Midnight in the underworld, fireflies twinkle.
Hades scratches himself and remarks on the rain, “Wet, ain’t it?”
The hot Sun settles over Jamaica Plains as the F Train find its
way to The Village.
Persephone claps her hands to her forehead and remarks to the old
woman in the seat across from hers: “Oh, the unbearable lightness of
Replies the old woman, “I’m sorry, these are my bad ears.”
“They look fine to me.”
“Don’t be absurd!”
Persephone points through the screen at the writer: “Tell him to don’t.”
“Oh he never doesn’t!” proclaims the old woman. “When do you reach Hell?”
“As soon as I relinquish this train.”
“That could be any time.”
“That could be as we speak.”
“But it won’t be you know,” the old woman points through the screen at the writer. “He hates mixing action with dialogue.”
The train slows as it nears the mouth of Hell and stops.
Persephone disembarks; a cat darts between the wheels of a cart and she recognizes the familiar landmarks of her youth:
The Statue of the Unknown Bodybuilder heroically crushing a mound of
squirming women beneath his feet; the 7–Eleven where she stops to buy
Hades a fine cigar.
How the old devil loves his cigars!
“White Owl.” she says.
“Oui.” replies the clerk.
And it is done.
(C) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
Statue of the Unknown Body Builder based on a public domain photo of the Statue of Civic Virtue which stood in Queens at Union Turnpike Station until