Sunrise in Hell
(Poetic Prose: No: 2788/9-12-2010)
“Hallelujah,” they all screamed in Hell, “Hallelujah,” it was indeed a rousing revival hymn, and ere, the excitement began to ebb as they all fell down on knees, that one soul in Hell would be freed.
Ah! There was a sunrise to be in hell too, in the making. The first, ever to behold: hence, when the archangel would appear and descend, to bring back up with him, one, whichever one he’d chose, to go to heaven. It would indeed, be a curious sight to see.
“Huh! Perhaps it’ll be me!” the first man in line exclaimed, to the fellow behind him. “My life was only filled with venial sins,” the lesser ones to his recollection.
“Do you think this is fair?” questioned the second person in line, as if he had some legal right to protest.
The first man said no more, he remained silent, as if on the 5th Amendment, saying to his mind’s eye, ‘I will not bear witness against myself, who’s to say what they will make of it.’
Old Piper Pete, who had killed many in battles against the Greeks, and he himself slain by one, announced to those around him—who thought he was heartless, deadlier than a boar, “I once carried a lantern for a mother looking to find her child,” he explained. A woman behind him yelled “You’re liar; you raped her on a reef (a submerged ridge of rocks, that is), off the island Crete.” And many laughed, and said “God demands truth,” and in such fashion, everyone about rambled on through his and her full-packed lives.
Said the Henchman Lawyer off Hades Pier, where everyone was waiting (muttered, paused and grinned, affirmed) “When the angel comes, the sun will rise once again, in Hell (although it had never risen before), and then we’ll all know the name of the person.”
Everybody was now with searching eyes, lurking in the grey dark, waiting near the pier, the wharf—for the concluded episode.
The old drunk, everyone had forgotten about, was sitting far-off to the side of the line, resting against a stone wall, he had died drunk in a shipwreck, in the Drake Passage, in 1663. And someone said, in the thick of the line, “He’s a leftover from a forgotten time.” Other than that, he was a true Christian. He just loved his booze more than God.
And then the angel appeared, the gates of Hell opened up, and the sun shown bright upon the wharf, and the angel dropped a ticket from his hand, which floated down to the old drunk’s, saying “We go to heaven, with no return.”
Hell’s committee—believe it or not—all agreed, right there on the spot, it was fair—the chosen one, and they didn’t protest, or say a word (even if they were passively perturbed, they didn’t show it).
The old man stood up, cleared his throat, and looked deadeye deep into the sunlight, squinting, holding the ticket in his right hand—upward towards the archangel, said, with a most pleading grin, and hoarse voice: “I’d like to trade it, if I can, for a bottle of rum, or a bottle of Dutch Gin, if I have a choice!”
Note: 2788 (9-12-2010)
(Poetic Prose: No: 2788/9-12-2010)
“Hallelujah,” they all screamed in Hell, “Hallelujah,” it was indeed a rousing revival hymn, and ere, the excitement began to ebb as they all fell down on knees, that one soul in Hell would be freed.
Ah! There was a sunrise to be in hell too, in the making. The first, ever to behold: hence, when the archangel would appear and descend, to bring back up with him, one, whichever one he’d chose, to go to heaven. It would indeed, be a curious sight to see.
“Huh! Perhaps it’ll be me!” the first man in line exclaimed, to the fellow behind him. “My life was only filled with venial sins,” the lesser ones to his recollection.
“Do you think this is fair?” questioned the second person in line, as if he had some legal right to protest.
The first man said no more, he remained silent, as if on the 5th Amendment, saying to his mind’s eye, ‘I will not bear witness against myself, who’s to say what they will make of it.’
Old Piper Pete, who had killed many in battles against the Greeks, and he himself slain by one, announced to those around him—who thought he was heartless, deadlier than a boar, “I once carried a lantern for a mother looking to find her child,” he explained. A woman behind him yelled “You’re liar; you raped her on a reef (a submerged ridge of rocks, that is), off the island Crete.” And many laughed, and said “God demands truth,” and in such fashion, everyone about rambled on through his and her full-packed lives.
Said the Henchman Lawyer off Hades Pier, where everyone was waiting (muttered, paused and grinned, affirmed) “When the angel comes, the sun will rise once again, in Hell (although it had never risen before), and then we’ll all know the name of the person.”
Everybody was now with searching eyes, lurking in the grey dark, waiting near the pier, the wharf—for the concluded episode.
The old drunk, everyone had forgotten about, was sitting far-off to the side of the line, resting against a stone wall, he had died drunk in a shipwreck, in the Drake Passage, in 1663. And someone said, in the thick of the line, “He’s a leftover from a forgotten time.” Other than that, he was a true Christian. He just loved his booze more than God.
And then the angel appeared, the gates of Hell opened up, and the sun shown bright upon the wharf, and the angel dropped a ticket from his hand, which floated down to the old drunk’s, saying “We go to heaven, with no return.”
Hell’s committee—believe it or not—all agreed, right there on the spot, it was fair—the chosen one, and they didn’t protest, or say a word (even if they were passively perturbed, they didn’t show it).
The old man stood up, cleared his throat, and looked deadeye deep into the sunlight, squinting, holding the ticket in his right hand—upward towards the archangel, said, with a most pleading grin, and hoarse voice: “I’d like to trade it, if I can, for a bottle of rum, or a bottle of Dutch Gin, if I have a choice!”
Note: 2788 (9-12-2010)
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