a snippet…. from the Sky Man painting

Simon sat, feeling the breeze soft and fresh, hearing trees rustling softly to each other; their song strummed lightly.  Sundays were so quiet, dead, or nearly so.  He was in Hell’s waiting room, after all.  He thought for a moment about that phrase, ‘after all’.  How appropriate!  He was now after ‘all’ his life and was waiting.  Other ‘guests’, in their golden years snorted, farted, lay inert or babbled meaninglessly.  Perhaps together it all made sense.  The noises of Hell’s invitees, an orchestra tuning up for a tuneless eternity.  Katy came, floating in the air an inch or two above the bench beside him, but was interrupted for a bit by an almost poem that popped into his head…… then she returned into view, beckoning, threatening, promising.  ‘Well’, Simon supposed, ‘what sort of hell would Hell be without her?’  A pretty poor one, ‘a hell’ rather than ‘the Hell’.  He ignored her for the moment,

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