Who's the New Guy?

The saying goes that "There's a special place in hell for people like you!" And it's up to people like me to make sure they get there.

     Eoinn Donahue sits across the table chewing thoughtfully on a pastry, then swallows and takes a drink from his glass, putting it back down with a satisfied sigh, and reclines in his chair. The market café he's chosen to meet hums quietly with soft conversation, the smell of fresh bread being made across the way filling the air. He looks me over once and nods.

     "Hell is a lot of things to a lot of people.To the Egyptians it was a giant alligator that ate your soul over and over for eternity. The Greeks came up with Tartarus, where the titans and the other damned children of Uranus resided for eternal punishment. To the Christians, its fire and brimstone, Satan reigns and his imps play with the souls of the damned. 

     What i'm telling you is that none of that is right.

     Of course they aren't wrong either. I've seen that giant alligator, nasty one he is. And I've watched Satan throw a few people into a lake of fire. Which, sorry to get off topic, is a bit surreal. A lake, big and flowing and such, made entirely of fire! Hard to wrap your mind around. But back to what I was saying. Hell is entirely personal for each person. It has to be, otherwise you wouldn't be receiving the correct punishment, would you? There is no incorrect way to describe it, but it is certainly not correct to say you can define it with one image."

     The soft Irish accent attracts a few glances from nearby tables, but nobody lingers for long. Eoinn is entirely unremarkable to look at. Brown hair cropped close, pale grey eyes under a near permanently furrowed brow, and a lopsided grin that almost seems out of place amidst the tired features of his face. Even his clothing fails to warrant more than a passing glance, consisting of plain muted colors and simple styles. He stretches and yawns, then leans forward.

     "But you're not here to listen to me go on about what the clergy got wrong. You're here because you want to do what I do, for whatever stupid reason that may be. And it's not  my place to tell you that what you're getting into isn't for you. I'm just a Delivery Boy, and I have no interest in becoming a Selector. So come along my boy, it's time to get to work."


The End

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