They found themselves seated on some... were they on a boat?!
"Well, here we are," a deep, calm voice spoke behind them. They looked back at a tall wiry man with curly hair and a maroon top hat. He began a familiar chant that would haunt their dreams for the rest of their days.

But in eternity, "rest of their days" doesn't mean much. They had to suppliment "eternity" for different words and phrases.

The two felt like they had waited in line at a Disney land ride, and the boat finally moved forward. But the friends never felt any momentum, dispite the jolt forward (or was it backwards?) in direction.

There's no earthly way of knowing/ which direction we are going

There's no way of knowing where we're rowing/ or which way the river's flowing

Is it raining/ is it snowing/ is a hurricane a-blowing

Not a speck of light is showing/ so the danger must be growing

Are the fires of hell a-glowing?/ Is the grisly reaper mowing?

The danger MUST be growing/ for the rowers keep on rowing

And their certainly not showing/ any signs that they are slowing!

What madness awaited these two? A kolidoscope of color and sound exploded around them. Taunting them. Mocking them. This is what most people and writers call 'forshadowing.' This was a taste of what was to come. And they had a poet on board, doubling as a crazed guide. Joy.

After a time, they saw an emerald light. It grew and grew and grew into strange shapes. But most importantly, it was closer to them (or were they closer to the light?) and were going to...

The light looked like this: