The Bus Ride to Hell
I was a bad seed.
My whole life I wasn’t what one would call an angel. So it came as no surprise when I passed and death said,
“It’s Hell for you my dear friend Gus. You have been so bad you must take the bus.”
Not even the courtesy of a ride of a quick journey into the seventh circle for my eternal damnation.
So there I was, at the bus stop for the direct line to Hell. Torrential rain was falling and there was no shelter – although it did have the strong smell of urine that would normally accompany one.
Of course the bus was over an hour late. I was cold, miserable and just wanting to get to Hell already.
Death took some glee in my punishment.
“That’s what you get for being such a shit! You’re not going to like this, one little bit.”
The bus arrived. The most broken down, hideous piece of metal on four wheels you could ever hope to step aboard. The driver had a face so sour it could peel an onion.
“Get on!” he snapped. “I ain’t got all day.”
Death pushed me on board.
The seats were torn, broken and mostly filled with graffiti.
REG WAS ETERNALLY DAMNED ERE’
Death slumped beside me.
“I hope you are ready to press that bell. The next stop for you is the depths of Hell.”
Rude driver, broken chairs and a sticky floor you wouldn’t dream of touching. The bus to Hell was pretty bad. I think I’ve been on worse.
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This entry was posted on June 7, 2017 by Vivika Widow. It was filed under Myths and Tales, stories and was tagged with author, collection, comedy, horror, leo st paul, Myths and Tales, poems, short story, torrance media, vivika widow, web series.