Hanging out in hell
Just minding
My own business
As one should in hell
Consumed with your own stuff
Clomp Clomp
Clomp Clomp
Thudding sound of hoof-beats
Upon dry ground
A cloud of dust approaches
Across the infertile backdrop
I am mesmerized
By the sound
Whatever is coming it excites me
Nothing much happens here in hell
Except the same
Tortured replay
Over and over
From the cloud of dust a figure
Ridiculous
I rub my eyes just to be sure
A horse
Being ridden by a winged pig
Little piggy hooves grasping something
It think
It is
A snowball?
In hell?
How quaint
They stop
Right in front of me
The horse’s name is Ellie
The pig’s name is Paul
The snowball doesn’t really have a name
Being just a ball of snow
“Why are you riding a horse
When you have perfectly good wings?”
I ask the pig
“And if you don’t mind me asking
What’s with the snowball?”
Ellie tosses her head
“Paul doesn’t exactly know
What those wings are for
They just appeared one day
And he is a little scared
So he would rather ride”
Paul grins
“Not afraid, just comfortable
Enough up here
A pig has no need for wings
When his best friend is
A horse”
“And this snowball
Oh he has no chance
You know what they say
About a snowball in hell”
I pause
Do I remember?
Oh, yes, something about
A snowball’s chance in hell
Paul grins a little piggy grin
“Well if there is no hope”
He says merrily
“Then we may as well
Make the best of it”
Whommp
The snowball hits me
Right in the head
I laugh
And just like that
Hell
Disappears
Or maybe I just
Forgot to be there
Temporarily
I suppose it doesn’t matter
Either way
By the time I bend down
And pick up the remnants
Of that nameless snowball
Ellie has gone
Galloping off
Snow flying under hoof
And then I see
Next to her
A tiny little flying pig
Today I found out that
A snowball
Has no chance in hell
The joy it brings
Apparently
Cancels out the hell-ness
And silly me
Always thought that it was
Something else
But it’s not so hot in hell
Anyway
About the Creator
Renee Ranke
I am a reborn writer (funny since the name Renee means 'reborn'). On my mystical journey, I have rediscovered, in writing, a long-lost love and a way to strengthen my connection to my own divinity.
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The rays of a dying red sun flashed against the onrushing blade. The grey beards say the key to dueling lies in size, speed, reach, righteous fury, whatever the person in front of them pays them to say. Matteo knew better than any it was none of these and had an undefeated record on these sands to prove it.
By Matthew J. Fromm4 days ago in Fiction
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