Dan Eats Cat Food’s Inferno: Circle Seven: The Pervert

Posted: May 27, 2010 by kaostheory in Inferno
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My eyes began to focus slowly as I was gently helped to my feet. Astley was there, looking a little annoyed at me. Without a word, I shrugged. With a sigh, he explained what happened. Evidently, when I had become overcome by noxious fumes, as would any living soul, Astley had actually carried me over his shoulder down the monstrous slope from the Sixth Circle to the Seventh before – in his words – throwing my irritatingly weak body to the ground.

“Are you able to journey further, friend?”

“Yes…yes. I just…the fumes were so…strong. I could not maintain my senses.”

“Of course. Gas does tend to do harm to those with weak constitutions. I am glad I was there to keep you safe. Let us continue. The entrance to the Seventh Circle is just ahead.”

And indeed it was. Unfortunately, our progress was somewhat hampered by the presence of the massive beast standing in front of the gateway to the circle. The creature stood quite tall and hideous brays erupted from its mouth, teeth large, blunted and wide. Large horns tore holes through the dirty blonde mane of the creature and, worst of all, its entire upper half was covered in the same dirty fur. The lower body, however, was that of a man, feet filthy and bruised, genitalia swinging free like a pendulum.

“This…what is this?”

“Pay it no heed, Kaos. The Buseytaur serves no actual purpose here other than to welcome us to this Seventh Circle. You may walk by it unmolested. Or rather, unharmed.”

“I am not sure I like that change of phrasing.”

“Just walk quickly and ignore anything you might feel.”

We sped by and I cannot say with any certainty to this day that I did not feel a breeze pass by my backside. However, we were past the monster and through the gates of the Seventh Circle. I was surprised to note that once we passed through this particular gate, there was not the characteristic blast of loud, horrific noise nor that of flashing, gaudy lights. Instead, there was only another smaller wrought-iron set of doors with a large “1” emblazoned upon it.

“What is this, poet? I was expecting an influx of confusion and pain. Not…a simple door.”

“Peace, friend. These doors merely act as walls between the three rings of this circle. Each group has its separate sins and must be punished accordingly, unable to interact with other groups. Through this door is the first of the three.”

“And who dwells in these three rings?”

“The first group is made of those who find sexual pleasure in violence against other people, consensual or not. The second are those who find it in violence against themselves. The final group is made of those perverts who achieve stimulation through violence against nature itself. By these crimes, they are judged.”

“And we must enter?”

“We must.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

As we passed through the door, a curious bleach-like smell struck my nostrils. Looking around, I was horrified at what befell my eyes. A long winding river twisted and turned through the entirety of the ring, yet none but Censors – large, hooved creatures wearing crisp white shirts and black ties – stood upon the shores. The damned souls of this ring were instead immersed in this river to varying depths. Those that attempted to leave the river – I cannot call what they sat in water as it was more akin to the color and texture of male emissions – were struck down by what appeared to be arrows by the Censors on command of their leader, Clintahn.

“Their punishment?”

“These are the beings that prowled the Internet for much of the worst pornography. They not only delighted but demanded violent sex. Choking women was a favorite. As was their gagging due to deep, forceful face-intercourse. As was faked – or not so faked – rape scenarios. Ultimately, consent did not take as a concern. The sex was not their end-goal. That was the debasement and humiliation of anyone else. The sexual aspect was just – in their terms – a form of gravy. They will remain in this river of seed – the River Phlegizzthon – drowning in sticky at a level equal to their sins forever. This way. Our ferry awaits.”

Just up ahead, a Censor waited for us. Astley informed me his name was Naysus and he would lead us to the second ring. Carefully, I entered the ferry and within a few minutes, he had moved us down the river and across a ford that had been set up further down the course of the flow. Right beside the ford was the entrance to the second ring, which I walked through quite quickly, as the concept of what was occurring in this first ring struck me fully and nauseated me. Through the door, though, was an entirely different sight.

We emerged into a great forest, the branches high and choking out the sun. As we walked, the forest was deathly still. No sign of life anywhere could be heard or seen. Nothing but tree after tree surrounded us.

“I see no souls here, poet.”

“Look closely. They do not dwell in the forest.”

“…they are the forest.”

“Yes. These that have become the trees have given away their bodies through self-harm. Many ways did this take place. Take this first tree. This used to be a famous actor, David Carradine. Beloved for his portrayal of the Tarantino villain Bill. However, through the Internet, he was taught the ways of auto-erotic asphyxiation – choking oneself to achieve a more powerful orgasm. Unfortunately, his life left his body when he failed to adhere to warnings provided.”

“How horrible.”

“Truly you are correct. Look ahead. The forest is ending. There is a clearing.”

“But the clearing is not empty.”

“You are correct. Do you see those shades running back and forth, being chased?”

“Why yes. They look…they look as if they have mental problems.”

“Correct once again. They are those that populated the Internet and dedicated their presence to glorifying the travesty known as Twilight. Their cries and insistence on being noticed crippled dozens – if not hundreds – of Internet forums. Their fly-by-night grammar and bombastic refusal to accept any form of criticism for either themselves or their demigod created tears in the structural integrity of not only the Net, but the universe itself. For their transgressions, they are damned to be chased forever by werewolves – that which they despised – as they burn in sunlight as true vampires – their heroes – should. Let us pass them quickly as they deserve none of our attention.”

“But their howls?”

“Not pain. The first shrieks and cracks of puberty. Forward, friend.”

Soon enough, another door appeared before us and, afraid of being consumed by the rabid fanatics behind us – growing steadily in terror and number, we moved through it into a new plain, this one a vast landscape of fiery sand and desert, flames falling from the sky in flakes. Groups walked around, crying and weeping while others sat on the sand, moping and looking morose.

“The violent against nature?”

“Yes, friend. Those who sit on the sand took advantage of the least of us on earth – the animals – using the Internet to arrange such encounters and even to open websites and forums dedicated to such a foul activity. The worst of them even videotaped their perversion and posted the results online. These beastialists must now sit on the sand, their genitalia buried and roasting, unable to move or obtain an erection for even brief relief.”

“And those that wander aimlessly?”

“They are those who searched high and low on the Internet for some way to relieve their lust for sodomy.”

“But videos with that particular fetish stretch across the entirety of the Net! Many normal humans wish to engage in that activity. Look! There on the horizon. There is Pred3000! And there is Raybestos! Are they damned as well?”

“They necessarily must be. They have committed – or wished to commit – violence against nature. With active sex lives, they surely could have become contented with simple normal intercourse in various positions. They unfortunately became too greedy and now must wander the sands aimlessly, as their emissions wandered unfamiliar territory within their partners.”

“Let us leave this place, poet, for I am aggrieved at seeing those close to me in this Hell.”

“Hell is not pretty, my fellow traveller. It is a place of the damned. But yes, we shall leave. Our journey is not yet completed.”

The door out of the Seventh Circle came upon us quickly and we went through it just as quickly, though I must admit I looked back one last time upon the wandering forms of my friends and fellow writers. My heart broke but I knew I needed to continue. I would not forget what their presence did to me, readers. I never shall.

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