[Writing Prompt] Heaven and Hell constantly wage war against one another – but where do the people in purgatory stand?
The Inbetweeners
“Did’ya hear the news?”
Votive’s voice carried in the wind across the plains of Purgatory. Homer stopped talking mid speech and swung around in annoyance, yelling back at Votive’s fast approaching form.
“Do you have any respect for the the theatrical arts? Truly?”
Votive shrugged the old man off and leaped onto the stage, looking out on a whose who of ancient philosophers, thinkers, and playwrights, most Roman or Greek, some Hindi or Buddhist, Sikh or Baha’i, all the other non-believers. He cleared his throat.
“The great war has begun! The armies of Heaven and Hell approach the Pergutorial Plains!”
Rather than explode in worry or astonishment, the crowd sort of fizzled mildly with disinterested irritation. Zoroaster rolled his eyes and shot Votive a thumbs up, the ancient Persian equivalent of the middle finger. Aristotle and Virgil began a chant of “back to the show! Back to the show!”, which the rest took up gregariously.
Nonplussed Votive was shown off the stage by Homer who gave him a hard nudge at the edge. “Next time to you interrupt you’d better have something more important to say.”
Votive fell off the stage and into the gray dust of purgatory. Standing up, he brushed the dust off his shirt and pants and began to walk away, still confused as to why no one seemed to care about the coming cataclysmic war.
From a small alcove of shattered columns a voice called out lightly. The young Votive turned around and saw a pale skinned man, brown haired in a white linen suit and blue shirt sitting in repose, his sandaled feet resting lazily on a cracked pillar turned half podium.
“Come on now.” The man waved Votive over with a smile. Votive looked around and then walked over hesitantly.
The man was a bit soft around the edges but his gaze was kind. “What’s your name son?”
Votive cleared his throat. He always hated his name. “Votive. Like the candle.”
The man laughed lightly at this. “A strange name for a young man trapped with a host of non believers. How did you come by it?”
Votive bristled slightly. “My mother.”
The man waited for some elaboration and when none came he just nodded. “Fair enough. Now what was it you were yelling about over there?”
The news still resonated heavily with Votive, frightening as it was, and he was glad to have an ear to listen. “Word is there’s a great war coming. The forces of good and evil approach. Word is it will be a battle unlike any other.”
The man pursed his lips in feigned thought. “My goodness, and whatever shall we do about this coming cataclysm?”
Votive paused. He hadn’t thought much about that, eager to share the news. “I suppose,” he began, uncertain, “we should choose a side?”
This disappointed the man. “I’m afraid that boat has sailed. Next guess?”
Votive felt like a child. “We should hide?”
This made the man laugh outright. “From what? Death? Destruction?” He made an all encompassing gesture at their surroundings. “Such things hold no sway over us any longer. So what, then, are we to do?”
Votive had no idea what else one did when enveloped by a war. “Nothing I guess.”
The man smiled and leaned over to pat Votive on the shoulder. “Precisely. Nothing. We shall do nothing at all. Where did you hear this news, good Votive?”
“From Socrates. He seemed really worked up about it.”
“Old bastard was toying with you. He likes to pick on the new comers.”
Now Votive was really confused. “So wait, there isn’t going to be a war?”
“Oh no, I’m sure there will be, there always is, about once a century, whenever Satan is running for reelection. It just doesn’t matter is all.”
Votive took a seat on a piece of broken stone work. “Satan runs for reelection?”
The man raised an eyebrow and looked over at Votive pointedly. “You’re really quite new here aren’t you?”
Votive held back tears. “About a week ago, I think. Starvation or heat stroke, like all the others.”
The man nodded solemnly, “I’m sorry to hear that. Damned ugly stuff down there – I wish I could say it’s a surprise, but it isn’t.” He swung his feet down off of his makeshift pedestal, turned to Votive and extended a hand. “My name’s Christopher, you can call me Chris.”
Votive accepted the handshake with a nervous smile. “Nice to meet you Chris. What brings you here?”
“Esophageal cancer and a healthy dose of skepticism.” Chris stood up, smiled broadly and put an arm around Votive. “But I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Let’s take a walk.”
As they began to walk away a great tumult rang out from heaven and hell, the self righteous armies of the “saved” and the “damned” loosing terrible battle-cries as they prepared to enter fell combat once again. The sound was terrifying and stopped Votive in his tracks.
Chris just rolled his eyes, smiled lightly again, and gave Votive a friendly shake. “Lesson one, don’t concern yourself with the crazies. They’ll tire themselves out soon enough and then we’ll have another century of peace and quiet. Now, let’s go meet the neighbors.”
The two walked off together through the twilight plains.
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