I come up with ideas I feel are good short story/novel material on a fairly regular basis. I tend to just jot down a few words about it, and it keeps it stored in the back of my mind for later. Unfortunately, 'later' never seems to come. On my wife's suggestion, I've decided to just get something, anything really, written down to start fleshing out some of these ideas. Any comments and feedback you might have is welcomed, though please understand that I am not a professional writer. The below is something I've had stewing around in my head for a good while, at least since early last year.
If I had to write a quick blurb to describe what it's about, I'd say that it's a fictional story about a person who is involved in an accident, but while the commotion unfolds on Earth, the main character is sent to Hell. However, things seem out of place in the Devil's dominion. As above, so below.
Let me know what you think, or propose a working title for this story in the comments.
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Prologue
Hell exists. I should know, I've been there to see it first hand. But not everything is as it seems; the gospel 'truth' that we are told doesn't reflect the reality. I will tell you my story, and what I've come to realise.
Chapter I - The Accident
I remember very little before I was hit. All I knew was that I was running late, I was impatient, I was frustrated. As I fought my way through the streets of New York City, I checked my watch every few seconds. I had five minutes.
"Move faster, or get out of my way!" I screamed inside my head.
The meeting I was late for was important, it was with the partners of the law firm I worked at. I secretly hoped it might be to discuss a promotion–they might finally make me a partner too.
The thoughts raced through my head as I darted this way and that between throngs of people, occasionally becoming stuck behind a gaggle of them and becoming annoyed at the need to slow my pace. I darted behind a yellow taxi turning out of a one-way side street and checked my watch again. Two minutes. I broke into a run, knowing full well that it was better to be out of breath than to disrespect the partners by showing up late. The idea of a promotion may as well have never crossed their minds if that were the case.
I checked my watch again. One minute. I was at least a few minutes further away from our office, maybe less at the rate my feet were hitting the sidewalk, but a few minutes would still make me late. I was hoping for something–anything–to come up that would prevent them from getting to the boardroom on time. Partners were busy people after all, but then again, you didn't make it to that level without being punctual or sharpening your time management skills. The thought crossed my mind that I could call their assistant to tell them I was running late. The thought would be admired, maybe, but nevertheless the outcome would not. Perhaps I could call Steve, an excellent lawyer and reasonably good colleague despite his unique ability to demonstrate extreme composure in front of clients while suffering from an extreme case of sudden-onset Tourette's once they had left. Steve might be able to distract the partners long enough for me to get into the boardroom and at least appear on time, if a bit flustered. However, Steve was probably just as much material for a promotion as I was. He probably knew that too. No, there was no chance of him sticking his neck out for me and risking his own gain. That was almost the lawyer's code.
Another cross street and–Pain. I felt pain. Deep, sharp, agonising pain radiating outwards from my side. My vision blurred and became dark. The street noise that you became so accustomed to, such a part of life, living in New York swelled to almost deafening, and then fell silent.
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