The Dana Comedy

 

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Prologue

I did myself in with painkillers. Life had already been unbearable, I didn't want my dying to be hard as well. It's the way most people think is the best to go; I figured they were right. And they were, but not many could anticipate what happens after you think you've ended your pain. 

A lot think that your suffering ends when you die. "Suffering" may not be the best way to describe it, but your hardships certainly aren't over. Another group thinks you'll go straight to an eternity of suffering, especially when your life ends in the way mine did. That's not true either, but it's no walk in the park.

I never cared much for anything, just living life passively, not really going anywhere. I wasn't lazy, but I wasn't fit either. I was just... average. A Plain Jane, if you will. I had friends and family, people I cared for, but I didn't even think about how they would go on without me. By now, it doesn't really matter, but I wonder who it was that found me lying in a puddle of vomit. That's the thing; death was always messy. "But Dana, what about those who die in their sleep!" you're saying right now. And I say back, what blood vessel in their body made a mess in there when it popped?

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Canto The First: A Gateway Foulest

 Coming through the tunnel, which is so often described in fiction and apparently true, I found myself at a gateway. And you will probably understand exactly where I was when I tell you the inscription overhead wrote, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

Being the uneducated teenager I was, it might be surprising to you that I also knew that was the inscription over the gates of hell. I didn't remember where I got that from, but I assure you I knew this when I saw it.

It was large and foreboding, giving me a sense of insignificance in how small was I compared to it. The darkness inside certainly didn't help. I looked around to see any other options; after all, when faced with a gate directly into the abyss, what's one to do other than avoid it at all possible?

Unfortunately for me, there was no possible way to turn back. It's hard to describe in earthly terms, just like the appearance of an angel in the Bible, but I simply could not choose some other path. My hand was forced into allowing a construct of my worst nightmares to swallow me up.

It was dark only for a moment, something I gave thanks to God for. I felt myself passing a barrier, and could not turn back, nor did I want to, as a fear of what the gateway might have become behind me washed me over. Ignoring my dread for the past, I followed the path set out in front of me.

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Canto The Second: The Introduction of the Virgil

 They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. It's not. It's paved with the bodies of those who refused to change, those whose stubbornness resulted in ignorance and refusal to care about anything outside of their little bubble. You kind of just... step on their bodies as you descend down into this deep chasm that seems like something an Italian poet from the 1300s would write about.

Not too far coming down the pathway, someone walked up beside me, and I turned to my right to view him. A man who looked  as old as Hell itself was walking by my side, and when he met my eyes he spoke in a poetic fashion.

"The name, as you know not, is Warren Buffet;

My cross to bear of great and immense wealth;

But with my wealth I did not keep myself;

I let myself a life most humbling.

And God hath, through reverence, allowed me here;

To guide through Hell those not the most sincere;

But those whose lives did not contain most fault."

I asked him of the purpose to my visit through this place, and why I had been placed here. He responded:

"Though in your life you did not commit great sin;

God believes that through this trip you'll find;

A lesson valuable not often found by men."

He motioned for me to follow him down the path, where the moans of those whose backs we walked on echoed throughout the chamber. I followed with caution; having never heard of this man despite his apparent prominence making me wary. Unlike I, who still wore the clothes in which I committed suicide, he wore a fine suit, dazzling and inhuman, something I could, again, not describe in words you could understand. Needless to say, my impression was something of awe, despite his previous nonexistence in my knowledge. I walked with him into the darkness.

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Canto the Third: Among Those Making the Path

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Canto the Fourth: The Ferry Driver

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