Descent into Jologs Hell

Clovis_Sangrail

One day, I woke up (or I think I did), with the realization that I just died.

Yup, I’m dead, I kicked the bucket, bought the farm, I croaked, and it sucked.

All those years of smoking, eating grease, and drinking coffee and alcohol (not to mention the low quality Baguio weed I smoked) finally did me in.

The thing that bothered me, is that being dead wasn’t any much different from being alive.

I wasn’t exactly a bad person when I still lived, but I’m not your garden-variety “goody two shoes” either.

So, as I sat there waiting (in the place where dead people go, before they will be sent to their eternal reward, or torment) getting slightly bored, when I was approached by this strange chap, wearing a goatee.

“Hello” the stranger said.

“Are you Satan?” I asked, in a nonchalant way, “Are you finally taking me away?”, I asked in a bored tone, half expecting his arrival.

“Well, not quite” said the stranger- “there has been quite a mix-up, and we really don’t know where to put you”

“Oh, really?” I replied in a slightly irritated manner, “then what the ***** am I supposed to do here?” Incredulous, that even in the afterlife, I still get tangled up in the administrative red tape.

“Well, the ‘management’ has assigned me to act as your guide to tour the ‘facilities’.” Said the man with the goatee.

“What choice do I have?” I replied.

“You can have a tour of heaven, or hell- so you can check them out, one choice only, mind you” replied my companion in a slightly bored manner.

I thought about it for a while, weighing the options, In heaven, I could witness the wonders of God, the magnificence of the Silver City, the beautiful angels, and the multitudes of the pious, singing hallelujahs to the almighty for all eternity, while in hell, I could witness the tortured souls being punished for their wickedness, and it could give me the opportunity to gloat upon the unfortunate fate of my enemies who died before me.

The choice was not that difficult to make.

Me and my companion (whose name was Charles incidentally) went down a winding shaft, which inadvertently led to the entrance to hell.

“Forget what you’ve heard about hell” said my companion, “Dante, Faust, all of their lot, the picture of hell they made is outdated already”

“Hell also changes with times,” he said, with an air of pride.

”We take great care in creating a hell to suit your punishment”

“What the hell (suddenly, I felt stupid uttering that remark) do you mean?” I interjected.

“Well, hell- is not just one place where we torment souls, punish the damned, and all that jazz, there are many hells” remarked Charles in a sneering tone.

“What do mean?” I asked- feeling a growing chill creeping up my spine.

“Let me put it this way, hell is a place for torment and suffering, meaning, we have to tailor fit the punishment for each individual- for example, it would be pointless to condemn a masochistic individual to an eternity of flogging and pain, right? What point is there in punishing the individual with a punishment that the victim enjoys?”, Charles said, in a “matter of fact” tone.

Which is extremely logical.

“So”, Charles continued, “We construct specialized hells in where the punishments are meted out, to suit the individual”

The implications of his statements sank in, which could be compared to swallowing frozen slugs.

As we walked along, curiosity got the better of me.

“What kind of hell is waiting for me?” I asked.

“Thought you’d never ask!” said Charles, in a slightly gleeful manner.

Suddenly, my surroundings swirled around, twisting, turning and transforming itself until, as suddenly as it happened, it stopped.

“We’re here!” said my companion

As I gazed around, the surroundings looked strangely familiar.

“Is this hell?” I said
For “hell” looked like the world I just left, the dirty streets, the noise, the pollution, and the people.

But wait….

There is a strange feeling to this place- it’s home… but not quite…

“Am… I… in…. my… personal…. hell?….” I said in a chilled manner.

“Why yes, this is the place you’ll go to, in the event that your name is in the black book” Charles replied.

Suddenly, the prospect of singing hallelujahs to the almighty doesn’t seem so bad.

As strange foreboding feeling is slowly creping up and sending chills down my spine.

“You made, and customized this hell, just for me?” I asked.

“Why, yes, everything here has been made in accordance to your personal torment” remarked Charles in a gleeful manner.

“Now, shall we go to your residence?” Said Charles

“My what?” I answered

“Your residence, your flat, your abode, the place where you’ll spend all eternity in” My companion replied, in a sarcastic manner.

We went down to the bus stop, and rode a bus to my apartment, throughout the trip, the bus radio was playing and endless loop of April Boy Regino songs- much to my torment.

After what seemed like an eternity- we finally reached our destination.

I was a one room studio, complete with its own bathroom, kitchen, living quarters and bedroom.

It was even furnished with a computer, audio systems, and television set.

“Hey, hell ain’t so bad after all” I thought.

“Time for you to change into your new clothes” said my guide.

For the first time, after I died, I suddenly realized that I as wearing black slacks, a barong (split down at the back), and socks (but no shoes).

We hurriedly went up to the closet, and as I opened it- I recoiled in horror at what I saw.
There was nothing there except for baggy hip-hop oversized jeans, brightly colored neon shirts- in garish clashing colors, baseball caps, and brightly colored sneakers.

I looked at the accessory drawers, and I was shocked to find oversized gold earrings, belt chains, nose rings, belly button rings, tongue studs.

And this was only the beginning.

I turned on the Radio, everywhere I tune in- it’s always Star FM, Star FM, and Star FM.

I rummaged through the CDs, neatly stacked beside the component- I wish I never did…..

The sheer horror of finding titles such as: “Kris Aquino’s Greatest Hits”, “Salbakutah: Unplugged”, “Renz Verano Forever”, “Mystica: The debut album”, “LA Lopez, Greatest Hits” was too much.

In desperation, I turned on the TV, and lo! 300 channels- and all of them showing tsismis shows, soap operas, idiotic game shows, Brother Mike Velarde, and government political documentaries.

ABS-CBN, SBN 21 and PTV-4 were the channels clear enough to watch.

I heaved a sigh of relief, when finally- I found a channel showing cartoons and anime.

That sigh of relief, suddenly transformed into a cry of anguish, for they were TAGALIZED!!!

AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!!!

The irony of it all!

In the back of my mind, something told me not to look t the VCD and DVD collection.

My companion was snickering, apparently enjoying my tormented state.

“Don’t worry” he remarked, we have news programmes here, in the same time-slot as in your world.”

“Come- there is so much to see” he said, with an impish grin.

Wearily, resigned to my fate, I followed my guide.

He took me to a mall (not dissimilar to Mega Mall) where my spirits were lifted, ever so slightly.

I headed off to my favorite mall haunt- the video game arcades, to release some steam, and what I saw nearly unhinged my mind.

Instead of seeing my favorite games, I was greeted by an entire room filled with coin-operated videoke machines- yes, and in each videoke machine there wa a person- belting out with gusto the songs of Renz Verano, Salbakutah, and Yoyoy Villame.

I tried to shake off the horror, by running into a nearby bookstore- that was mistake that I would regret….

For inside the bookstore- there was nothing but rows upon rows of Tagalog romance novels, in desperation, I scoured the area for any publication written in English- my search was futile.

The store only carried Tagalog romance novels, Tagalog Horror Novels, Tagalog Tsismis Magazines, Tagalog Komiks, and Tagalog Showbiz Magazines.

Writing in tagalog is not bad, come to think of it- but they were written in the most deplorable form of Taglish ever written- all the books/Magazines were authored by KRIS AQUINO!

As I peered around my surroundings, It came as no surprise- that the people around me were wearing oversized elephant pants, had dyed two-toned hairstyles, garishly colored shirts, tacky earrings, and attention calling shoes.

And this was worn by EVERYONE!!!! From the young children to the elderly, this was the fashion.

I ran out of the Mall, screaming till my lungs finally gave out.

Charles was suddenly beside me.

“Poor soul” he said- “Why don’t we have a drink, to help you unwind” he said in a sympathetic manner.

We rode a bus (it seems that all the busses in hell are permanently tuned in to Star FM) to a place, which vaguely resembled Eastwood City.

We went to a place, packed with garishly clothed people- who either looked like bold star rejects, mall rats, or hip-hopppers.

There were also a couple of coño wannabes- sporting the latest trends, from their clothes, celfones, and accessories- but have nothing in their wallets except for their fare home.

The atmosphere is reminiscent of an outdoor market, the noise, the smell, and clutter, and the people.

Cellular phones were beeping relentlessly with forwarded text messages, bogus calls, and balance inquiries.

It was hard to maintain my sanity with through the cacophony, so I asked the waiter to bring me the menu.

I scanned through the drinks, hoping to find something to help me drown my misery…

There was only “Gold Eagle” and “Beer na Beer” in the menu.

I chose the lesser evil from the two (being a staunch anti-Lucio Tan advocate when I was still alive).

Even in death I still have not learned my lesson, and my habitual craving for tobacco suddenly kicked in.

I asked for their cigarette list, and it came as no surprise that they only had “Hope”, “Stork”, “Champion”, “Cannon” “Fortune”, “More”, and “Rambo” Brand cigarettes.

Sighing, I chose a pack of “Hope” (whose sweetish and sickly taste could only be described as vaguely tobacco like) and took a looooooooooooooooooooong drag.

I looked around, checking my surroundings, I nearly spat out my cigarette when I suddenly realized that we were in a Videoke Bar.

I grabbed my companion by the collar in my rage- “Why the hell did you bring me to this place” I spat out, the foam slowly dripping out of the corner of my lips.

“Well, you’re in hell, what did you expect?” shrugged Charles.

Someone started belting out “My Way”, in a most obscene manner- which was too much for me…. All of a sudden, everything went black.

I woke up (the way dead men wake up) and I was in the bedroom of my studio flat, in the background, drunken neighbors were discussing the latest soap opera episodes in a loud manner- while the others sang without restraint “Ikaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw pa riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin, and iibigiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAH-OOOOOOOOOH!

Charles was nowhere to be seen.

I looked at the clock, and it was 5:30 AM.

I turned on the TV.

And to my relief , a news programme was being aired.

“And now in the news…” the newscaster (which vaguely resembled Arnold Clavio) reported:

“Tensions in the South China Sea were defused when Chief of Staff Boy Abunda offered the Spratleys to the Chinese without a fight”

“In other news- presidential spokesperson, Marc Logan has confirmed the appointment of Korina Sanchez as the new Philippine ambassador to the US”

“Angelika dela Cruz and Jolina Magdangal will jointly manage the tourism department, this was confirmed by Senate President Lily Monteverde, and by Speaker Richard Gomez.”

“Arriving in the US, President Fernando Poe, Jr has announced……..”

The TV set explodes as I hurl the remote control at it….

mac_bolan00

you know what i think? you're living it. you're really living it.

Lucca Yamazaki

Hmm, y'think it'd be bad if I borrow your concept and write something about it man? There is this "Twilight Zone"-ish quality in it that I've been trying to master for years.

Clovis_Sangrail

Originally posted by Lucca Yamazaki
Hmm, y'think it'd be bad if I borrow your concept and write something about it man? There is this "Twilight Zone"-ish quality in it that I've been trying to master for years.

By all means

Actually, the story was inspired by Saki's (HH Munro) short story, "The Infernal Parliament"

bobito_salonga

i dig the concept, the effort and the torture of writing a long, tormenting piece inspired by actually living in our world. but, as all things go, it is what it is and it's just a matter of dealing with it that really matters. tsong, welcome back to the real world! i hope you enjoy your stay...