Wednesday, May 09, 2007


As he walks through hell's gates, he can't believe all the stories were true. Pots of boiling water, lava, excrement, devils with pitchforks, people yelling for help -- all real as can be. He could have attended church more often, not embezzled money from the company, saved his friend who "accidentally" drowned. Sure, there were all kinds of things he could have done to prevent the eternal torment to come. Except, he knew he was just too lazy. He'd promised himself over and over he'd be a better person, but when push came to shove his fellow co-worker in front of his boss' rampaging train, he couldn't help giving the necessary tap in the back. To do the right thing he would've had to stand in front of a million locomotives, smoked last cigarettes for tons of firing squads. He's not totally unhappy, now, though. Despite being astounded by Hades' existence, he'll submit pretty willingly to the torture, like a dish soaking in hot water. The alternative, to believe he was suffering for a reason, one he had to rectify, would be worse than the pain.


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