 

I’m not like him. I’m better than- I stopped myself in my tracks. No. He’s a human who made bad choices with technology. I am also making bad choices with tech-

I clutched C.S.’s arm. “Please. I’ve learned my lesson - take me home, I’ll do better, I swear.” 

“You have not seen all that is to come,” was the not-comforting reply. “But come with me, and we shall embark on this journey together. And have hope, there are still good things left to see.” 

The end. For now. (Maybe might update with further circles cuz I have other ideas but that's all I "need" for the assignment.

#Dante's Inferno #writeblr #Fanfiction #The Divine Comedy #tw: mentions of abuse and some violence in the background #writers on tumblr #this is my first time writing Not Fluff really in a hot minute #Also important context: my school hypothetically has a mafia nearby #hence the mentions of campus and mafia. It's a rumor among residents. #The Inferno #dante alighieri #brb-writes #brb-life #these tags are very unorganized my apologise