Short story 1: Inferno (part 2)

We left our intrepid hero, Jake Patterson, wandering the third circle of Hell. Let's see what happens next!

I strolled onwards to the main square, unsure of what to do. Other than the fountain that was spouting blood, ostensibly to piss off the hemophobia-inflicted. Though on the other hand, I thought, it might as well have been placed just off-center to annoy anyone with OCD walking by. Or both. The short talk I had with the Devil himself gave me the impression that he enjoyed the smaller things in life. These kinds of things that were just off would fit right in. Just like Dave. ''Dave, that fucking asshole'' I caught myself thinking. Being a call center employee was bad enough, with the clients shitting down your ear just about the entire day. But then there was Dave. 

To top off the shit-cake that was my work, Dave made sure you did not enjoy the little respite you could find. If you were one second overdue on your lunch break, Dave knew. The fucker probably got off on that shit. I'm sure he beat himself off to it in the bathr.... I laughed. Here I was, down in Hell, having arrived here not in the most pleasant of fashions and I still caught myself getting worked up over my job. The laugh winded down into a smile and then a smirk. While the blood slowly kept flowing, I was actually happy for once. Asides my terrible marriage, I could now cross my terrible job of the list of things that I failed at. I took another look around and saw there wasn't an awful lot to do, besides the earlier described establishments. Walking towards the fountain, I noticed a few other places the Devil seems to have missed. including a path that lay a good fifty meters beyond the fountain. A path of gold bricks no less. Not feeling like meeting what must be a truly fucked-up version of the Wizard of Oz, I instead swerved to his left, almost tripped over a loose brick, caught myself, but twisted my ankle in the process. That answered one question; apparently, one can get hurt in Hell. Which immediately begged the next question; what happens when you hurt yourself so much that you die?  Can you die? I let out a sigh and considered that I was not willing to ponder the consequences of a double death conundrum, thus I marched on towards a place called ''The Hole in the Wall'', which was, quite literally, a hole in the wall. Once inside, it was dingier than one could possibly imagine. 

The floor was covered in a wall to wall red carpet with smudges and spots of questionable origin on it everywhere. Central in the main area was a row of dancing poles, and each of them was lovingly attended to by what should to all intents and purpose be an exotic dancer. My initial joy was quickly cut short like a laughing baby being gagged with a pillow when I realized every single one them was, by modest estimates, a good 175 kilo. And that was not even the best thing. Dab smack in the middle was a table that once must have been a felt green, right between two raised platforms both filled with a quarter tonne of stripper goodness. At this table were sitting the most unlikely gathering of historical figures. Adolf Hitler just called Mark Twain, upon which, before his turn was up, Ghengis Khan went all-in with a boisterous shout. The others there were Christopher Hitchens, Christopher Columbus, Ernest Hemingway. I was initially reluctant of joining the poker game, afraid of ruining the apparent alliteration of the aforementioned ensemble. This feeling was coupled with a sheer fright of so much historical gravitas. My doubt was obviously noticed by Khan however, who heartily welcomed me to the table. ''STRANGER! JOIN US! DRINK! WASTE YOUR GOLD! AND THEN KILL YOUR ENEMIES! OR THESE DISGUSTING DANCERS! HAHAHAHA". 

Dumbfounded by the fact that these people were here, together, playing poker of all things and I was just invited by Ghengkis Khan to kill some hookers, of which I was unsure what the punishment would be, I just stood there. It was Christopher Hitchens who eventually asked me to sit down and pose me a question.

''So how did you come about dying?'' 

''Ow, it was rather painful'' I responded. 

''Well, it usually is'', remarked Twain.

''I sjure as hell did not fheel anyzing'' remarked Hitler.

''HA! BUT YOU KILLED YOURSELF! YOU WEAKLING!'' bellowed Khan and he burst into laughter followed by a sizeable gulp of his massive pint of ale.

''Gentleman! Let the man continue, if you please'' pleaded Hitchens, while smoking profusely.

''Thank you, Mr Hitchens'' I quietly answered, quite taken aback by the obvious familiarity this group has developed. 

''Please, call me Hitch.''

''Al-, alright. Well, so I was having sex with the neighbor, and-''

''AND THEN HER MAN CAME IN AND HE DECAPITATED YOU! DYING IN BATTLE, WHAT HONOUR YOU POSSESS!''

''Well, no. What happened was that she was on top, and she was little too enthusiastic. So she came down wrong, broke my penis and I bled to death, due to internal bleeding. It wasn't pleasant. But very painful.''

The whole table stared at me in disbelief. Up until that moment, I figured that breaking my penis would be the most awkward moment in my life, at least up until then. Then I died. Now that moment is cemented in history forever, like some fucked version of a celestial Guinness Book of Records. The idiocy of this story was not lost on the group. Being gawked and stared at by the likes of Adolf Hitler and Ghengis Khan was not something that happens every day, but everyone knows that palpable feeling in the air. That specific moment you just want to sink into the ground. Being in Hell, I briefly wondered where exactly I would end up, were that to happen.

Then they burst out into laughter. Like table and thigh smashing, throwing head back, tear-inducing laughter. It was that bad. 

Hitler was the first one to catch his breath again.

''Do not wurry, mein friend. I am zhe most detested purson in zhe history of zhe world. You cannot pozibly feel zhat bad. Sitz down und we deal you in, ja?''

It took a second for it to dawn in, but Hitler dealt me Ace King on the first round and I figured that Hell couldn't be all bad.