HELL AND HEAVEN

By

Michael Edwin Q.

It was years since we’d last seen each other. He was older, gray and worn, but I recognized him. I pushed my way through the crowd in the marketplace to get to him. He smiled when he saw me.

“Jacarei,” he exclaimed. “It’s been years; you look well.”

I reached out to touch him on the arm. “Dante, I need to speak with you. My heart is troubled. I’ve read all your works, your journeys through hell and heaven. Is it really the way you say?”

He shook his head. “Jacarei, my old friend, words can not describe their true nature. The pits of hell are more horrendous then my pen could tell, and the glories of heaven far surpass the imagination of any man. However there is one experience I’ve had recently after my writings were published, which makes for better understanding these matters.”

I stood silent, clinging to every word. He continued.

“Once again, the angel appeared in my room and guided me through hell and heaven. In hell, we came upon a long banquet table covered with delectable delicacies, food and drink only kings and queens have ever tasted.

“The guests, if I may call them such, sat at the table, each with a knife in one hand a fork in the other, but their arms, right and left, were tied to hard wood sticks. This made it impossible to bend their arms and guide the food to their mouths. All that food and they were starving, their bodies no more than bones covered in tight-fitting skin. They were in agony.

“Then we went to heaven. There it was the same, a banquet table filled with food, and the arms of the guests were lashed to a piece of wood, making it impossible for them to bring the food to their mouths.”

“Then what is the difference between hell and heaven?” I asked.

He smiled. “In heaven the people feed each other.”

THE END

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