Prosaic swan boat through Hell
fiction
edward w pritchard
Knowing all things simultaneously and eternally from hence forward I ascertained that I should be honored to have the Devil himself strap me into the seat in the swan boat about to sojourn across the trillions of dimensions of Hell. Like a creaking old grandfather the Devil carefully and lovingly attended to my safety strapping me modestly into the tattered tethered crusty straps that would secure me legally protected into the weathered old swan boat as I began my journey.
Alone off I went. Smiling at the demon as he unblushingly picked up a rusted old Pepsi can from the floor of my conveyance into my seat I squirmed to find a comfortable position. This was to be a low budget operation it seemed.
"Where to next blithely I asked" Gently tapping the door twice of the shuddering swan boat like a carny starting a blind horse at the annual VFW county fair the boat began to move across time and space shaking and groaning as we shook along the invisible ancient rusty cables.
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