A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
He glanced down the red tinged passage. “I’ve heard of a stairway to heaven but I never knew there was an escalator to Hell.”
“Very funny. Just get on it.”
“Is the highway to Hell reserved for new inmates?” he asked as he stepped onto the top step. The escalator started with a jerk.
“Yeah, and the escalator is just for visitors,” she said. She stepped on behind him.
“Cool. So we aren’t staying?”
“Not if I can help it.”
It was an interminable ride down. They rode rather than walked, to preserve their energy. He hummed and eventually started singing. He transposed the lyrics to Highway to Hell with escalator. It didn’t fit.
She gave him an exasperated look. The song would be stuck in her head all day, now.
They stood on the same step, facing each other and not touching anything. It seemed safer that way. She used the time to triple check her weapons and ammunition. He watched her.
“Nobody seems to come up the other way,” he commented.
“No. Not often.”
“What makes you think we will?”
“I’ve done this before.”
“Right. I knew that.” He paused. “So you have a contact?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Hmmm. She doesn’t want to talk about it… so that makes it … an old boyfriend or-”
“Drop it!” she barked at him.
“-Or family,” he finished triumphantly.
He got an eye roll for that.
“Ha! I knew it!” He clapped his hands together. “Wait… fallen angels can’t have children.”
“So you can’t be Satan’s daughter, he’s a fallen angel.”
“Which Hell are we going to?” he asked with a frown.
“Now he asks. And you said it was Hell, I didn’t.”
“Shit. We must be going to the Underworld and that makes you Hades’ daughter, Macaria.”
“Yep. You know I prefer Marcie.”
Silence as he processed what she had said.
“Huh,” he said. “We should suggest they get an elevator. Although the music might make me crazy, but it would make it easier for next time.”
“Next time?” she asked with an eyebrow raise.
“My soul is in your hands,” he said.
She snorted. “More than you know.”
© AM Gray 2013