Chapter 9 & Around

"So, what is all of this exactly, Pinga? How were we created? What happens when we die exactly? What is life? And...Where the HELL ARE WE?!"

"Unfortunately, because of the sick sense of humor of the 'people holding the pens,' I have to take you somewhere else to discuss such topics. Well, at least she just wants to move us to a more 'appropriate' situation."

"Whatever..." as they were transported by the Almighty Writer.

Chapter 9

...And we find our leading characters staring at the inside walls of a yellow submarine...named the USS Ark...

"Ok, before we get relocated too many times, maybe you should state explaining things to me."

Pinga stretched her arms, preparing for a possibly lengthy discussion. After her shoulders felt good, and she found a place to lay on the ground with her feet up on the wall, she proceeded with her story. "Well, Pingu, right now we are on the USS ARk, headed by Capt. Noah Ishmael. The man has a weird obsession with yellow and feels that the only was he's going to catch some big, damn whale is by filling this sub with 2 of every animal species and believing that the world is entirely covered in water. Sadly enough, we have yet to manage to convinve him that he needs to check into a place like Bellevue." She swung her legs around. "However, I still need to answer the questions you asked earlier. One of my friends says that 'Purgatory is like the lounge of a frat house. They play bad music on all floors, never give you a drink when you want one, and make you dress up as either an angel or a demon.' That's a bunch of bullshit. (Unless you're in Wisconsin.) In reality, everyone, after they die, stands in the lines outside the castle. Each person's heart is weighted against a feather as executed by the jackal-headed being. While waiting inside the castel, generally while they're awaiting 'trial,' people are forced to share a room with two other people and 3 minicouches where they are unable to hide the truths about their lives any longer from themselves, and, if they lived bad lives, are subjected to self-torture. Then when they're called before the scale, they are unable to hid the truth...Seems like someone was a bit sadistic and literarily-enhanced to com up with this, don't you think?" she added aside. "Anyways, after their judgment, you head to hell, after a short orientation in heaven, or you float around silently in the atmosphere, eternally tormented by your own mind. That Italian guy said we needed to form layers based on the degree of guilt...Well, it's going through the courts at current."

She paused to take a sip of water from the glass that had mysteriously appeared by her side. "As for creation," Pinga continued," such a thing simply doesn't exist."

Pingu sat there dumbstruck, staring at her.