Young woman pointing a gun (Shutterstock)
“As far from the east from the west has He distanced your transgressions from you, she said. If your sins are frozen like the snows on Kilimanjaro, I will melt your heart like the wings of Icarus, she said. Ha! The best of times, the worst of times and brother, this is the worst of times.”
“Quit your bitching Milo and put your back into it.” The prison guard waved his shotgun vaguely in the young convict’s direction to emphasize the point.
He held up his pickaxe momentarily entertaining murderous thoughts, but even if he could bury the business end of it in that fat pig’s chest before he could react, the others would cut him down in a New York minute. Not worth it. Milo brought his tool down on hard, merciless rock, as hard as his stoney heart.
How had he ended up here? Oh yeah. Her.
“It wasn’t enough for you to just visit Jackson Hole like all the other tourists, you had to listen to that vagrant and take us down some little back road and we end up here.”
“You’ve got to admit Sheila, this is pretty unusual.”
“I want to go back to town, Frank. This place is scary.”
“Just a bunch of cheesy looking statues.”
“That’s what they all say, folks.”
Frank and Sheila turned to see an old woman, the one who’d been talking to the cashier when they first looked into the shop.
“My great-granddaddy told me all about it, even wrote it down, about the day aliens and the devil fought right here for possession of humanity.”
“It came to a tie, young man. They share ownership of us. If you want to come into the back of the shop, I’ll introduce you to our proprietors.”
Written for FFfAW Challenge-Week of June 27, 2017 hosted by Priceless Joy. The idea is to use the photo prompt above to write a piece of flash fiction between 100 and 175 words long with 150 being the idea. My word count is 149.
To read other stories inspired by the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.
Actor Tom Ellis as “Lucifer”. © Tricia Helfer. Found at Buzzymag.com
“Welcome to Hell, Daniel, where we’ll try to make your stay as uncomfortable as possible.”
“Wait. What? Where am I? Who are you and what happened to me?”
“There, there dear Daniel. I’ll try to explain.”
From Daniel Katz’s point of view, he was standing in a large, empty white room in front of a tall, charming fellow with a British accent. The man wore a tailored black suit, his dark gray shirt open at the collar, black hair, and deep brown eyes which seemed to pick up a bit of red from time to time.
“You see, you died.”