One day in Hell, 4th circle. The unbaptized and virtuous Pagan’s.
Jura walking through the green fields of Limbo, the faint sighs of those denied the grace of god like a constant depressing breeze marred by the occasional clank of chains and a tremulous rendering of “Shall we gather at the river”, that dogged his steps.
“Yo Jura!”
“Oh, hi Virgil, how’s it hanging?”
Virgil “The gates of hell are open night and day, smooth the descent and easy is the way.
But, to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this, the task and mighty labour lies.”
Jura “Yeah, no shit. Have you seen Einstein; I’ve got his dice.”
Virgil “Nah mate, saw a relative back aways I think. Where on earth is that dreadful song coming from?”
Jura turns to look back across the plain, coming out of the heat haze a stumbling figure, a wavering voice “the beautiful, the beautiful Riiiver.”
“That’s D1, I convinced him the hair shirt wasn’t penance enough for not saving my soul, the chains slow him down enough I get a bit of peace if I get a march on.”
Virgil, “Ah well I won’t keep you then, he’s a strange one that. Do you think he’ll ever go upstairs?”
Jura, “Stranger things have happened, Sisyphus joined the rolling Stones last week, so there’s hope.
Didn’t someone once say, “Every man makes a god of his own desire.”?”
Virgil chuckled, “Yeah, some twat.”
Jura waves and breaks into a trot.