Personalias

For the record: I'm not Catholic. I have some friends that were raised Catholic, but that's about it. This story is neither a support or condemnation of the Roman Catholic church, or any religion in general. The whole idea of this story came to me while I was skimming through the Divine Comedy, and remembered the bit about Limbo being where unbaptized babies went. Thank you all for sticking with the story thus far.

Chapter 11- Communion. Dante immediately told Lysa the next morning about the horrible nightmare he had had the next morning. “Don’t let it rattle you,

Kind of cheesy I know. But I wanted to psych out the readers in a fake and cliche'd ending.

Chapter 10: Second Chances. Blackness. Dante Willis was surrounded in blackness. The first sounds that came to his ears were screaming. Horrible, terrified screaming. Then the jumbled mumbled walla walla of a crowded room, and the deafening silence of speakers being cut off. He vaguely thought he heard some kind of bizarre gibberish screaming hysterically. “Blah blah blah not breathblah

I figured an adult feel might be appropriate since the term for many of us is ADULT babies. Speaking of which, a less profound, less lengthy, but still fun chapter coming up.

Chapter 9: Of Anchors and Epiphanies. After spending the better part of a day in Limbo Nursery 1017AB, Dante found the following truths to be self evident: A clean diaper felt comfy. A warm, wet diaper felt pretty good, too. A cold wet diaper felt uncomfortable. A really wet, warm diaper was practically a pocket pussy. A poopy diaper felt disgusting and was made of fail; it was just this side of water-boarding. Speaking of torture, while the Judy’s had in fact drawn attention to Dante’s predicament over by the television, they weren‘t the one‘s who had made it worse. They had ignored his please for the potty as he made a bowel movement right in front of them, but once he had given in to their demands- like a pet chimpanzee learning a new trick- a Judy picked him up and carried him over to the changing table. The only really big difference between a wet diaper change and a messy diaper change, Dante found, was that the wiping was much more thorough and the process took longer. Still, it had been embarrassing. Dante now sat up against the wall and sulked in his public humiliation. Experimentally, Dante poked his finger ever so slightly into the leg hole of his diaper. He pulled his finger out quickly and it came back a shade whiter. The Judy’s had really overdone it with the baby powder. Another baby about his age, a black guy in a green romper, crawled up and tried to console Dante. “First time pooping your pants?

Roughly half-way done with the overall story by my calculations. I have every intention of finishing this. Will post tomorrow if I'm lucky. Wednesday by the latest if not. Expect Tuesday.

Chapter 8: You win some, you lose some. Dante woke up an hour or two later, feeling refreshed, sober, and wet. His second diaper change went much easier than his first one, partially because he really was starting to accept this process as inevitable. It didn’t hurt that he had wet in his sleep, either. For some reason, it was easier to take knowing that he was unconscious when the inevitable happened. Maybe bed wetting was slightly more grown up than wetting while conscious, and that’s why toddlers could wet the bed up to a certain age and it be no big deal. He had been feeling very cold and clammy below the waist, so the change was a welcome one. Dante did some rough estimation at that fact. He must have wet soon after he fell asleep, his bladder further loosened by the fresh dose of angel milk. Now dry, and rested, Dante found himself and his playmates plopped down in the middle of a cubicle room filled with toys, bocks, baby books, and other such diversions. Their Judy set them each down, gave them a pat on the tushie and told them to go play. Apparently, now was free play time in the nursery- or more accurately time to stretch their legs in the prison yard. Within minutes, they were joined by other babies, their Judy’s carrying them in one at a time and setting them down. A few Judy’s took position as activity supervisors, attempting to coax the baby-kids into some form of play or another- maybe offering to read a story. Other Judy’s simply hung back at the perimeter of the cubicle and talked to each other while pointing at and making various side comments about their infant prisoners. The Judy in the green dress was nowhere to be seen. Likely her wards were too rebellious to be allowed to play nice with the others, so they had been sequestered for further conditioning. Poor saps. Dante felt a (perhaps) undeserved sense of pity and superiority over them. If they kept struggling so openly, they‘d never get any freedom at all. Even small freedoms presented opportunities; opportunities that could be taken advantage of when the time was right…. Nope, at this rate they’d be just as doomed as Midori in no time; their Judy watching them like a hawk, smothering them with conditioning and pre-programmed motherly affection. Quiet defiance was the way to go, as far as Dante was concerned. If Dante was going to keep his sanity and even escape this place one day, (What, let a little threat like eternity as a newborn stop him completely? Naaaaaaaaah.) he’d have to play it cool and lay low. Right now, laying low meant getting with the program and getting some serious playtime on. “Looks like we lucked out, today

Chapter 7: Choosing battles. Dante stared at the toothless boy who was shamelessly breastfeeding from the wet nurse. A lump formed in the back of Dante's throat. Now he knew why Lysa, despite close to 60 years being treated this way, had never tried to escape. This place might not be Hell, but it was looking close enough the more Dante learned. For all it pretended to be a daycare center, Limbo still couldn't change the fact that it was a prison for lost souls. "Thanks for showing me that," Dante said to Lysa, as the stroller started moving again. Midori had settled down after her brief, Lysa-trained tantrum. "These guys don't mess around," he added. "Don't worry about it," Lysa responded, "I benefit just as much as you do." Dante's eyebrow cocked. "What?" Lysa asked casually, as though Dante were asking a stupid question. "You think I'm trying to help you just out of the kindness of my heart? I'm a survivor, kid, not a savior. Dori cracked and went full baby years ago. Now she makes a good pet, but she's a lousy conversationalist. If I don't have an intelligent conversation every once in a while, I'll go full baby too." Dante's feelings should have been hurt by this confession, but they weren't. If anything, it made him like Lysa more. Greed and self-preservation were emotions that a man could trust. Ideals and sentimentality made someone unpredictable. The ruthless, reptile part of Dante's brain definitely liked Lysa. She was aggressive and obnoxious, but knowledgeable, and ruthless in her own way as well. She knew when to recognize emotions, and when to disregard them and go with logic. It's a shame she had ended up here, really. If she had gone to college like she had intended, she could have had a very productive life. Once Dante got the swing of things around here, this could turn into a beautiful and mutually beneficial friendship. The fact that Lysa was being so brutally honest about her reasons only cemented the partnership in Dante's eyes. "The Judy's are getting better and better at their jobs every year." the girl went on as the Newborn Room doors whirred open and the big babies were wheeled back into the main nursery, "and because of that I'm getting fewer and fewer people to shoot the poop with every year." "So if you train my mind up," Dante finished her thought, "we can keep close by and keep each other from ending up like Dori." Midori had heard her name and started babbling nonsensically from the Judy's back. Dante called back, "Love you too, Dori!" The babbling quieted. "Exactly," Lysa said, a small show of pride on her face. "You know, Dante, you're pretty smart….when you're not crying like a wimp or throwing a complete temper tantrum." she giggled. She balled her hands into fists and placed them on her cheeks. She started rotating her fists to make the classic "cry baby" pose "Wah wah. I'm dead. Wah! Why didn't they draw on my face?" Even Dante had to laugh at himself, remembering that performance earlier this morning. "Oh yeah?" Dante said good naturedly, "You're pretty good at getting sophisticated, and thoughtful, and deep….until you wet yourself." Lysa laughed, nodding her head. "Yeah, that's the problem with getting philosophical around here: the more you talk, the better chance you have of peeing your pants right in the middle of it, and ruining the whole mood." "Then it's a good thing neither of us are wearing pants, isn't it?" he grinned. Lysa burst out into a full hysterical cackle. If she hadn't been buckled in so tightly, she would have definitely been doubled over in laughter. "Good one," she said once she had regained enough composure to talk. She stuck her hand out for a high-five and Dante obliged her. "So," Dante asked. "How'd you and your sister end up here, on the same day no less?" "Huh?" Lysa said, caught off guard. "Oh right, that. I figured you were gonna ask that. I'd rather not talk about it right now." She looked away to avoid Dante's gaze. "Come on," Dante gently nudged, "I'll tell you my death, if you tell me yours." "You," Lysa said pointedly, still not looking at Dante, "probably died acting like a party animal and a hot dog after drinking too much." Damn. She had him in there. "Probably at some stupid early birthday party to celebrate your 'man hood'", she added. Ouch. This was the problem of having emotional breakdowns and ranting in front of smart girls. Against the better part of his valor, Dante still tingled with curiosity. Time for another tactic. "Oh come on, Lysa," he persisted. "It's not like you murdered your little sister." Lysa's head whipped around and looked him dead in the eye. "Her name is Caroline," she spat, "and I did not murder her." "Well, what else am I to think with you doing the whole silent and guilty thing?" Dante asked, trying to sound innocent and failing miserably. "I mean, if you tell me the truth, there's no way I'd think that you were responsible for Caroline's death." "You want the truth?!" Lysa hissed. "Fine." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them. "My father wasn't what you would call a good man," she began. "He drank and had a temper. Even when he was sober he had a temper, but especially when he drank. He used to beat my mother all the time. I was lucky to get even one baby sister, from all the miscarriages he caused. But the cops never looked into it. Damn sons of bitches" she cursed. Dante felt horrible and it must have shown. Lysa's face softened, as did her tone. "It was a different time," Lysa said in explanation. As if that could explain it. "Anyway, soon after Caroline was born, he came home VERY drunk one night. More drunk than usual. When I woke up, he was shouting at my mother. Caroline was crying her head off. Something about the new baby ruining everything. "Then," she kept talking, "I heard my mother screaming; telling him to let the baby go. To stop shaking the baby." The lump in Dante's throat reformed. He had a sinking feeling about what was coming next. But he let her continue. He had asked for this after all. "My mom's screaming only got louder when the baby stopped. Dad decided to try and shut her up, so he started swinging on her too. Then she got real quiet.", Lysa whispered. "I ran and took his hunting rifle from the fireplace mantle. Then I went and splattered his brains all over the silly clown wallpaper." she shuddered. "I had wanted to go to college, mostly so I could get out of that place. But after that, I knew there was no going to college. So I ran upstairs, took out his shaving razor," Lysa took two fingers and raked them across her wrist, "and ended it the only way I could bear." Through all this, Lysa didn't even shed one single tear. Only the slightest tremble in her voice gave hint at any emotion resembling sadness. Poor girl had gone numb from the ages. "Happy?" Lysa asked. "No." Dante answered. "Good.", she said. "Man, that's fucked up," Dante exclaimed. "Yeah, it is." Lysa confirmed. They rolled on through twists in turns in silence for a few moments. "Oh look," she said, her tone brightening as the grayish blue carpet gave way to checkered linoleum. "Lunchtime!" They came upon what looked like a kitchen set-up. A white refrigerator sat in the corner. In the middle of the floor, about a dozen high chairs- most of them already occupied with babies of various ages- sat in a semicircle. Three more Judy's: A ginger in a green dress, a tow-headed Judy in jeans and a white t-shirt with colorful handprints on it, and dark haired one in a cardigan sweater- had already begun spoon feeding their kids. Dante hadn't spotted this area yet either, but considering there were bottomless trashcans and magical supply cabinets, he supposed it was possible for the floors and play areas to change as they needed. This might have been like a giant "Room of Requirement" geared specifically for big babies. "Sorry, we're late gang," the Judy in the scrubs said. "We just got done with a visit to Caroline." The other Judy's just nodded and said the equivalent of "don't worry about it." as their Judy walked over to three empty highchairs and began detaching the holding trays. They were the modern style high chairs, the kind designed to cradle the occupant as they were being spoon fed. Dante's eye was drawn to a group of three high-school aged kids, two guys and a girl. He noticed them partially because unlike the other children, they were locked into the old-fashioned style of highchairs, with a straight back and a hard seat; their arms were all pinned to their sides by the tray. Mostly though, he noticed this because they were all stripped naked save for their diapers. (What could he say? Dante's eye was drawn to a decent rack.) Not even bibs adorned their persons, and their torsos were covered with some kind of glop. Baby food. All the Judy's had plastic bowls full of the stuff placed on the trays. "I just got them yesterday," the redhead Judy in the green dress said to her cohorts. "They're such fussy eaters that I don't even bother to dress them for meal time. I just strip them out of their little outfits and redress them when they're done." The other Judy's nodded their approval. "Dante's new too," the blonde Judy in the scrubs said, "but he's been a little angel all day." She unbuckled Dante from the stroller and hoisted him up into the highchair. He could feel one of the boys staring at him. He swore he heard the word "freak" muttered as the tray was clicked into place. Fuck that guy. He didn't know it, but he was on the fast track to complete babification at this rate. The three topless prisoners struggled against their bonds to no avail, as one at a time their Judy tried to spoon feed them. They twisted and turned their heads, resulting in most of the glop getting smeared on their cheeks instead of in their mouths. The fire in their eyes looked less threatening once you took in their current state of undress. One of them, not realizing that the stain would disappear on contact, spat food right at the redheaded Judy. The Judy did not even register it. She just persisted in trying to spoon feed the young man. Suddenly, the girl wailed out, "NOT AGAAAAAIIIIN!" as she stared down between her legs. "Why can't I go potty anymore?! I just wanna go home!" She broke down and started sobbing. The Judy in the green dress assured her that if she was a good girl and finished all of her num-nums, then she'd get changed into a nice, dry diaper before nap time. The girl nodded meekly and allowed herself to be fed. The other baby teens either pretended not to notice these goings on, or were really too far gone themselves to care. Dante's Judy went over to the refrigerator and brought out three bowls of mush. It looked like it had the consistency and texture of applesauce, save that it was rainbow colored. Dante was worried, but a quick glance at Lysa showed her to be unconcerned. He thought about fighting it- he didn't really want to be spoon fed, after all- but one look at the other three new arrivals made him think twice. Besides, his stomach reminded him, he was hungry. Other than the bottle of milk, he hadn't eaten anything since he got here. The Judy tied a bib around Dante and his two companion's necks. Midori's read: "Spit Up Happens." Lysa's had "Lunch is on ME!" written on hers. He looked down at his own, and read it upside down. His own bib said, "SIMH: Stuck In My Highchair." Great. These were angel moms with a sense of humor. The Judy took out a rubber tipped spoon and dipped it into the rainbow colored glop. Dante opened his mouth and she spooned it right in. Thank goodness she wasn't doing the stupid "here comes the choo-choo train" routine. He was feeling too hungry right now to want to wait on some stupid game. The glop wasn't bad at all. It was chilled from the refrigerator, and actually tasted a little bit like an applesauce slushy. What caught Dante off guard, though, was how the stuff expanded in his mouth a moment after touching his tongue. His cheeks puffed out as his mouth became more crowded, and Dante swallowed the stuff down as fast as he could. A little bit of the stuff burst from his unprepared lips and dribbled out onto his chin, sliding down onto the bib. "Whoops!" the Judy cried out, not actually sounding surprised, as she used the baby spoon to scrape some of the food off of Dante's chin. "Good thing we put that bib on you, huh Dante?" Instantly Dante realized that this food was designed to make him need a bib and thus feel more dependent, more helpless, more babyish. Rather than losing his cool, Dante just smiled, nodded, and pretended he was giving her the middle finger. "Thassa good boy!" the Judy praised. "Now give me just two more bites, and it'll be Lysa's turn, then Midori's turn, then yours again." Dante accepted that he couldn't do anything to make this situation better, and accepted the two spoonfuls; mouth exploding applesauce and all. Then, their Judy went to Lysa and did a similar routine. Three spoonfuls, then switch. Then to Midori. Then back to Dante. This routine continued till the Judy was scraping the bottom of the bowl and Dante was feeling good and full. The other babies were finishing up at about the same time. "All gone," Dante's Judy proclaimed as she spooned in the last of the expanding glop past Dante's lips. There wasn't even enough left to leak out of his mouth, so Dante just gulped the stuff down. "Now, time for a milky ba-ba and a niiiiiice nap." the Judy said as she collected the bowls, threw them down a bottomless trashcan, went to the fridge. Dante shot Lysa a look. "I thought you said…?" he began. "I said they feed us the milk AT LEAST twice a day." Lysa interrupted. "Sometimes they do more. I'm guessing it's because of those three." she said, indicating the three struggling prisoners in nothing but their diapers. "They wouldn't calm down enough.", she said. The ginger Judy in the green dress had already managed to force the nipple of one bottle past the lips of one of the struggling boys, and his eyes had gone vacant. The Judy let out his tray enough so he could move his arms and hold up the bottle himself. The broken girl in the wet diaper accepted hers without struggle and was just starting to smile idiotically from behind her bottle. "When someone makes a lot of trouble here," Lysa said, "they make it harder on all of us. Just let it happen," she sighed resignedly, "and it'll be over with before you know it." Dante did his own sigh, as the Judy in the scrubs handed him a bottle filled with the milk of human kindness. He accepted it and drank in the creamy liquid. Instantly, his cares melted away as his thoughts became more infantile. He was engulfed in a sense of peace and serenity. He was so lucky to be here, he reflected. It was as if everything was going to be okay, no matter what. Dante could literally do no wrong here. He could play all day, or laze around, even pee himself, and no one would scold him. No Mrs. Applegate to quiz him. No parents to lecture him. This ruled! Even though in the back of his mind, he knew this was all a lie, honestly, it wasn't that different from being drunk. When you're drunk you can rush to the bathroom, puke up the 5 rum and cokes you just power chugged, clean up a little bit, look in the mirror, and say "Damn, I look good." Then go back to the party for more rum and cokes. You know you don't really look that good, and you know it's all a booze induced feeling of euphoria; but right then, you don't really care because you're euphoric. This was even better though, because there was no hangover, guaranteed. This milk got rid of hangovers. Mama Judy took his empty ba-ba away, wiped his face with the bib, and unlocked the tray. She had been so good to him today. She checked his diaper and told him that he was dry (though he likely wouldn't be for very long, not that it mattered.) He could pee-pee in her arms right now, and she wouldn't get mad. If he was really lucky, maybe Mama Judy and her friend in the green dress would have another race using him and the topless girl. That way he could "accidentally" cop a feel on her while he was having his penis wiped and stroked by Mama Judy. Dante's padded crotch crinkled a little as his nether regions readjusted themselves at the thought. Still dry, Dante made Mama Judy proud by giving two loud burps as she patted his back. Then she carried him out of the kitchen area and around a corner into an area with extra-large cribs. Mama Judy laid him down on his back in one of the cribs. Looking up, Dante could see a mobile hanging over him. Stars, the sun and the moon, and a comet all hung over Dante's head. Even better, they all had smiley faces painted on them. They were all happy celestial bodies! (Weird that Dante could remember the term "celestials," but still couldn't think of a synonym for potty.) Still tripping, Dante reached up for the plastic bodies, not even thinking to sit up. It was comfortable in this crib, and he didn't want to sit up anyways. His hand didn't even come close to grasping them. Mama Judy reached up and flicked a switch. The mobile started turning, a soft mechanical whirring the only indication that it wasn't magic. Dante had never been to a Pink Floyd concert, but he assumed it must be a lot like this. He was in awe. "Sleep tight, little Dante," Mama Judy cooed. "See you after your nappy nap." Entranced by the mobile, and high as a kite from the milk, Dante didn't even hear Mama Judy as she left to go get his friends. Instead, he drifted off into a dreamless slumber just after popping his thumb into his mouth. To Be Continued...

Sorry, accidentally posted it twice.

Chapter 6: Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here. Lysa called out to the Judy, who came walking over to the side of the playpen. “What is it sweetie?

All will be revealed in good time. Thank you for your interest in Lysa. It's just as much her story at this point as it is Dante's. Ten points for anyone who gets the joke about her last name after reading chapter 6. Speaking of which...look below.

Chapter 5: Baby Blues Dead. Limbo. One-minute short of eternal hellfire and brimstone. Instead he was sentenced to an eternal existence as an overgrown infant. All because he had died just one minute short of his 18th birthday. Sixty more seconds, and he would have gone to the Lake of Fire. That one realization made everything hit home for Dante. He was dead. He was in Limbo. He was stuck in a giant daycare center filled with other people who had died without a baptism. And the only options presented him were to either go insane and become a drooling idiot, or go with the flow and accept the treatment. Fear welled up inside of Dante. He fell over onto his side and curled up in the fetal position. He stared straight ahead at the mesh walls of his new prison. “Dante?

I don't know. I've got an end in mind, and a few more dramatic moments and plot points in mind. But otherwise I'm going to let it develop naturally. I'm not planning it on being a forever thing, or a series. If that's what you mean. Also, what does it mean when there's "Hot" written on the tag of a story?

Thanks everyone for the feedback. I really appreciate it. I've been working up the courage to write something like this for a long time, and all the positive responses are really making it worthwhile. That being said, I don't think I have it in me to write another chapter tonight. I rushed out chapter 4 and made too many grammar mistakes for my liking. (now edited). So I'll have to get back. Don't worry, for those of you who are still enjoying. Dante's adventure's aren't over by a longshot. -Personalias persona+alias=personalias P.S. I'm kind of a newb at this message board thing. How do I add stuff as a tagline etc. etc.?

Chapter 4: Of Heaven, Hell, and here. Okay…. So maybe there was more to this situation than it being a dream, or some convoluted fetish porn filming site. (Dante felt a little sick of himself for that- who would even conceive of such a thing?) It certainly hurt too much to be a dream. The hand kissing thing was DEFINITELY not normal. This was definitely out of the realm of any kind of normal. Physics and modern medicine had just taken a back alley beating at the hands of a kiss. "So," Lysa spoke up while Dante continued to stare at his renewed hand, "the real question is, how did you die?" The obvious answer would have been "murder". He hadn't been doing anything terribly dangerous, just throwing the biggest birthday bash ever with him and about 100 of his closest friends. Maybe someone had had a grudge against him and poisoned him, or killed him in his sleep. "I can see that look in your eyes, Dante," Lysa interrupted Dante's train of thought. "You're over thinking this. You're making up a story to fill in the blanks. What REALLY happened?" Bitch had a point. If he was dead, it probably wasn't murder. Probably some kind of accident. A lot of people were drinking last night, maybe somebody got drunk and accidentally crushed his head in by knocking over a stereo or something. Then again, Dante couldn't remember how drunk everyone else had gotten, since he had gotten so hammered himself. Wait a minute…. "Wait for iiiiit…" Lysa said, staring intently into Dante's face. Dante had gotten REALLY drunk last night. So drunk that some people had carried him over to the couch. There had been some stupid argument about whether or not to take his shoes off and let him sleep, or keep them on and draw on his face. Some kind of dumb party rule or whatever. Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. When Dante had woken up today, he hadn't remembered wearing any shoes. What if the party guests had left him alone? He had fallen asleep on his back. What if everyone left him alone, and he had gotten alcohol poisoning? What if he had threw up and choked on his own vomit and nobody noticed till it was too late? SHIT! "Aaaand we're there." , Lysa commented sarcastically. "Congratulations. I thought you were going to try and beat Midori's record for denial. Thanks for the pleasant surprise and proving me wrong." Dante shifted his weight to all fours. It felt oddly comfortable on the padded playpen floor. No wait. Something about that was wrong. The fact that it felt right was wrong. Maybe he wasn't dead, just going crazy. Maybe this was all his hallucination? Like the padded playpen was really a padded cell, and his deranged mind was substituting in babyish images. He felt a pair of hands shove him onto his side. Dante landed with a bit of a grunt, but was unhurt. He looked up and saw Lysa's disapproving glare, her arms crossed with her standing on her knees. She had a very stern look on her face, despite being dressed like a one-year-old at the oldest. "Stop it," Lysa warned, "you're already over the hardest part, now. Don't regress." Dante's mother had once told him that when people had multiple traumatic experiences occur in rapid succession to them, they often coped with it by putting one dilemma off to the side while coping with the other. Dante's two traumas were that he might be dead, and that he was in a place full of crazies that insisted on treating him like a baby. If Dante was dead, then there might be nothing he could do to help that. There might be a way out of this infantilized situation if he knew more about it. Dante decided that he could accept being dead- at least temporarily. Time to find out more about here, wherever that was. He laid back and avoided eye contact. Looking at Lysa wouldn't help much. The contrast between her tone and her garments was too much right now. For someone dressed like a baby, this girl had no shortage of attitude. "Are we in Hell?" he asked. This felt a little like Hell. "Don't be silly," she told him. "Hell is much worse than this. Hell is the worst torture your mind can imagine. I'd hardly call playpens and pacifiers for all eternity the worst torture imaginable." "Then is this-?" Dante started "Heaven?" Lysa interrupted. "You're joking, right?" she laughed. "Welcome to Heaven! Your reward for a lifetime of piety and Godly devotion is an endless supply of milk and mush!" She sighed. "Besides, I don't know about you, but I probably didn't deserve to go to Heaven, the way my life was going." "Then where else is there?" Dante was starting to get worried. "Limbo," Lysa said with resignation, "where Catholics say un-baptized babies go when they die." "But… I'm not Catholic." Dante said indignantly. "Neither am I." Lysa retorted, her hands on her hips. "Guess that doesn't matter to the Big Guy, huh?" Dante was pretty sure he'd never been baptized. His family never went to Church. Not that they were militant atheists, or anything; religion was just something that wasn't discussed. Something still didn't add up, though. "I'm not a baby, either…obviously," Dante replied. "A lot of the people here aren't either…obviously." Lysa answered. In a moment, the fire went out of her voice. "But we're treated like babies all the same. I think the Judys figure that if they treat us like babies, then it doesn't matter." She motioned over to the Judy in the nursery scrubs, and Dante followed her gaze. Midori had apparently served her time on the naughty stool and was now cradled in the Judy's arms being tickled and nuzzled while the Asian girl giggled and squirmed in pure delight. "Sad part is, they're not wrong," she continued. "Eventually, everyone in here snaps and starts playing the part for real. I think it might be something about Limbo itself; something in the air that makes you want to act like a baby. Some only take a few months. Most make it a year or two before the constant treatment breaks them. A few make it longer than that, ten…maybe twenty years; but I don't know of anyone who's made it more than a hundred years. Eventually, you get broken down, and you become a true innocent again." She kept staring at Midori- completely wrapped up in the strange woman's attentions. "Midori made it about a year and half before the change became permanent. Poor thing." Dante looked at Midori and started to wonder. Had she been just a regular teenager at one point? Someone who died young and was sentenced here because a dude in a robe hadn't poured water over her head? Forced to be a baby for all eternity? Part of him envied her stupidity. This place might not be so bad if you didn't know any better. No responsibilities, pretty women taking care of you and being nice to you. He wouldn't have to feed himself. Heck, if even half of this was true, he wouldn't even have to dress himself. Hell, he wouldn't even have to wipe- NO! DON'T THINK LIKE THAT! FIGHT IT! Dante sat up, his eyes hardened. "How do I fight it?" he asked, staring at Lysa, his eyes burning with hatred- not for her- but for what he had almost thought. There was a spark there for a moment, between the two of them. A connection made, however brief. Lysa nodded her approval; she had felt it too, then. "For starters, you have to be honest with yourself. Denial and hope are poisons in this place. Know in your heart that there are forces bigger than you keeping you here, and that means you're not leaving. If you try and escape, you'll be more likely to crack when they catch you. That hope will turn into despair and that's when you'll give in." Dante nodded. He wasn't going to try to escape. Yet. He needed more information first, and some time to formulate a plan. Lysa gave him an odd look. Goddamn it, he needed to get a poker face. "Also," she went on, building up steam, "you're going to be forced into doing things that you won't be proud of. Get over it. Dignity has no place here." Dante could almost imagine a general's helmet on her head, and riding crop in her hand. He imagined the American flag in the background of the playpen. "You will pee and poop yourself. You will drink from bottles and eat in a highchair. We will probably see each other naked by the end of the day. Just let whatever humiliating thing happen, accept that it happened, that it'll definitely happen again, and move on with your day. "If there's a way a small way to keep your dignity-like expecting jackasses who are still smart enough to understand you face the other way when you're pooping," Dante felt his face grow a little red from embarrassment. "Do it, but otherwise give up on embarrassment, dignity, shame, yada yada yada." "Those whiners who scream to the ceiling 'I'm a big girl! I'm a big boy! Waaaaah!'" Lysa threw her hands up in mock distress. "Are the ones closest to cracking. And the angry kids who curse, and hit, and play rebel, get spanked every five minutes?….they're next in line. Cynicism is your friend". Dante had to admit, this made some sense. It would be harder to break someone who didn't feel hope. Harder to change an aspect of someone who didn't emotionally invest a lot in that aspect. Don't give your tormentors much to torment. Speaking of which: "What's the deal with the- um- Judy's?" Dante inquired. "They're angels…sort of.", Lysa answered. "Created to be the perfect mommies, nannies, babysitters, caretakers…whatever." Lysa started listing off on her fingers, "They don't eat, drink, sleep, use the potty, (heh…weird vocabulary choice there), or do anything that doesn't immediately relate to treating us like we're rugrats. I mean, they don't even get dirty." The image of the first Judy and her immaculate outfit despite being pushed into a puddle of vomit came to mind, as did the blood refusing to stain the Judy's hand after she kissed Dante's boo-boo….injury….injury…his mutilated hand. Lysa shrugged, "I don't know if they literally think we're babies, or just treat us that way, but the result's the same. All but the most basic stuff that we say, they treat like baby talk anyways. Watch…" Lysa turned and called out , "Hey Judy! Judy! I bet I could really improve your face by running my dad's lawn mower over it!" The Judy in the nursery scrubs walked over, Midori resting on her hip. "Well someone sure sounds excited!" she cooed to them. "What is it, Lysa? What is it?" Lysa turned her head back to Dante, "Now watch this." She started waving frantically and calling out in an excited and high pitched voice. "Dori! Dori! It's me! Lysa! Look at you, whoah! You're so high up there on that nice lady's hip! Hi Dori! Hi!" Midori waved back enthusiastically, enjoying all the attention from her playmate. "Well it sure looks like someone missed their little friend.", mused the Judy. The angel turned her head to the baby-teen on her hip. "Are you ready to go back and play? Are you? Are you?" she didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Well, okaaaay. But no more biting." Midori gave a solemn wide-eyed nod. The playpen gate opened again, and Midori was plopped down among them. She immediately crawled over and gave Lysa a sloppy hug, the two girls almost falling over themselves. Lysa, gently nudged Midori away, "Thank you, Dori," she said, "now Dante and I need to keep talking, otay?" Midori nodded and babbled something before crawling off. Lysa turned back to Dante, "See? They only hear what they want to hear." Interesting. So in theory, Dante could talk to some of the others, maybe make a few allies, and form an escape plan or rebellion right under his captors noses. He got that look from Lysa again. Was she psychic or something? Damn! "What happens if they're not needed?" Dante asked, trying to take the feeling of suspicion off of him. "Like what do they do when we're sleeping or just playing….(don't say playing nice don't say playing nice)..nice?" FUCK! "Depends," Lysa said. "They seem to keep a certain ratio of Judy to baby. If we're with more babies, and there's nothing for them to do, they usually talk to each other. Sometimes, they tell stories about us- like the things we did that they thought were cute or funny. Other times it's water-cooler talk and gossip." she shrugged. "Y'know, the kind of stuff that grown-ups talk about when they're sure the kids are distracted or are too young to understand. They don't even care if you listen in. It's how I found out about a lot of this stuff." Her eyes darted to the side…an afterthought. "That and I was lucky enough to find someone to show me the ropes of this place." "Oh yeah? Who was it?", Dante asked, genuinely interested. If Lysa knew more people who were like them around here, maybe he could make friends with them and use it to his advantage later. "Next question." Lysa said. "I already asked it," Dante pressed, "I said who showed you the ropes when you first got here?" "And I said…NEXT. QUESTION." Yikes! Backpedal backpedal backpedal! "Ok," Dante said, wisely changing the subject, "what's the deal with the milk?" Safe choice. Definitely a safe choice. Besides, something was up with that milk. "That," Lysa sighed, "is Angel milk, if you know what I mean." She rolled over onto her back, her diaper on plain display and her legs idly kicking the air. Oddly familiar. "They call it the milk of human kindness." her voice mellowed out as if she were daydreaming. "It takes away all ambition, and all inhibitions. Without those things, you're innocent, free from any aggressive or shameful thoughts. It basically makes you a baby for a little while. The Judy's love to force it down our throats. The buzz makes the idea of going full baby seem more appealing to a lot of people." "You can't get away from it, entirely.", she went on. "They serve it at least twice a day. Don't expect to do any heavy thinking right after breakfast or dinner, or if you can't sleep through the night. Still, if you can avoid coming off as too cranky, or fussy most of the time, they won't give you any extra. "Don't worry," she said, sitting back up and crossing her legs, "it's delicious AND habit forming, but it's not permanent- I think the stuff they give to us in the bottles is cut with something." Her tone went back to normal. "But even after it wears off, it has lingering side effects." "What kind of side effects?" Dante asked. "If a baby can't do it, we probably can't do it either. For starters," Lysa pointed to the ground, "Have either you or I stood up on our own two feet since this conversation started?" Nope, that they hadn't. Dante had barely noticed, it felt so natural to be crawling around. The last time he had stood up was when he was running away…before the milk. "What else?" he asked. "Look down at your crotch. Any idea how to get that onesie off?" Dante stared down at the crotch-snaps. Did he know how to get undressed? Nope. Getting the blue onesie off seemed about as out there as quantum physics right then. "What else?" Dante repeated. "We're not potty-trained anymore." she responded flatly. "Seriously?" he questioned in disbelief. To be trapped in diapers was one thing. To not possess the alternative skill-set, thus needing diapers sounded far fetched, even here. Dante suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Can you even tell me how to use a potty?" Lysa questioned. "Bet you can't." It was true. Dante could remember what a potty looked like- a funny chair with a hole in it. It made a funny sound when you pulled the handle down. He could even remember having used a potty before. But for the life (after-life?) of him, he couldn't list the steps in how to use one, anymore. His discomfort grew. "Can you even think of another word for potty?" Lysa pressed. God help him, he couldn't. He felt a horrible need growing inside of him. Dante was about to explode, a dam about to burst. "I'm about to pee!" he shrieked. He didn't even finish the sentence before his bladder let loose. Lysa quickly turned around. Relief, sweet relief flooded his every synapse as he flooded the diaper. His diaper. He shuddered at both of those thoughts. "Okay, done." Dante hung his head in shame, quickly before correcting himself. Mustn't let himself fall too deeply into pity. "So," he admitted to himself, as Lysa shimmied back around, "I just pissed my pants." "No you didn't." Lysa told him. "You wet your diaper. It didn't even leak through to your other clothes. Besides, you're not wearing pants " she smiled. Was she actually making a joke? "Seriously," she chuckled dryly, "none of the babies get dressed in pants here. Closest things they have are shortalls. It's like they really want to hammer the baby thing home; I guess pants are too grown-up or something" She shrugged and gestured to herself. "Same thing goes for dresses and skirts that actually cover your underwear. I think it's another form of control." "So let me get this straight," Dante summarized, "These Stepford Wives dope us up on soma and control every part of our lives like Big Brother till we lose it?" "Uh…yeah…" Lysa said, for the first time sounding uncertain. "I guess so." Heh. Blondes. "Not much of a reader?" Dante asked, feeling like he had the upper hand for once in this conversation. Thank you Mrs. Applegate. "No," Lysa said, her eyebrow cocked, in curiosity. "I read a lot back when I was alive. I was actually planning on being the first girl in my family to go to college. I caught the Brave New World and 1984 references. I just don't get what you were talking about with the Stepford Wives. Must be after my time." Seriously? She hadn't seen the movie? Either the good one or the remake? "How old are you?" Dante asked. Lysa got that smug look on her face. "You know those old fashioned cloth diapers, with the safety pins and everything?" she asked. Dante nodded. Like the kind worn in the old cartoons. "When I first got here," Lysa said, "they were just called diapers. Disposables hadn't really become popular yet." Seriously?! This chick was THAT old? She must've been old enough that if she were still alive, she'd be back in diapers again anyways. "Yeah," she went on by way of explanation, "this place sort of changes to keep up with the times and the latest baby fads. I've been able to keep up on the slang and lingo by talking with other new fish, like you. So don't be so surprised that I don't talk like some old biddie!" Ironically enough, being prideful that she didn't sound old had the opposite effect. She was starting to reek of "I'm old, but I'm hip…so not really that hip." "Thing is though," Lysa said, changing the subject back, "I've worn cloth, and I've worn disposables. I say if you're gonna be stuck in diapers forever, go with the disposables.' She was right, now that Dante thought about it. Compared to his wet cloth underwear, (though hardly a fair comparison), his wet disposable felt far better. The damp warmth felt good, and the diaper swelled slightly, creating a mushy feeling around his genitals, almost as if a warm sponge was massaging him down there. Whoah! All of a sudden, Dante's diaper felt a little bit tighter. Something else, besides the diaper had started swelling. He looked down at his padded crotch. He could feel the erection, but couldn't see it. (Take that khakis!) "Um…Lysa," Dante blushed, "I thought you said if a baby couldn't do it, we couldn't do it." He gestured to his crotch and gyrated slightly to get the point across. "I think I might be at risk of having a very un-childlike accident here." Lysa just smiled and rolled her eyes. "Dumb ass," she said. "You got a stiffie from your first wet diaper, didn't you? Baby boys get erections all the time. Heck, it's probably why they're harder to potty train." Hmmm, maybe. That made some sense. "Baby girls can get wet in more ways than one if you know what I mean. " she winked. "But as far as our plumbing goes, your seed shooter just got demoted to a squirt gun, and I'll never lactate, have a bun in my oven, or get a visit from my aunt flow again." Did that mean he could potentially have sex here? Apparently death was no cure for a male teenage libido. Lysa started giving him that "don't even think about it look" again. Time to change the subject and distract himself again. "So," Dante looked around nervously, "is there any cut off age for entrance into Limbo?" It was the best he could do. He couldn't think of any better questions. Lysa shrugged. "There'd have to be. Even with a lucky break like Limbo, there'd have to be a point where God says 'You're old enough to go to Hell.' " Memories from earlier crashed into Dante's brain. "JUDY, HE WAS HERE AT ONE MINUTE BEFORE MIDNIGHT. HE WAS ONLY ONE MINUTE AWAY FROM BEING DECLARED LOST. IF I FUDGE ANY OF THE PAPER WORK, EVEN BY A MINUTE, HE DOESN'T GO INTO ANOTHER NURSERY!" Eighteen. Eighteen-years-old was the cut off. If Dante Willis had died one minute later, he would have died a man. He would have been condemned to Hell for all eternity. To Be Continued…

Chapter 3: Definitely Not Dead. Have you ever experienced something that caught you so off guard, you literally didn’t know what to think? You didn’t feel happy, or sad, or angry, or even confused? “Numb