Private Hell

It had been this way for thousands of years; there was never a question of boredom so long as new entertainment could be found. The only hell in a purgatory of sorts was to be bored. After all, this was forever in a manner of speaking. Memnock took his place as he did every day, perched on top of his fluffy white cloud, positioned nicely for the coming hours. For those who had ever wondered just what a typical devil might look like then Memnock fitted that perception. Exclusively dark green, Memnock had two small horns on either side of his forehead, a wispy white beard and a face that resembled a goat's. Fierce eyes and a nose that amplified his nostrils came together to intimidate even the bravest of passers by. Of course, few did at this height.

Memnock shuffled nervously. Every day, despite the metronomic regularity of the arrival time of his opponent (and friend of a kind), he still managed to get nervous about a no show from Clarence. It didn't help that he didn't have a watch but there was a way of knowing the time. It was in-built for creatures such as they. He needn't have worried, Clarence duly turned up, sporting a mild grin as he sat down, cross-legged on his own cloud. With a passing glance at each other, they turned to face the scene below.

Melvyn was a drunk. No ordinary drunk, he registered a big fat maximum on the Richter scale of drunkenness. Of course, there were a million reasons. He'd lost his job, albeit that was a few years ago now and was actually due to his alcoholism. His wife had left him too but that was also due his relationship with the sauce. Making excuses made little difference. Melvyn had simply imploded at some point, losing all touch with reality, plunging into a sea of daily despair. Approaching the road, his blurred outlook vaguely picked up on the street crossing. Convincing himself that the sign was on "WALK he started as though to cross.

Memnock looked across at Clarence, a thin smile appearing on his lips. Clarence returned the smile and mouthed "Too easy. This daily routine did, in fact, have some golden rules that the breaking of meant severe punishment. Oddly, they never really knew just what that retribution was but both players knew that they must not take the life of a mortal. Well, certainly not intentionally.

As Melvyn moved to cross, he found his left arm swept into the air by a stranger. The man moved quickly to assist the old soak. The old man looked at his helper wondering just what was going on, oblivious to do anything about it. The sign flashed "WALK so they duly did, a long row of traffic at an impatient stand still, engines revving with intent. Clarence smiled serenely, pleased with this initiative, his white gown flowing ethereally, his white complexion alive with love. Memnock glared at the duo, mischief flickering in his gaze. The devil hated to be outdone. In fact, he hated most things apart from staying active. He lived to be involved, to shower malevolence on an unsuspecting victim although this was rarely fatal which was unusual for a devil. Memnock flicked his head, nostrils flaring in a contemptuous nod. As he did so, the helper slipped catapulting Melvyn several feet in front. Just at that second, a police car came screaming down the street, sirens blaring with cars shuffling to either side to escape its path. The old man looked up to see the wheels of the car bearing down on him, his life flashing before his partially blind eyes. Having borne so much pain, this appeared to be the moment when it would finally be over, his misery at an end. The sound of braking filled the street as the driver threw himself backwards, his foot crunched down hard on the brake pedal. The car snaked for a few seconds, the police officer grappling with the wheel to keep control. Melvyn closed his eyes and grimaced, expecting the fatal contact any moment. The car screeched to a halt millimetres from his face. The moment seemed to last several minutes, onlookers visibly frozen expecting the worst. One man looked so shocked he let go of his lead and his dog quietly slipped away. They needed have worried, Melvyn had survived albeit only just and he suddenly became engulfed by people wanting to help.

Memnock grinned, his face the epitome of evil. The grin turned to a laugh as his head swayed from side to side with pleasure. Clarence merely looked on, impassive and unmoved. At least nobody had been hurt.

Minutes later, the old man did appear on the other side of the street and carried on his way, his helper having dusted him down and wished him well. Memnock briefly reflected that during the whole episode, he hadn't seen the old man's face. Curious, he thought.

Curtis was late. He ran up the steps and into the hall, taking his seat at the back as the ceremony unfolded. Up ahead, the wedding of two of his dear friends was taking place. Roxanne was 29. Close to being a thirtysomething, she had never really been scared of finding herself left on the shelf. Full of life, she often wondered why she was getting hitched. Whilst Ronnie was one of the good guys, maybe she was curtailing at least another ten years of hedonism. After all, you only lived once. Fully six feet tall, she was an Amazonian blonde or that's how her friends saw her. Baby blue eyes, pale complexion and legs up to her armpits, she could have the pick of most men. This was especially curious when you considered that Ronnie was shorter than her; barrel-chested and, at times, fairly inarticulate in his manner. She did love him but then was that reason enough to get married?

Memnock peered through Curtis' eyes and saw a glint of uncertainty in the corner of Roxanne's eye. At that precise moment, Curtis closed his eyes and imagined; he imagined the life of a woman caught up in a loveless union. Roxanne stared ahead, aware of the ceremony unfolding but no longer focused on events. She saw a musty room with a rocking chair in the corner, paisley curtains hanging limply around a single window. A small television hugged the opposite part of the room to the chair whilst a scruffy sofa looked beaten and used. In the rocking chair sat a pale, old lady with grey hair. She was open-eyed but it was obvious that she was not thinking about anything in particular. On the mantelpiece sat a photograph of a man long since dead. Roxanne could feel the desolation, the wasted life full of regret.

The priest was uttering his service and as Roxanne came out of her reverie, she tensed to turn and run, expecting at any second the challenge to be issued about if any man knew of a just impediment and all that stuff. Curtis opened his eyes and several thousand feet away Memnock sighed with satisfaction. Just as Roxanne imagined herself hurting down the aisle and out of the room, Curtis stood up and started to speak. "Whilst I have no objection to this marriage at all, I would like to point out that these two people are the best matched that I can ever remember. The congregation turned as one to look up at the man at the back; Memnock turned and glowered at Clarence. The angel simply smiled.

Roxanne shook her head, her thoughts returning as she took in the scene. What had she been thinking? She did love Ronnie and had decided a while back to commit everything to him. That simple statement from a man they hardly knew was enough to shock her back into place. Curtis sat down again, the room full of chatter and noise. The priest returned to the couple having not known what to say and concluded the procedure. Memnock's consciousness drifted out of the room the same way he had entered through Curtis.

And so it continued for the rest of the day. There was the strange affair of a man known for his balanced nature who had jumped off a twelve-storey building only to be saved by a shop canopy below. When challenged as to why he'd done it, he'd replied that all of a sudden he'd wanted to fly. There was the incident with a baby's pram that had hurtled down a highway, missing cars narrowly only to be saved by an onrushing eleven-year-old boy hero. There was even the story of a dog who had got caught up on a rail track only for a cat to somehow free the canine moments before a train sped through at over 100mph.

The day was coming to a close, dusk closing in as the two antagonists finally tired of their daily ritual. Memnock had enjoyed himself as he always did although he was usually left with a lack of fulfilment, which he never quite understood. His mind drifted and saw an old man climbing some stone steps. As he entered through the door, the devil remembered him as the old drunk from earlier in the day. Melvyn staggered into his tiny front room, litter everywhere in a living space that hadn't been tidied for weeks. He made for the balcony, which gave him a panoramic view of the road below. Still Memnock couldn't see the old man's face but noticed his flowing white hair and generally white attire. He hadn't realised before but this seemed a strange colour scheme for a mortal. He looked almost albino in that get-up. The devil was tired now and craved the small amount of sleep that he took begrudgingly. As Melvyn turned he failed to notice an empty bottle that was lingering under his feet. He promptly slipped on it and fell backwards. The momentum toppled him over the balcony and, for the second time that day, his life flashed before him. All in all, it took about six seconds. He hit the ground below with a dull thud, head first. Blood seeped out in a rouge fan. Melvyn looked up at the sky and directly at Memnock. The devil's eyes widened as he blinked to check understanding. Melvyn looked exactly like his arch-enemy and friend, Clarence. Memnock stood up and turned to enquire with the angel as to how this could be but there was nobody there. Clarence was gone.

The following day, Memnock returned as usual and waited. Minutes ticked by but there was no sign of Clarence. Memnock continued to wait, unable to see anything below. The whole vista was clouded over with absolutely nothing to be seen at all. Memnock waited and waited. Hell had been a subject he'd debated before. Wasn't it full of Dante's vision of flames and torment, chains and despair? Maybe everyone had their own version of eternal damnation. After a while he realised he'd finally found his own private damnation. What was a game was now an eternity of tortured boredom. The days would be very long now. He looked across at Clarence's nail file and for the first time felt jealous. At least it would have given him something to do while he waited.