A Future We'd Like To See 1.34 - Hell By Twoflower (Copyright 1994) I hit the ground really, really, really hard. Probably the only way I could have hit it harder would be to put myself in a high-powered cannon and shoot straight down from orbit. God, life sucks. Death is even worse. The ground shouldn't be this red, though. I mean, when I fell out of the orbit shuttle, I'm pretty sure the ground that was rushing up to meet me was green. It's hard to forget something like that. And now, here I am, on some reddish soil. Very warm, too. I got up and immediately regretted it. Fire, brimstone, lava, the works. Everything. I had strong suspicions I'd be going to hell, and it looks like I was right. I didn't really mind. I mean, you don't exactly get away with torching apartment complexes for cash and end up playing the harps. But this didn't look too much like hell. It was only warm, not really scalding. There weren't any screams of pain. And I'm very sure there wouldn't be any convenience stores, like the one I had apparently landed outside of. This was a minimall. Had to be. There were parking spaces (many of the cars were real junkers... can't exactly expect anything other than lemons in hell), a yogurt shoppe, and even a two day holo rental store. And here, a minimart. "H-MART," the sign blinked in red neon. I shrugged and entered. Looked like any other everything-under-one-roof type store. The lighting flickered, there were unidentifiable black things on the tile floor, and there were mislabeled shelves everywhere. I grabbed a newspaper. "Citizens demand a ski slope," the headlines read. "Today, a group of concerned citizens demanded that a ski slope be constructed. Hell authorities attempted to explain that snow didn't stand much of a chance anywhere in hell, but the citizens persisted. They were promptly escorted to the torture camps for the rest of eternity." "Can I help you with anything?" a pale, tired looking clerk asked, pausing in his sweeping. It didn't seem to dent to grime count in the store any. "Not really... well, yeah. Where am I supposed to go next?" I asked. "This is purgatory, where I get to burn for all time to pay for my sins, right?" "Pretty much," the clerk said. "Although very little burning really goes on. It's boredom, mostly. You're a recent arrival?" "Yup." "Why didn't you head to the Incoming Citizen Department in town hall?" he asked. "Weren't you given instructions and appropriate forms to fill out?" * I'll skip everything up until I found the Incoming Citizen Department. After all, the entire period lasted five years, searching around the 666 thousand acres of offices that make up the Hell Government. I underwent a few radical changes in personality, including a period of time where I went insane, but that wasn't really any fun, so I decided to be normal. "This the Incoming Citizen Department?" I asked the demonic secretary with the pretty dress. "Yes," she slithered, in a not entirely repulsive way. "Do you have an appointment?" Insert two years of filling out forms to GET an appointment... Another year in the waiting room... I can quote word for word every issue of National Geographic ever written now... "Now serving number 5,773,365," she said. "That's me," I replied. "Satan will see you now," she replied, smiling. * Satan was actually a shortish, dumpy, balding man in a bad shirt. "Ah yes, mister...?" "It's just Jones. I had it changed." "Jones it is. I'm Stan, overlord of hell and employee management. Have a seat." "Stan?" I coughed. "This isn't exactly what I was expecting." "Well, a little exaggeration goes a long way," Stan said, clicking an ancient ballpoint retractable. "Don't think of us as your eternal punishment. Think of it as sort of a forced, semi- unpleasant relocation." "Still a bit odd," I said. "I mean, I'm not deeply religious or anything, but this isn't how I pictured hell." "What realm are you from, Jones?" "Excuse me?" "World. Dimension. Plane of reality. You know. Where are you in the Tree?" "I've got no idea what you're talking about, oh lord of darkness." "It's just Stan, really. Alright, lemme look you up in our records... things have gotten so much easier now that we're hooked up to the internet... here we are. An FWLSer, huh?" "An eff double-yoo 'el esser?" "Your realm. You guys haven't broken the dimensional barrier. Well, I'll summarize. When you die, you move on in the Tree. All depends on how well you led your life. If you weren't a success, you end up here -- we're the bad turn on the Tree from FWLS. If you did pretty well, you go to some other place." "Heaven?" "No, I think they call it California. It's really just a coincidence that we're called hell. Apparently the word means something where you're from?" "Yeah, it's the land of the damned, where the evil ones are burned--" "--and all that rot, yes. Rather funny in a way, coincidences. Anyway, I can hook you up with some low-rent housing on the southern banks of the River Styx... lovely place in the summer, but then again, it's always summer. I can assume you'll be spending all of eternity here, or until your reformation?" "Eh?" "Well, physics and life and death are a bit differently here. You've moved on into a new reality, after all. You can't die here. You just move on when hell thinks you've had enough." "Can't I escape?" "Well, some space marines came blazing through here with chainguns and BFGs and all sorts of weaponry a few years back. They got out, but they weren't supposed to be here in the first place. Did a lot of damage, ticked off quite a few creatures that had started settling into a moon that got sucked into the mess as well." "So when do I normally get out of here?" "I've been here so long it ranks into the five thousand figure range," Stan smiled. "You tell me." * The house wasn't that bad. Had a roach problem and the brownouts were a bitch, but not much else. I slummed it out there for a century or so, hitting the nightclubs, looking for some sort of dark underground I could hook up with and get some funding... didn't find one. Hell cops are the toughest they get. I spent ten years in a torture camp experiencing random tortures and anguish for trying to steal food one year. I didn't HAVE to eat to live, but it hurt like hell and I couldn't move around if I didn't make an effort to find some nourishment. My muscles wasted away a few times when the recession hit hell and I lost my few piddling jobs. You never die, you just fall between the cracks and suffer for it. Death would be a nice change of pace by comparison. Building yourself up after falling down is tricky, and time consuming, but possible. That's about the time when I met her. I was back up to average build, nothing special but it meant I was having bread occasionally. She wasn't doing as well... very skinny, very depressed looking. "Heya," I said, flicking my cigarette ash off to the side. "This seat taken?" Her clothing screamed out 'OLD', ripped in a few places, really rag-tag. Her hair was a mess, too... she looked at me That way. It was a common look in all the hell denizens, That look of someone really near the edge. The eyes screamed out with a mix of pleading, sadness, and terror. I had stepped over that edge once, when I was poking around town hall centuries back. Took quite a bit to climb back up. I've climbed a few real cliffs in my time... some of the hell slopes are really hard compared to the weak ones on Terra, but nothing really compares to clawing you way back to sanity. Sorta like scaling up the angle of a number 7 to the top. "Can I buy you a drink?" I asked, pulling out my wallet and sifting through the few red hellbills I had. Paper currency. And they thought I was a barbarian. "F...f.." she sputtered. Malnutrition, gotta be. "Food it is," I said. "Hey, bartender!" The brownish spiky demon sneered at me. They may act all tough, but the hellspawn that run the realm aren't that bad once you get to know them. They're just not that bright. "She'll have two of whatever today's special is. I'll have some brew," I ordered. "Make it snappy, will you?" * I spent a few months getting the girl back to decent standards of living. Hey, I had nothing better to do except stare at hell's holovids all day. Nothing but game shows and shopping channels. Can't afford any of the chia pets and crap items on those anyway. She still didn't talk much, other than basic nouns like 'food' and 'drink' and 'hot'. I was guessing she was still travelling along the acute angles of mental cliffs. There was a knock at my door one day after I had gotten home from one of my many minimum wage jobs. Hell Cop, with the girl in tow. "This belong to you?" the pink, stubby demon snarled, holding up the girl with a mammoth fist. "Sort of," I replied, carefully easing her into the house. No consciousness. Not good. You could still slip into comas here, and comas were sometimes worse than living... "Why?" "Neighbors complained of screaming and yelling, and we managed to dredge her out of the river," the cop replied, wiping away his excess droll with a blue sleeve. "Keep your miscreants out of our lavaways, alright? They're messy enough without you dumping critters in 'em." I slammed the door. Cops are the same everywhere, 'cept here, they really do look like pigs. I eased her form onto my couch, and looked around for some blankets. "I'm not cold," she said, in a shaky, but clear voice. That was the biggest surprise I had gotten in my entire stay. * I don't know what caused it, or how she climbed back up, but the girl was back in the world of the sane now. Sometimes, it's best not to ask about things like that. I stuck to normal topics of conversation, and found out her name was Julie. She lost her home when the rent ran out years ago, so I let her stay here. It's not like I need the room. I talked my boss into letting her handle the drive through window, and shared incomes when hers started to run out. We invested in education (hell has quite a few universities, although the teachers are really a bitch) and aimed for a higher job. Took a few dozen years, but it worked. I got a degree in computers (it's kinda like demolition, only not as subtle), she got one in architecture. Pretty artistic, she was... probably part of her problem, since the term starving artist can really apply here. I keep talking about here as if I was supposed to be somewhere else. I've found that out, living in hell... I'm not an eff double-yoo 'el esser anymore. That's a lifetime behind me, a really small chunk of my memory. Doesn't matter. Hell is where I am. Once you get over that stumbling block, life becomes a lot easier. We made out in my junker after graduation night. I suppose it was destiny, since we had been 'partners' as it were for so many years, through thin and thinner. The wedding was shortly after. Hellspawn really know how to party, you've got to give it to them -- Stan even threw me a gala reception (he was my boss now... I worked in town hall, on their 'nets, as jones@hell.com) and gave me a gift of a fabulous mansion. I turned it down. I mean, hey, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you don't make deals with the powers of darkness, even if they do pay your bills. Julie and I managed to live simply in our cockroach-infested riverfront hovel. We didn't need much else. Hell really teaches you to be spartan. * I knocked very, very quietly on the door. "Come on in," Julie stage-whispered from inside the hospital room. I slipped in quietly, and set down the flowers and box on the tray-table. "How is he?" "Shhh. He's sleeping," she said, cradling our new son. Quite a tired little guy, he was. "Jones?" "Yeah?" "How... well, how is he going to grow up? We're stuck at one age, but him..." "I was reading about it in all those delivery room pamphlets," I said, pulling out a quick notes sheet I had been using. "Anybody born here starts out 'neutral', as it were. Kinda like Switzerland. Once their time is up, they move in to a good place or bad place, case depending. Just like us, except they age. Just really slowly." "Sounds like you had the hard work," she giggled. "I just had to give birth. You had to do research." "Just sifting through a few hundred bits of paper, not much," I said. "I got real good at that when looking for the new arrivals office." "Yeah, but this is purgatory," she said. "No pain killers. Instead, you get pain additives." * We named him Max. No need for a christening or anything similar; there's no organized religions down here. (Makes sense, when you think about it.) There isn't even satanism or any dark religions. There's just the basic philosophy of survival. That's all you need. Max got okay marks in school. Nothing bad, not really that nasty of a kid. Held his own in fights, tried to do the right thing, even if it is rather hard. Played ball, won some awards. Graduated with a B average. I was busy adding a photo of him at the championship game to my office space when Stan knocked on the door. "Come in," I called, straightening the picture. "Bad news," Stan said, walking through the closed door. He likes doing stuff like that to keep you on your toes. "Yeah?" I replied. I've counted that, you know. I've said 'Yeah' about 6,738,846 times. "We're starting up some terror drills," Stan said. "We're a bit under quota on souls tortured this year and need to add a few citizens at random out of each district to even it out. One of your family members is up for a few years electrocution and sandpaper application. Which would you like?" I stopped my typing. I wasn't surprised, this sort of thing goes on all the time. This IS purgatory, after all. Just hit too close to home to be comfortable. "Not really a fair question, Stan," I replied. "Come on, we're pals. Can't you work around this? Why us?" "It's random. Perfectly fair, as fair as fair can be. Look, I've got to get back to the meeting. We'll be sending an officer by later today to take one of them away. I just wanted to know if you had a preference, so I could tell them in advance." I didn't talk. What could I say? Stan's beeper went off. "Bless. I've got to get back there, they need me to present the pie charts. Page me if you want to talk, alright?" With that, he left. Just like that. * I tried not to think about it on the commute home. I didn't mention it to Julie or Max, and concentrated on the holo instead, or the paper, or whatever I could. Then the Cop arrived. "Hell Cops, open up!" the piglike voice boomed. Julie and Max looked surprised, but I didn't. I knew what it meant. The door burst down (no hinges anyway, they've rusted off already), and a few pigs entered. "Go," I ordered, pointing my shotgun at them. I had hidden it carefully, waiting for them to arrive. "I may be immortal here, but you're not, demon. I can mess you up real bad, and will, if you touch either of them." The pig snorted at me. "Bah. More will come. I am one of many. We will pick one at random for the pain," he said. "You. The female. Come with me." I fired. The Hell Cop reeled, splattering on the ground. I quickly blasted the other two, centuries-dead knowledge of death reemerging. It felt different... then, I was killing for profit. Now, I was killing for justice. "You two out the back," I ordered my wife and son. "Run away. Hide. Go anywhere, just leave, or they'll come after you." "Jones, stop it!" Julie pleaded. "They'll take you off, do lord knows what, for lord knows how long... I'll go, if I must." "I said GO!" I yelled. Julie panicked, grabbed Max by the arm, and ran out of the back. I had more pressing matters. I reloaded the shotgun, standing by the door, waiting. They'd be here sooner or later, in the numbers. I don't care if I get another few decades of torture, it doesn't matter. They won't take them. "Jones?" came a familiar voice, from behind the door. "I'll have you know I'm heavily armed!" I replied. "Jones, it's Stan," Stan said, walking through the door. I trained the gun on him, but didn't fire. Yet. Stan's harmless by himself, but if anybody else walked in, it was open season. "I've got good news," Stan said, smiling. "You passed the final." "Final what?" I asked, keeping the gun on him. "Test, Jones. I told you, you'll be here until we decide you've had enough. Well, you have. You've done well. House, kids, wife, job. More importantly, self sacrifice, sense of loyalty, justice. All sorts of things you didn't have before getting here. I'd call that successful." "Yeah? And?" I said, gun failing to waver. "And you're out. Congratulations, I'll miss you. You're a great worker. I hope you have fun where you're going." "I don't want to go anywhere," I said. "My life is here. I'm a full-fledged citizen of hell, and staying that way. I'm happy here." "It's out of our hands," Stan said. "We only control so much, Jones. There are powers higher than any one realm. A company. A big company, that rules over everything. If you think hell is frightening, you've never seen them. They even scare me, and I'm supposed to be the overlord of this plane. But that's not important to you. You're moving on to a better place." "And Julie? Max? What happens to them?" "Nothing. The random selection was the test, they'll be fine. According to my charts, they're well on their way to the good place as well." "So I'll be seeing them on the other side?" "Maybe. There's a tradeoff. You'll be moving on to paradise, but you won't remember this place. No need to. You're clean now, no sins you have to remember. You still might meet up with them. Reality is a funny thing. Loves drama." "But--" "There's no time. Godspeed, my friend." Dark red brimstone fled my soul, as I moved out of this world and into whatever lie ahead. I didn't see anything, I didn't feel anything. Just thought. Thought. No, knowledge. I knew as I 'moved on', that things would be better. I wouldn't have the empty life I lead on Terra, centuries and centuries ago. Life doesn't really suck, once you learn how to live it.