Hell in the
Hornet's Nest
by Michael S.
Collins
“Hell”,
said the Hornet “Is a state of mind.”
He said such
things to cheer me up.
“It’s
not a matter of being in Hell. It’s if you
choose to turn it to your advantage or not.”
I looked at my
surroundings. Hell is a Hornets nest. Not the
metaphorical kind. Thousands upon thousands of
hornets buzzed around a large echoing nest,
relentlessly stinging the damned forever.
“Sorry
about this” said the Hornet, as he continued
to stab me.
“Where am
I?” I asked. I had no way of knowing.
I’d only been dead for a minute or two. It
takes a while to get used to new surroundings.
“You are
in the 15th Circle of Hell.” Said the Hornet.
The Fifteenth?
So much for anyone getting saved, I guess.
“There
are fifteen?” I said.
“Oh yes.”
Said the Hornet. “Judas got moved upstairs
for good behaviour after The Saved People vs. God
and The Lower Disciples. That put us down to
eight. Then there was one for bureaucrats, one
for bigots, one for people who sneeze or talk
loudly during the pivotal moments of a Doctor Who
episode, one for zealots, one for rugby fans who
didn’t realise God was an Englishman, one
for yoghurt lovers, and one for your lot.”
“You mean
MPs?” I said. Trying to work out my
situation. I hadn’t meant to be eternally
damned. I don’t think many are. Apart from
the yoghurt lovers, perhaps.
“No, no,
politicians don’t go to Hell”, said the
Hornet, “Bless, they don’t know any
better!”
“Why am I
here then?” I asked.
“I
thought it was obvious. This is the fifteenth
circle of Hell, for the most grievous sin yet
known to man.”
“What is
it?” I cried.
“Killing
a hornet” he replied.
I guess it did
sort of make sense, in a horrible schaddenfreude
kind of a way.
He continued
to sting me.
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