JACK WOLFE FROST
St. Peter had now been in his usual spot at the Pearly Gates for five minutes since processing the last soul. Now, not a soul in sight. Odd, he thought. I don’t think I’ve ever known this since I’ve been here. He checked his watch; quite a long time. Over 2000 years. He frowned, looked up, looked down, looked behind him - just clouds. Nothing. I don’t know what to do. Perhaps I’ll sit down and think.
For the first time in two millennia he had time to think. What am I doing here? I let everyone into heaven - but they only reach here if they can already get in. So everyone gets in. It’s pointless and rather boring. Maybe I should go and find God and ask him.
“Hello,” a voice interrupted St Peters’ revere. A large dark figure stood before him. “Business slow?”
Peter stood; again painfully. “Hello, welcome to Heaven, please…” It was at that point he realised the dark figure was not your average Christian-going-to-Heaven kind of guy. “I’m sorry. I…um…do I know you?”
“I’m Hades. Takin’ a break from down under. Y’ain’t got much traffic today ‘ave ya?”
Peter took two steps backwards. “You can’t be, you must be the Devil, Hades was a Myth.”
Hades chuckled. “Nah, that dude was evil, like, read bad news. You Christian dudes got a few items mixed up. An’ I ain’t bad, just a guy d...