“I’ve never been good at icebreakers. It really wasn’t until I moved out that I started, just talking to people. It’s not hard; “How’s it going?”, “What’s your name?”, “Where you from?” I learn a lot and likewise let people know about me. I guess that’s why I’m not very social up here. I’m a little insecure about where I’m from.”
“Oh and where’s that?”
“Hell, the Westside.”
“Oh, that’s funny you don’t look like you’re from Hell,” she said with a face that failed to mask her repulsion.
“Well, truthfully I’m only half Hellion. My father was an innocent soul, a pagan none the less, but an innocent soul. He crossed the Styx in, well we’ll call it a mass spiritual exodus, and met my mother, a She Demon. It was carnal infatuation at first sight and here I am. It’s the no horns, right. Put me around hellfire and sulfur and in a week 5 inch horns. Swear to Satan, my skin gets a lot more scaly too.”
I could tell she was having a hard time taking in all this information. Be polite, excuse her and walk on. That’s what we do in Hell, we’re polite. The world has enough problems as it is, we don’t need to be rude to one another.
Some might think it’s wrong, but there is a lot of bigotry here in Heaven. Ever since the Anti-Fallen & Sedition Act came on the books and allowed the descendents of Fallen Angels to return to heaven, a few celestial idiosyncrasies have been exposed and Heaven isn’t all it was supposed to be. I mean there’s plenty to love, for starters IT IS BEAUTIFUL HERE. The sunny skies, honey suckle in the air, awe-inspiring views of infinity; it‘s just a vision.
But on the flip side, the people here are so pretentious and holier than though, and the rent is unbelievable. Even with an inflated salary I’m throwing away half my income for what, a closet with good lighting? Back in Hell, I could have bought a floor, in the Circle for Virtuous Pagans, a good neighborhood. I mean, when people talk about Hell you hear about the air quality, and the heat, the cold, the grinding and wailing of teeth. But the Circle of Virtuous Pagans, sure bad weather, but always a party with no fear of damnation, great food from all over earth, and easy women. Up here all the women are so content to be fulfilled in infinite rapture that I can’t even get a phone number. I realize that this afterlife and romance is a trivial deception of the flesh, but in Hell everybody is so willing just to make a connection to soothe the suffering. Picking up a girl back home, if you’re part demon it’s not even a challenge.
When I get homesick I call my mom, at least once a week. She can’t visit since she’s Fallen. Heaven preaches a policy of forgiveness my ass. I call my mom and she asks if it’s how she remembers it, if everybody still wears all white, and the choirs are still playing on the corner? She never asks if I’m coming home because once I leave I can’t come back, and mom only wants the best for her boy.
The decree of the Principalites went, “All born of the Fallen are virtuous and divine by His decree. His forgiveness is yours, you may return home.” We couldn’t believe it. All of us kids thought we were going to have to work in the Fires like our folks. We had a chance to get out. But once we got to Heaven it wasn’t what we expected. We couldn’t go home and reject God, then we‘d be fallen too. Our family couldn’t come since they had rejected Him. We could only find work we were half qualified for, since nobody hires Hellspawn; and I’ve already mentioned my women problems. It was hardly paradise.
Growing up I was always mad at mom for damning us to hell. When she followed Lucifer down to the pit to fight in his armies, I always questioned her sanity. I know it was a different time back then and everybody was dropping out, but when the chance came to leave I took it. Now here I am, in Heaven, and alone. Perspective is a wonderful thing — just wish I didn’t have to come all the way up here to get it.