Surrealist photograph of virtual reality avatars to represent Persephone and Hades entering the Garden

Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Whose Hell is This?

Flash fiction, Poetry, Surrealism

Persephone plods relentlessly towards Hell.

Great drifts of snow form a tunnel along Union Turnpike.

Everything is grey: grey snow from a grey sky on grey buildings.

Persephone rolls her eyes at the writer; perseveration is a sign
of an overwrought mind.

Yet, she does consider the landscape grey

Illustration of Persephone made from a photograph of an avatar
Union Turnpike

“Alla Saints an’ Mother Theresa coul’na saved me!” laughs Hades with a puff on his cigar.

He’s just told the story of how, as a young Catholic converting a Jew in Switzerland, he was chased by a pack of Protestant dogs.

“My twisted sister!” Persephone hikes her skirt; that story never fails to impress.

“Hades,” she says, “about Felique…”

“I don’t have your precious Felique!”

Nevertheless, she persisted: “But you must!”

Hades relaxes and chuckles affectionately: “Of course I must. She’s in the Garden playing with dolls. She’d love to see you.”

Persephone is confused: “What was that business with the hag in the mirror?”

“You know how the writer likes special effects.”

“And Felique…?”

“She’s a little girl named Trina.”

“I see…and, whose Hell is this?

“Cocteau’s, do you like it?”

Surrealist photograph of virtual reality avatars to represent Persephone and Lucifer entering the Garden
Persephone and Lucifer enter the Garden

Persephone examines one of Lucifer’s paintings and smiles: “Life is like a skyscraper on quicksand.”

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

6 thoughts on “Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Whose Hell is This?”

  1. Pingback: Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Whose Hell is This? – Br Andrew's Muses

      2. When I was living with Norse he advised me to throw nothing away. He said something that reads like crap today may be a gem that you’re not ready to see. So I have trunks of drafts and fragments produced over the years. I’m still transcribing that work. As therapy progresses I see the work as less fragmented and begin to understand how the different sections of writing relate to each other. To some extent I was writing flash fiction in the 80’s but using poetic forms.

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