(I am so very proud of this story. I wrote this one for an English assignment in my senior year of high school. We were reading and doing lessons on Dante's Inferno. I decided to write my very own redressing of the original. It contains one of my favourite characters from my writing, as well as myself, not to mention some of my twisted sense of humour. For those who went to Moon, you may just get a laugh out of the devil, and the devils attendants. I have not modified this story from it's original nearly 17 years ago, excepting where there was obvious errors.)
I awoke, as usual, to my mother smacking me in the head.
I, also as usual, hauled myself off to the bathroom.
Oh rot, came my scrambled thought, another sickly pathetic day.
If I had known what was in store, I'd have stayed in bed.
As expected I was doing a mad dash to finish getting ready.
I fired a comb through my hair and launched myself for the doorway.
And never knew what took my senses.
My senses were swimming, but I somehow managed to regain them. I groaned loudly and tried to stand.
That's when something foul and putrid splashed on me.
The smell was nasty. L tried to locate a pool. Nearby, I spied a pond and quickly jumped in.
I wasn't in the pond more than 3 seconds when something grabbed my ankle.
I struggled desperately to free myself. Yet I knew it wasn't going to work.
Without notice, whatever had a hold of me, let go. A hand reached out and pulled me on land.
"Thanks," I huffed.
"No bother," the man said evenly.
"Uh, where am I?"
"Well," the stranger said slowly, "we've both crossed into an alternate time and dimension, "at this he paused, "a.k.a. Hell."
I just stared, totally lost.
"My name, "my companion said, " is Doctour, Time Tracer."
"John W. Lasanich, "I said solemnly.
After the intros we hiked off.
Land of Slime
Our first stop was green and slimey. I gazed about at all the green slimed people. I decided that they had been envious.
"People green with envy right?"
Yes,"came Doctour's reply. He stopped by one sinner. A nasty smile crept across his face.
I glanced around and spotted J. Edgar Hoover. I noted, in utter surprise, that he was secreting the slime.
I felt nauseous and said hurriedly, "I think we should go."
Doctour turned, also appearing pale and nodded.
"This is, " came Lee Harvey Oswald's rough cadence, "The Hellhole Country Club. The worst 36 in the universe."
I watched a procession of gluttons stream by the club house. Each was being assaulted by all the food they'd consumed.
I and Doctour headed across the 'reds'. We saw caddies get shredded and golfers chased by gophers.
We both were forced to hurry as Arnold Palmer appeared. He chased us down for a bit.
In our journey across the course we saw:
Landmine hazards and a war zone hazard.
Vortexes that swallow anything without notice.
Man and golf ball eating monsters.
And the coup de grasis, to reach the 36th hole, one must clear a series of nuclear detonations.
Upon witnessing this, Doctour said in awe, "I know where the next Time Tracer's convention is going to be held."
Land of Infidels
"I think that we're going, "I said nervously, "to get a surprise."
Within seconds a large mass of fools headed by Bill Clinton approached. Each was talking about some absurd ideas.
Doctour was groaning. "The worst president you've had so far."
I really didn't hear him. I was far to preoccupied with my thoughts.
"Wait, " I said suddenly, "Clinton's not de-"
If it wasn't for Doctour's quick intervention, I'd have been smashed. An avalanche of rock, bodies, foam, etc rained down on the group.
Land of Darkness
"I can't bloody see!"
"Calm down, "said Doctour calmly, "I've got a lantern."
True to his word he lit off the light. It threw a circle of light.
"I wonder where this is?"
I had no answer for his question. Originally, I was pondering why I saw a non dead person. Yet a feeling of vague terror assaulted me.
As I tried to pin down the source a shot of light flashed by.
"What was that?" came an astonished shout from Doctour.
I made a slow turn, gazing hard into the darkness. Upon completing the turn I said, "Haven't you noticed the complete absence of sound?"
His lack of silence (nervous chattering) was all the confirmation I needed.
"Stand back to back!" I barked.
I felt him comply. We waited, the silence around us oppressive.
In an almost blinding flash, hundreds of forms appeared.
"Oh by the seven suns!"
At least my companion Doctour could speak. I watched in grim fascination as Jack Ruby was systematically skinned and disemboweled. (Red pen comment: Yuk!)
The arm that hauled me away belonged to Doctour. He said tonelessly, "At least I know that Jack the Ripper was taken care of."
"You know, "came the once again steady voice, "you and I were brought here for a reason. But for all my lives, I can't seem to figure out why."
"Maybe this isn't Hell."
"It has to be lad, "came Doctour's response. "Why wouldn't we be?
"I saw Bill Clinton down here, "came the the reply from me.
"What's that supposed - Wait!" Realization hit the Doctour right in the face.
"Of course, "he yelled." Do you know what this means lad?"
I had an idea. So:
"Right! It means we create Hell in our own image!" Doctour tossed his head back and laughed. "I figured it out, Dark Lord!"
"You're only half done. You've got to find me."
The disembodied voice made me jump. Off to my left, Doctour sobered up. He said wearily, "Blast him. He's right. I know how to get out of my Hell. But, whose Hell is this?"
The Doctour savagely kicked a stone. His frustration was clear.
None of that mattered. I was remembering something Sherlock Holmes had said. Something about solutions and the impossible.
Minus warning, the entire scene changed. My words cut through to the Doctour:
"I know how we get there."
Centre of Hell
"Into the Jaws of Death."
"Plus all the other good English, "I said.
We then lapsed into silence. In the distance we heard a rumble. We ran towards it.
Then we realized that running was getting us nowhere. Both of us skidded to a stop.
"This is almost too much, "the Doctour huffed.
"Perhaps if we, "I said, " think our way there it'll work."
No sooner than said, a ghastly sight appeared before us. The Master of Evil actually was a Mistress.
An involuntary groan caused Doctour to ask, "What's wrong?"
I just stared at Mrs. Canan, buried to the waist in response books. (Red pen comment: Oh, thanks a lot!)
"More suffers from the Overworld."
Flying response books came at us. Doing some crazy dance maneuvers, Doctour got close to the Devil(Canan) and was about to ascend the pile. Before he got anywhere, Dave Hays and Chuck Rupert yanked him off.
As they tried to pummel the Doctour, I ran and skitterd up the pile. I hit the Mistress of Evil square in the face. No effect on it and for my pains I was tossed. I landed hard, taking out Dave Hays. My loss of sensibility (And concurrent taking out of Dave Hays.) caused Chuck Rupert to be distracted. Doctour rearranged his jaw with a roundhouse.
The as he turned to start climbing, everything dissolved. I had a sensation of falling.
Then sat up.
I was totally puzzled and completely lost. I realized that I was back in the bathroom. I smiled gamely at the whole thing.
Stupid imagination, I chastised myself. That's when I felt an object in my hand. A simple medallion, with an inscription, was in my hand. It read:
Time Tracer Elite, by order of President Time Tracer, Ralph Mordor.
I smiled again. An interesting paradox, but true.
I arose from the floor and finished getting ready.