Satan

We walked on, but for some reason I just couldn't stop apologizing about every little thing I had ever done. To Faulkner, to people's heads when I stepped on them, to people I was never going to see again or even ones who didn't deserve an apology. "It's okay kid. You should've seen it when Dave Chapelle came through here. Muddy Waters was leading his tour and when they got to the stoners Dave just sat down on a rock and weeped. And weeped. And then weeped more. Like, Muddy came back up to Limbo to get a refill because it was taking so long. After about two months, he finally admitted that he was sorry and we got to continue on the journey. Anyways, that's Satan. He's big, depressing, and eternally trapped in a block of ice. You see those big flapping wings? Well, that's making the air freezing down here and solidifying all the ice. He's flapping to try and escape, but it's just making him all the more stuck. Like people in Hell, the whole thing is just a self-created prison. Everyone around him is someone who betrayed their family members in all kinds of horrible ways. Unless you feel some kind of urge to talk to one, I'd just as soon avoid this part. I was a bit of a prick to my daughters in life," Faulkner said. We plodded up a cliffside that led away from the Lake and soon began climbing another massive staircase leading back up. "So if this is the end of my tour, where are all the, y'know real sins? Like murderers or rapists? I was hoping to kick Osama Bin-Laden." Faulkner shrugged and looked annoyed when he realized that his flask was finally empty. "Yeah, I've been trying to figure out how to explain the whole morality and Hell being relative. Ok, how many times have you ever experienced murder in your life?" He asked me. "Well, never," I responded. "Exactly. You have no precept for either the emotional impact or moral consequences. Even if I showed you the boiling pits of war mongers, it wouldn't have any impact on you because you have no idea what a war monger really does to a person." I stopped and grabbed Faulkner by the arm. "So you mean there are pits for war mongers? And we skipped them? Or like a hole for terrorists and all that stuff?" I demanded angrily. Faulkner nodded and motioned for me to walk while I talked. "Hell is infinite, Kirk. Like I said way back at the beginning, this place wasn't invented for you. When someone absolves themselves of any blame or responsibility for their actions, when someone quits looking in the mirror and recognizing whats wrong with them, then they become infinitely bound to a cage that they themselves are creating by denying the existence of a problem. Hell is just the literal realization of that cage." And so we continued up the stairs, talking.