Circle Nine

I boarded the 720 Train bound for Wichita at 6:45 a.m. This was a trip I didn't want to take but I needed the money. I'm middle aged, and weary of work. I took a seat, put my head back, and waited. I hate to wait.

The thick fog was not expected to lift until late that afternoon. The forecast called for increasing cold throughout the day. I waved goodbye to my girlfriend and watched her drive into the fog. What a load off my back.

I must have dozed off, for I was awakened by the train moving. I looked around, trying to orient myself to my surroundings. Immediately, I noticed that the car I was in was totally empty. I walked to the back of the car and looked through the window of the doors that connect the cars. The car behind me was also empty. I then walked to the car in front, and that one was empty too.

"Curious," I thought.

A few minutes later, an old man walked up to me from the car in front. He walked slow and deliberately. At first, I thought he was the conductor. The man wore a black overcoat and a black felt hat, the kind that preachers wore some time ago. He nodded, walking up to me.

"I guess it's just the two of us," he said, looking around.

"Maybe it's not a good day to travel."

"Oh, why?"

"The fog, I mean. It's heavy. Weather forecasters say it's going to last for the entire day. I rather be home on my couch."

"The fog shouldn't bother us. These are things of the world; they come and go with little ado. Besides, none of us can predict anything."

'I guess so," I said.

The man stood looking out the window, and said, "Well, fog or no fog, we are moving. You mind if I sit here?"

"Go ahead. It's not my train."

The man sat in the seat ahead of me, to my left.

"Have you seen the conductor?" I asked.

"No. On such an empty train they probably won't bother to make the rounds."

"Did you see any people in the car that you came from?" I asked him.

"There's no one. I did not see anyone at the station, either."

"That's weird."

"Weird? I wouldn't say weird. We're all going to different places, if you know what I mean."

I didn't know what he meant, and didn't bother to ask. I wasn't ready to engage in some moral play. The old man began talking about the trip and what we could expect. I was bored, so I dozed off. When I awoke, I noticed that the fog was lighter. I looked around but couldn't' easily make out the landscape. Instead, I saw some strange animals that I couldn't decipher. I attributed this to the darkness that engulfed the train.

"The fog is ending," I said to the man, who was standing looking out the window.

"Yes, it has lifted somewhat. Like I said before, we shouldn't take worldly things like the weather too seriously," he answered, still looking out the window.

"Where are we?" I asked, ignoring his comment. "Are we even moving?"

"No, we are not moving."

"What happened," I asked. "What's the delay?"

"There's no delay. This is it. We've arrived."

"Arrived? Where? This isn't Wichita."

"No, no. Not Wichita. Come, let us depart. The train will not move again."

"What the hell is going on? We need to find a conductor," I said, getting angry.

"There is no conductor. Come, let's go outside."

We walked outside. I stepped onto what at first looked like a concrete platform. The place was teeming with people hazily moving about, some aimlessly. Everybody looked nervous. I turned to the old man and asked, "What station is this, man?"

"This is an exchange point, a place where everyone finds out where they need to go from here."

"All right. Which way to Wichita?"

"Follow me," the old man said, starting to walk down a steep flight of stairs.

Looking down, I could see many people. Down there everyone walked slowly, with their head down. They appeared to be sedated; I thought they were zombies, blindly bumping into each other. Once we got to the bottom of the stairs, I was amazed at how many people were down there. No one spoke and no one looked at another. No one noticed the old man and me. A small sign on a wall read: Hope No Longer. The place was cold and dark, and I could make out a terrible smell and many people moaning.

"This place stinks. Man, what kind of strange station is this?" I asked.

"This is an anti-room, you can say," the old man answered sardonically.

"Well, old man, this is where we part company. I need to get to Wichita."

The old man smiled at me, and said, "You will not get to Wichita from here. I think it is best if you follow me. You don't want to get lost in this place."

"Fine. Just get me out of here. I can't take this putrid smell much longer."

The old man let out a loud laugh but no one looked in our direction. "I'm afraid the smell is only about to get worse," he told me.

We continued walking.

"Where are we going to?" I asked.

"One more set of stairs. It will not be much longer."

"Man, what's wrong with these crazy people? Why are they moaning? This looks more like a mental hospital than a train station. These people look sick. I've never seen a place like this."

"Many people never have but eventually they come around to it."

"What is this station? What town are we in?" I asked, trying to evade people from bumping into me.

"This is Inferno."

"Inferno? What kind of town is named Inferno?"

"Town? No, not a town. We are in Gehenna, Hades, the abyss," the old man said, pushing off an emaciated, moaning young man who was clinging to him.

"I don't understand anything you've just said."

"Hell, then. We are at the entrance to hell. You surely understand that, don't you?"

I began to laugh and told the old man I was not in the mood for games.

At the end of the platform, the old man paused and explained to me that we were in hell, and that he was a guardian of mine. He said he'd been with me all of my life. He said I made his work very difficult. I told him he was crazy. I tried to leave him, but everywhere I turned, he remained next to me. Every turn I took, I only ended up in the same spot where I was a few minutes earlier. After a while of walking around this maze, I just gave up and began to think of myself as being in a bad dream. I never did want to take this damn trip.

"We are now coming to a steeper set of stairs. Hold on to the railing and you will be fine."

I saw people walking in front and behind me but no one walking up the stairs.

"How come no one is coming up?" I asked.

"This is a one way trip. Here everyone naturally settles down to a place where their thoughts, sentiments, and actions deliver them. Just think of birds in an aviary, they get together with their own kind. It is the same here. This is the most un-policed place you will ever see. There is no longer a need for it."

A hoarse voice came over a loud speaker: "Those who have been processed go to the left corridor. The non-initiated to the right."

Paying close attention to the message, I asked the old man, "What's that all about?"

"The processed are those who have been here for a while now. They have been initiated into full-fledged evil. The non-initiated are the recently dead; they need some time to realize that they are dead, and that they must now pay the piper. This is always a great spectacle to witness. They scream, shout, and writhe on the ground like toddlers having a tantrum. They damned themselves in life, and now realize they have run out of options."

At the bottom of the stairs, I could see things being blown around by a violent wind.

"Hold on," the old man said, "there is a perpetual raging storm here."

The wind was relentless. Objects flew around, crashing into each other with a tremendous clang. I saw some people being slammed into the walls. I shouted at the old man, "When does the wind die down?"

"Never," he shouted back shaking his head, "this is a symbol of sensuality gone wrong. Lamentably, man cannot grasp the beauty of being, of life; he merely exploits the senses. Look around you. See the distorted faces, their bodies twisted beyond recognition. These are wretched, lost souls. Lust consumes the body, but not as much as it does the soul. The bodily torture that you see here is ten times-fold in the soul."

"What happens next?" I asked holding on to a very cold, corrugated metal pillar. "Why are you bringing me here?"

"This is it, the end result of abusing the senses. It is a grave mistake to think that the flesh is all there is to man. On the contrary, the flesh is but the most elementary level of the spirit."

I stood watching the contorted bodies aimlessly crashing into each other. Some people grabbed others as if begging for help but they were all repulsed by each other. None dared look at the old man and me. After several minutes of watching, the old man motioned me to try to walk to the far end of a rocky tunnel. Once there, the wind intensified. I was able to walk through it by clenching the porous rock with my fingers. I looked back and saw that no one followed us out of that horrible place. At the end of the tunnel, I noticed that my hands were bloody from holding on to the sharp rocks.

The old man stood and looked at me, "Still think you're dreaming?"

"If I am, it's more real and strange than any dream I've ever had."

"Just think of what Hamlet meant when he told Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than you can dream up in your philosophy.'"

"I don't know anything about some dude named Hamlet. What am I to make of all this? Isn't it me who is being tormented? Come on; get me out of here, old man."

"Maybe you ought to look in the mirror. We are our own greatest tormentor, don't you think? Maybe the moral road that you are traveling on is far from straight. You are a weak man, Frankie."

"Hey, how do you know my name?"

"Never mind. You have always been happy to go with the prevailing current, like a weak butterfly in the wind. You have never bothered to follow a straight path, merely that which promised to deliver you to the next easy fix of pleasure. If anything, this is an opportunity for you to reflect on your life. How lucky are those who can reflect."

"What year is this old man? Why should I be worried about fairy tales? I want out of here."

"If you insist on leaving you will be trapped in a place that perhaps is not meant for you. Knowing that you are not one of them, these souls down here will devour your flesh. Remember, while you are alive and possess the flesh of a middle aged man, what you have witnessed here is all but an optical trick, for these are not bodies that you see but souls and their spiritual state of torment."

"I will no longer fight you, old man. I'm just gonna assume I am dreaming."

"Just remember that dreamers have to wake up eventually," the old man said, now starting to walk.

"Where are you taking me now?" I asked.

"We must descent further, to another level. I will introduce you to the fate of gluttons and gourmands. Let us see what happens to hoarders of food and other bodily pleasures. What can the state of those souls be?"

The old man led and I followed him. I had no choice. I was confused. When we reached the next level, I saw deformed bodies like I couldn't imagine possible. These people were busy biting each other's flesh like dogs. The chunks of flesh were bloody but I could make out a lot of fat, like a bad steak.

"Why are they biting each other?"

"They must be hungry. The need for pleasure does strange things to people."

"Can we stop them? We must do something."

"There is nothing we can do. More importantly, if you are not careful they will eat you. Unfortunately, this is their resting place. Poor souls."

It was very cold on this level, for it was raining, and at other times, a black snow would fall hard, like a perverted blizzard. I was freezing.

"It is cold, eh?'

"Freezing," I added.

"Cold is the predominant condition of souls who are guided by demonic ambitions. Why should we be surprised how cold this place is?"

The wind blew the black snow sideways. The old man led me through the heard of rotund figures like a reckless driver maneuvers through traffic. I followed him closely.

"I get the point. Now, get me out. I don't belong here. Just look at how skinny I am." I was frightened.

"You had enough, eh? That's funny, for we're just getting started. Remember, it is the soul, as vehicle for choice-making that drives the flesh into sensual destruction."

We walked down another flight of stairs. I was very cold. A musty smell filled the next cavity into which we were descending. I had grown repulsed by that place, and the nasty, ugly people I saw. I just wanted out of there. I was as lost as I had ever been in my life.

"If you think that avarice in life is vulgar, just try to imagine the condition of these amassing souls. In the next level you will encounter human squirrels that cannot help but stash away, what in many cases, is not even theirs to keep. Look at them," the old man said, pushing me aside as a huge boulder rolled in my direction.

"Why are there boulders everywhere? That one almost crushed me."

"Stick with me and I will guide you through this."

"If not for you, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place."

"Mess? Like all men, you are merely in a predicament. You still have time to make free choices. These souls no longer have the options you have. You still have the future wide open to you. All they have is regrets."

Tired and winded people pushed boulders into each other. I tried to turn my eyes away from people being crushed by boulders but everywhere I looked, the scene was the same. I was horrified. Once crushed, some creatures with burnt skin came around and shoveled them into some kind of cart that was stacked with flattened bodies. There were carts everywhere. One cart made its way past me, one of the wheels barely missing my left foot. The creature that pushed it stood in front of me, laughing.

"Don't look at him," the old man ordered, "he's taunting you. Keep moving."

Descending further, we came to a river that smelled like sulfur. The foul smell burned my nostrils. I covered my nose.

"Awful, eh?'

"What is it? Why are there so many rotting bodies?"

"This is the river of anger. The bodies of wrathful people are being cleansed of their anger."

"Cleansed? They are being eaten away by some form of acid."

"Yes, true. I wouldn't get too close to the banks. You might fall in or be attacked."

On both sides of the river, men and women were knifing and bludgeoning each other. The river was red with blood that gurgled with the rising currents of acid.

"I can't watch this," I said.

"Wrath is a staple of living souls. Since when have men been as sensitive to violence as you proclaim?"

"I want no part of it. I only hurt people that asked for it. Get me out," I ordered him, raising my voice over the hair-raising screams of the people being massacred.

"Oh, but it is not so easy, you see. Wrath is not merely violence. It is bad enough that we think vile thoughts about others."

"Thoughts are not actions. I cannot be blamed for my thoughts."

"They are your thoughts, are they not? It is human bad will and sentiments that make us mortal demons, sometimes."

"People deserve what they got from me. Get me out!" I shouted, feeling claustrophobic. I began to pace around like a caged animal.

"How convenient. What did the fisherman say in Hemingway's story of the great fish? 'Everything kills everything else. Is that what cynicism drives us to believe?'"

"Look, old man, I know nothing about Hemingway or fishing. I'm from the city. Now, please, get me out."

"In due time. We will leave when the time is right. For the time being, we sit and watch this heinous spectacle."

The old man sat down on a rock and watched the slaughter. I could see a chuckle on his face. I knew he was trying to torture me. I started to walk away. After about ten steps, a band of bloodied men attacked me with knives and swords. I heard one tell the others to decapitate me so that I may see my own face. At that moment, the old man intervened and the men started to walk backwards, fearing the old man.

"I told you not to try to flee. These savages will take great pleasure in tearing your body apart. These are the souls of people who saw beyond good and evil, or so they thought. What a vile creature man can be when we turn our gaze away from God, don't you think?"

"We have no time for moral stories," I shouted at him, still pacing.

"Sit down, and don't trouble yourself with your silly notion about time. All we have is time. No one is keeping time here. This is eternity, my son. Think of this place as a classroom for the morally infirm."

As he finished talking, a man's head came rolling by, the blood gushing on my feet. The head had open eyes.

"What do you make of that? Is he or not glancing at you?" The old man smiled at me.

I moved backwards but as I did so, I felt a cold object touching my left shoulder. I turned around slowly, only to have the tip of a bloodstained sword touch my chin.

"Leave him!" the old man ordered, "it is not his time."

The disfigured man, who had open cuts all over his body, laughed at me and poked me with his sword on my chest. Just when he was turning around to leave, another man came from behind him and cut off his head, sending blood all over me. In my horror, I looked at the old man and saw that he was smiling.

"You intend on getting me killed," I told him.

"Don't be silly. Nobody dies before their time."

"Who is to say?" I demanded.

"Certainly not me. I'm just a lowly guardian. Take these ugly souls; they never felt joy in living. Life, they imagined, was the enemy."

"I beg you to get me out of here. Release me from this tragic world of the dead."

"Oh, but you see, It's not tragic because they are dead. That is where you go wrong. There are many souls in paradise. We mustn't forget that. You are merely sampling the destiny of those who are damned. We mustn't take the trees for the forest. I take it that you have already seen enough of this place?"

"Yes, I have. Now, please take me out of here," I pleaded.

"We can't leave just yet; damnation is something everyone should witness. I must warn you, though; things are not about to get any rosier. We are passing through, what for these souls, is the narrative of their lives. While in life they did not appreciate life's lyric quality, here they only know the suffocating breath of destruction, tragedy," the old man lectured me.

As we continued walking, the old man said we were next going to walk into the world of heretics. I had no idea what a heretic meant. As we continued to descend, it began to feel warmer. I did not expect this. At one point, I began to see what looked to be raging fires in the distance. I was now sweating and felt short of breath. On closer inspection, I realized that there was not one great fire but thousands of small fires. I turned and asked the old man why there were so many fires. He told me that in eternity space disappears, losing all quantitative appeal and is turned into a qualitative phenomenon.

The place was ablaze with burning tombs. People screamed endlessly. I got close enough to see the disfigured faces of those in agony. They stretched their arms out for me and the old man to pull them out.

"They imagine you can help them," the old man said.

"Why can't we?" I asked.

"It is not for us to say. Your moral condition is not fit to help anyone. Besides, we couldn't help them, even if we wanted to. They are living out the necessary condition of their choices. I warn you, if you touch them, you will be dragged into their world. We cannot turn against goodness and innocence without paying a colossal price."

I saw people inside what looked to me like stone coffins. Most were burned beyond recognition; their faces appeared to have been stripped away, leaving the look of bloodied muscles.

"Are we done yet?" I asked the old man. "I've seen what you wanted me to, and now I am a better person for it."

"Are you? How would you know? You haven't left yet. Remember, it's never easy for the leopard to change its spots."

"I'm a changed man. I can feel it. All I want is to find a seat on the train and rest my head. I want to find my way back home and go to sleep on my couch. As is, you know that people must be looking for me. It's your fault. I mean, I never showed up for work in Wichita."

"You told me you were weary of work. So why are you so worried now? Think of me as taking you on the adventure of your life. Many years from now you will come to see me as a savior of sorts."

"I'm not that bad a person. Is that how I appear to you? Tell me."

The old man took a pause from answering me. He scanned the crimson colored sky as if looking for something.

"It's not how you appear to me. I cannot read the state of your soul as readily as you can."

"I know you can. How else would you know anything about me? Up to now you have told me things about myself that only I know. You've done it in a way that tells me that you know what I'm thinking. It is as if our minds are one…"At that point the old man interrupted me.

"Minds? Who ever said anything about reading your mind? I'm not interested in your mind. The mind and intelligence are only tools that we use to get along in the world. I'm concerned with the state of your soul. That's what you are and remain, when your body has gone to the maggots. Have you noticed that all of the people we have encountered down here are no more than blind entities that can never hope for self-reflection? They've lived by the dictate of lesser demons, and now they are transfigured into demons themselves. That is one reason why I tell you not to touch them. No, my friend I am interested in those souls who have a capacity for moral genius."

I did not answer him. I didn't know what else to say.

"Now we must descend further. Only then will we finish our trek into the nether world of all that is rotten, beastly, and criminal but which most men are so attracted to. I must warn you, again. There are only three ways we can descend further. The next descent will test your fortitude like nothing you have ever encountered in your life. That is how I will know if you have changed."

"Ok, get to the point. How do we go down?"

"Take a good look below you."

I held on to a thorny tree, the kind they have in the desert, and positioned my body in order to see below. Immediately, I became dizzy. My heart began to speed up.

"You don't really expect us to go down there, do you?"

"I do."

"We will surely die."

"We? Not me. You mean you," the old man said, looking into the distance and smiling.

"I can't do it. I won't."

"Suit yourself. Lucky for you, there is another way."

"Yes, that must be better."

"You see that distant hill. Look closely. Keep looking over there."

As he said this, an immense bird flew toward us. From the distance, it looked like something prehistoric. I watched in amazement the high speed that it flew. The thing was huge. It settled down at the edge of the precipice where we stood. I backed off and held on to the old man's arm. The creature was not a bird at all. It had three heads and bat-like wings, a long snake tail and talons like an eagle.

"What is that thing? Get it away from us."

"That is Geryon. It will take us down to the lower depths."

"Old man, you're crazy if you think I am going to ride on that thing," I told him, without taking my eyes off the creature.

"Very well. Then I will tell you the third way to go down. You see those narrow land bridges that connect those ditches of stone – there are ten in total – we will have to cross them on foot. There is no other way."

"Are you out of your mind?" I reacted. "Those things are so narrow, I don't think I can place both my feet next to each other and stand. How do you expect me to walk on it?"

"Take your pick. We can't go back now. The eighth circle, what you see right below us, is reserved for malignant criminals who spent their lives premeditating their exploitation of other people. These people are corruptors of innocence. They have reaped tremendous pleasure from destroying innocence and man's capacity for joy. These are some of your lowest peers; these people are raw evil. Their plight is something to see, though. Now, tell me, which way will it be? I personally prefer to use the services of Geryon. He isn't as threatening as he appears." The old man smiled at me.

"You're crazy, man. You want me to get on that ugly creature? Now I know I'm dreaming."

"All right. You decide. I have all the time in the world. I will wait for your decision," the old said, walking to sit on the precipice, his legs dangling.

I held on for my life. The rough, scaly body of the creature made it harder to slide off. I sat in between two of the boney protrusions that ran from the back of the creature's neck down to its tail. The old man sat behind me. As we flew down, the creature puffed and growled. I felt the movement of the bones that anchored the wings. The air was frigid. I was terrified beyond belief. The time that I spent incarcerated in my 20s paled to the fright that I now felt. I had no religious beliefs, but wished that some power would see me through this episode of my life, or that I should awake soon from my bad dream. Finally, the creature settled down on one of the ten circles that the old man told me about.

"You've come a long way since we first met," the old man said, getting off the creature.

I threw myself on the frozen ground and began to throw up. The creature took off, creating a momentary cold draft. By this time I didn't know what to believe; I didn't know what was real or illusion. I sat and began to cry like a small child. This reminded me of the first time I went to prison. I was now more lost than I had ever been in my life.

"Walking will do you good."

"Walk… for what? To where?" I got up and went to hit the old man. I had had enough of him. When I was about to pound his head, a charred-skin demon slammed me to the ground. It didn't talk but it communicated with me nonetheless. It said that if I struck the old man, I would be devoured alive.

"Look around. What do you see?" The old man asked. "Look closely and you will see the faces of seducers and panderers. Over there, that brown muck that you see, that is human excrement. The people stuck to their necks in it are flatterers, those who called themselves writers, whose main objective was to confuse and pervert human innocence. This place is almost funny, isn't."

The old man was enjoying himself. That's why I wanted to hit him. I wanted to send him flying down the precipice. I still don't know why he brought me here. I don't belong here. I don't write anything.

"A human waste land, that's what this place is. I think you know why you are here," he said, taking me off guard as I sat looking at the filth around me.

"I knew you could read my mind. You have known all along that I wanted to throw you over the cliff."

"Of course. Your response is predictable. Few people ever take pleasure in improving themselves, especially when other people point out their moral flaws. However, much as it makes you feel good, being upset at me will not improve your lot."

"You know, you talk too much."

"On the contrary. It is you who understands very little."

We began to walk through what he called putrid fields of envy and malice. He pointed out people whom he called malignant hypocrites. The people walked bending over, with huge, lead clocks hanging from their necks. Then he pointed to a figure that was screaming. The man was crucified on the ground. He was in excruciating pain. Hordes of demons continually trampled on his face. I asked the old man who the man was.

"That is Caiaphas, the Jewish high priest who ordered that Jesus be crucified as a false messiah. He did it to himself. There's no question now of who won that battle, is there? We can only have pity on little people like him."

The man's screams were momentarily muffled by the many feet that trampled his head.

"Notice that there is no social interaction between these accursed beasts," the old man continued. "Man loves to embrace the lie. That is what we truly crave, not truth. Man first sold his soul for sex and then discovered that he could sell each other as wanton commodities. This progressed into selling God and the church, later the State. What wretched beasts, we. It is a miracle that a few have cultivated immortality. You won't find those people anywhere near here. There is no hope here, only justice."

We descended further, into what the old man referred to as the ninth circle. He said this place was reserved for the most vile and evil people who have ever lived. He said that it is a place that houses those who have never felt shame and who, in life, were protected by evil forces.

"This is a colossal dunghill, a place where the dregs of the world end up. They are the parasites of human history. The suffering and evil that these souls create for other human beings is immeasurable. That has been the point all along, you see. Nothing happens by coincidence where evil is concerned. Evil is relentless in its pursuit of the innocent. Feel free to walk about. Just be careful, because just like in life, these beasts waste no time in seeking suitable souls to destroy."

"This place is frigid. I can't take the cold very much longer. You need to get me out," I complained to the old man.

"Cold? Of course. Like the souls who make this place their final home. Their twisted bodies are frozen in time. Judas, the man who betrayed Jesus, he is over there," he pointed. "He is the one with the frozen tears on his face."

"That's Judas? Even I know Judas."

"History is full of them. There's one in every street corner. You can say that they are legion. The thread of life, of hope has been cut for these people. There is no longer a connection between these wayward souls and redemption. These souls are condemned for eternity."

As we walked along, I heard a voice call out my name: "Frankie." I turned around but saw nothing except the heads of many people sticking out of the ice. Then I heard my name again.

"Frankie, over here."

I couldn't believe my eyes. Over by an icy cavern, I saw Arnold, a chum of mine from prison. Still, I wasn't sure if it was him.

"Arnold, is that you?"

"Yes, brother. It's me. Frankie, please get me out of this demon infested place," my friend begged.

"You know this wretched soul who calls you brother?" the old man asked, walking over to Arnold.

"Yes, it's Arnold. We did time together for a while before they executed him."

"Oh, execution. What did he do, I dare ask?"

"Arnold was a tough one all his life. He took out a couple guards in a bank robbery."

"He killed for money. He's in the right place, then," the old man said.

"Get me out of this evil place, Frankie. Don't listen to that fool. I'm being tortured every minute. Frankie, get me out," Arnold screamed and began to cry like a baby.

The old man grabbed my arm and pulled me away, saying, "There's nothing you can do for him. Keep walking." I could hear Arnold crying for a while as we walked away.

After seeing all the horrors that I had seen up to then, I was not ready for what I witnessed next. In the middle of a frozen lake there was this gigantic beast stuck in ice up to its waist. The thing had three heads, its six eyes rolling up and down like they were coming out of their sockets. The thing was furious. The beast had huge wings that fluttered as if trying to take off. This created a great icy wind that made the others who were buried in the ice shudder in pain with cold. In its mouth, the beast had people that it was devouring, like a wild animal destroying its prey. I stopped walking but the old man urged me forward.

"Get closer. Everyone should see this."

We began to walk on the thick ice. Underneath me, I could see demons swimming about like tadpoles in swallow water.

"What is it?" I asked, afraid of falling through the ice.

"That is the king of darkness. The root and mastermind of all evil."

"Satan, you mean?"

"Who else?"

The beast looked at me with great hate. I know it wanted to devour me. It then began to make some terrible noise as it swallowed pieces of a person. The ice around the beast was covered in blood and pieces of flesh.

"I've seen enough, now get me out. I don't need to see any more. You're making me crazy, old man."

The old man looked at the beast but the beast wouldn't take its six eyes off of me.

"Get me out, old man. Get me out. I've had enough," I now begged the old man. "I'm scared."

"All right, we will leave this place but I don't think you will like the way that we must exit. We must climb down through the creatures' back. That will lead us back to the train station."

"No. You are out of your mind. I'm not doing that. I'm not getting close that thing."

"Well, fine, but that is the only way out. We can stay here as long as you like. You can take in this miserable spectacle as long as you wish. It will do you good. Personally, I've had enough of witnessing human apathy, violence, cruelty and sheer cold indifference."

"If we get any closer it will grab us," I said trembling.

"No it won't. It is stuck in the ice forever, and besides, we will come to it from behind. "

The old man grabbed me and dragged me around the beast. I was so scared that my legs trembled. Then the old man pushed me onto the creature's back and then jumped on after me. We both slid down the beast's slimy fur. The thing rocked back and forth with great force. It growled so loud that I couldn't hear what the old man was saying. On the way down, we passed by a horde of demons that grabbed me. After what felt like an eternity, I found myself sitting in a pool of pus in a train station floor. I couldn't tell if it was the same station that I had been to before.

"Congratulations!" the old man said, standing next to me. "You've made it back. I didn't think you had the will do to so."

"Where are we?"

"The train station. See the tracks."

"The same one?"

"Yes, but what's the difference? Train stations are places where people seek their final destination."

"Can I go now?" I asked

"Get up and go. Where you go, and how you get there is up to you."

As I began to get up, the old man walked away. I watched him walk up a flight of stairs. I followed him but lost him in the distance. When I reached the area where I had seen him ascend the stairs, I noticed that there were no stairs at all but a path that led me to the middle of the station. The small station was crowded with people. No one noticed me. No one talked. Everyone walked about minding their own business. Most people were engaged with some electronic device or other. None of them noticed that I was dripping pus. Ahead, I saw a blue and white sign that read: Welcome to Wichita's Newton Station.

THE END

Bio: Pedro Blaz Gonzalez is a Professor of Philosophy at Barry University in Florida.

E-mail: Pedro Blas Gonzalez

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