In the first place, I didn’t know hell had so many circles. I thought I’d visited all of them until my foot went through the floor. I don’t know how I wound up in this newest circle of hell, or why. I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I? Good enough anyway.
There’s a guy sitting next to me wearing a shirt I can’t imagine a human being picking out for himself. Maybe his wife bought it for him, or his mother. It’s not quite orange, not quite brown, with a pattern too cowardly to even be plaid. His fat, hairy, greasy skin couldn’t be any uglier.
She was a furry little thing, the one I fell in love with, the love that landed me in this evil, forsaken place. You wouldn’t know about her furriness from a distance, you have to get close to her to see it. Then, if the sun is behind her, she glows with the light shining on her fine light hair. It’s everywhere! It covers her cheeks and shoulders in softness, like a baby chick, and so she is a bit of a baby in my eyes. And in my heart.
I’m not sure even now if she knew how deeply I was in love with her. If not, at least one of us was incredibly stupid.
Here’s the sticky situation, in a nutshell, that drove me through all the existing circles of hell and brought about the birth of the new one: the depth of my love for that fuzzy dream was no match for the depth of my hatred for myself. I couldn’t bear to see her with me. So I’m here. Without her. Instead, I’m spending eternity with the man in the cowardly shirt.