A/N: Dante may have forgotten to mention the Eleventeenth Circle of Hell, where reside all readers of fanfictions who don’t review… but I assure you, it’s there.

Enjoy, here’s the end.

Pilate awoke with no idea where he was. He threw back the covers and sat up, trying to get his bearings. The last thing he remembered before everything had faded to black was gasping for air. Pain.

Now he felt... He gave a quick sharp cough to test his impression, and yes: he felt well. His chest didn’t hurt. He could breathe freely. The slow, interminable suffocation was over.

On the one hand he was grateful for that, but on the other…

“I died,” he said aloud, shuddering. He got out of bed slowly. “So I finally died. Now what?”

Pilate didn’t even realize he had company, until a voice startled him from along the far wall: “Hello.”

“Oh-!” The shining robe was new, the neat curls a striking improvement over his old ratty hairdo, and he seemed to… well… glow. And he was taller now. But still there was no mistaking him. “Jesus Christ. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you.” Jesus smiled at him. “You are, too.”

The End.

I would be interested to know how you took the ending. I know it could be read either way. Do you see Pilate’s situation as conversion & happiness & bunnies & flowers, or as a cyclical sort of thing that means his afterlife is going to suck giant balls for all eternity?