It was a gift, the pink heart pillow.
The silver embroidery said Angel, but I knew better.
You don't work for a guy named B.L. Zebub and receive trinkets, tchotchkes or presents without good reason.
My heart hoped promotion, but my head said damned.
Oh God, if I had to go up there again...
The supreme irony: human mythos created a hell down there to assuage issues of justice and morality.
But we, down here, know the real torment is up there...on Earth.
YOU ARE READING
Indices
Short StoryEntire short stories hand-written on ONE side of an index card. INDICES (plural of "index") is an ongoing collection of these flash fiction pieces. I welcome your feedback!
