The D of S, Vol. II: Terrazzo VI

Place and time: Walking up into the sixth terrace of Purgatory, right after Mozart ditched them.

tWBS: You know, I’ve been wondering. I’ve gone through Hell and Purgatory, and dealt with a whole ton of people on the way. And I could understand them all. Why?

Senor: Okay, first off, out of *motions to the entire mountain* all of this you’re wondering about that? Second, I don’t know, when you’re in the land of the dead there’s some kind of dead translator? Like a Babelfish? Or, a… Tower of Babelfish?

tWBS: Seriously?

Senor: That was a layup, you kidding me? But yes, I understand that if I wasn’t your guide you’d push me off this mountain.

tWBS: Hey, it would kill you, you’re the still alive one, as you like to remind me.

Senor: No, that’s everyone else. I remind you that you’re dead!

tWBS: Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me. Jerk.

Senor: Hey, that’s my job, buddy!

They see a tree in the road.

tWBS: Is that tree supposed to be there? It looks out of place.

Senor: I’m sure there’s not an accidental tree in Purgatory. Plus, if we’re above the tree line otherwise, then it’s definitely a deliberate tree. And, besides… you smell that?

tWBS: That smells like… fruit. I can’t really describe it. You think we can climb it?

Senor: Look at that trunk and those branches. It’s almost like, the opposite of normal trees.

tWBS: You’re the guide. What’s up with this tree then?

Voice: Of this food ye shall have scarcity!

tWBS: Dafuq?

Senor: Was that… the tree?

tWBS: And great, more chanting.

tWBS: Oh shit! Are these people?

Senor: Souls? I mean, obviously.

tWBS: I don’t think they even look this bad on those “donate to the Human Fund” commercials.

Senor: Whoa!

tWBS: What? I’m just saying, these people look more gaunt than…

Senor: I get your point! We’re still trying to get you to Heaven, and you go and drop one of those! Dude!

tWBS: Hey, it’s not like I compared them to pictures from—

Senor: Dude!

tWBS: What?

Senor: Maybe not that one? Again, Purgatory.

tWBS: Oh fine. But it looks like they’re zombies approaching that tree.

Senor: …Better? I think?

tWBS: Why are they so… entranced? It’s just a tree, right? Even if those fruits smell really good, can’t quite put my finger on it.

Random Soul: Good on ya. Hey, wait a minute.

tWBS: Yeah, wait. I remember that voice. Forrest, right?

Forrest: Yeah, from the NC State board.

tWBS: And I remember your doctor said you were eating yourself into an early grave.

Forrest: Yeah, and… I guess he was right. Whoops. But yeah, good on ya for not being too swayed by the fruit tree, or the crystal-clear waters, or the giant freezer fulla liquor.

Senor: Dude!

tWBS: Giant… freezer?

Senor: Bruh.

tWBS: Does it have vodka?

Senor: Bruh.

Forrest: Well, yes, of course it does. And not your plastic bottle crap, we’re talking about the good stuff.

tWBS: Well, why didn’t you say s—

Senor: Bruuuh! Are you kidding me right now?

tWBS: I gotta say, that’s the most New York thing you’ve ever done.

Senor: That’s nowhere near the point! The point is you’ve come this far, and you’re going to fall back? Now? In that case what the fuck were Balls and I doing here this whole time, just going on a fun romp through the divine world?

tWBS: Nooo?

Senor: That’s right, how many times did Balls almost die, and you almost get… I don’t know, super-dead? Damned for eternity? Probably the latter, but either way my point remains! And now, there’s two terraces to go, and you’re going to get caught up by your gluttony of all things? I mean, betting man would say lust, but—

tWBS: Okay, I get it! And, betting man? You mean Hippo’s betting on this?

Senor: If he knew about it, probably.

tWBS: Can I take a shot?

Senor: No!

tWBS: Sorry, buddy. As much as it pains me to say it, I think my friend is right on the freezer vodka.

Forrest: He absolutely is. I’d keep walking further if I were you. The freezer’s like the tree anyway, the door’s just out of all of our reaches, even if you were to try and climb on each other. Not like our physical forms here can do that though. Plus the freezer keeps shouting examples of gluttonous people, so that’s pretty annoying.

tWBS: That would do it. Okay, I think my mind is made up, Senor. Let’s get out of here.

Senor: Sure thing, buddy.

The Angel of Abstinence (no, not that kind) removes the sixth P from tWBS’s forehead.

tWBS: I do not want to hear about how I still have P on my forehead.

Senor: Aww man, you suck. Which is probably the wrong thing because there’s one terrace left to go and it’s probably most of our big ones.

tWBS: How hard can it be?

Senor: We’ll see, Mr. Sexy Friday.