Another of my Just Start Writing prompts. Feel free to write your own story/poem or whatever and post the link to the comment or leave a pingback. I’ll post your story on my blog.
He just stared for a moment, total confusion on his face. Finally, he managed, “I didn’t mean that…. like seriously.”
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “I apologize then, but I still can’t go to hell so you’ll have to defeat me and kill me or…..” I paused, wondering out loud, “If you do kill me does that mean I automatically go to heaven?”
“You?” he coughed, pretending he hadn’t spoken at all.
“You are right, I suppose,” I continued, folding my arms across my chest, pistol tucked between my right arm and side. “I might be stuck in some otherworldly, middleworldy, type of place.”
He sighed, pistol on hip, resigned impatience in his voice. “Do we really need to do this now?”
“Well… yes. If you plan to kill me, which I assume you do….?”
“You insulted my honor.”
“Humph, what honor you have,” I replied, not giving him time to jump in before I continued my previous chain of thought. “That fact makes the circumstances of my death rather…. important. Shall I go to heaven or some middle world?”
“You ought to go to hell,” he growled.
“Well, regardless of that opinion, with which, theoretically, I might agree, Satan refuses to allow me in.” I rolled my eyes. “You’d think he would have forgotten about the incident by now…. Tsk.”
Now he was rolling his eyes. “Can we just get on with this?”
I started to speak, then shook my head. “I’m afraid not. You see, the question of where I go is of great import to my soul so I think I should really speak first with a priest.”
“For God’s sake….”
“Well, yes, or at least for the sake of my soul. Perhaps we could suspend this until tomorrow?”
He looked at his second, then back at me, grumbled something under his breath. “I suppose it can wait until then. If it must.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Shall we say tomorrow, same time, same place?”
Handing his pistol to his second, he turned away, still grumbling. Some folks have no sense of the important in life.
I pulling a cloth from my belt to wipe the barrel of my pistol, startled as it went off with a bang. For a moment, we stood in silence, looking at the dying body on the ground. I spoke first.
“Goodness, I apologize. My pistol…. I was wiping it off… sweat you know… and it… just… went off.”
The second stared at me, but what could he do but collect his dead master and leave?
Singer stepped to my side. “You did that on purpose didn’t you?”
“Me? Why do you think Satan won’t let me back in?”