Judgment Day
by L. P. Melling
The cacophonous crescendo of the baying crowd ground to a sharp halt
at the raising of a giant-clawed red hand.
“Thank you, yes, yes that’s enough . . . Next!” Everyone was silent;
palpable anticipation in the air.
“. . . Yes, come closer now so we can see you!” Slowly he made his
way to the center of the stage. “Finally,” Satan muttered under his
breath—well, he would have done if he actually had breath in him.
“What’s your name and where do you come from?”
The crowd waited: saturated in expectation. You could hear a pixy
dropping, it was so quiet.
“Er . . . M-my name is Dante,” he tinkled as the chainmail shook
from his nerves “. . . and I come from the deepest darkest regions of
Hell.”
The crowd roared—roared in the real sense of the word—whilst others
growled and stamped their grotesquely misshapen feet.
“Well, I can tell you have brought your fiends and familiars with
you today!”
The crowd hooted and cheered.
“Okay Damien—”
“It’s Dante—”
“Yes, whatever,” Satan swiftly brushed the interruption away. “What
will you be doing for us today?”
“I will be juggling six balls . . .”
Satan rolled his blood-red eyes. “How original!” he muttered.
“. . . of fire . . . whilst I’m upside down!”
The crowd gave a mixed response. The susurration of Errrrr’s giving
way to Mmm.
“Very well,” Satan said, “fire ahead, as it were.”
The crowd erupted in laughter; they couldn’t stop themselves—not
when it was Satan making the jokes, however bad they were!
Dante pulled out the balls, which he proceeded to set alight then
throw in the air, before he—in a breakdancing-type flourish—slipped
upside to juggle the flurry of fire-globes . . .
Four loud buzzers reverberated down to the bowels of the auditorium,
shaking its foundations. The whole of Zion trembled from it.
“Angel Gabriel,” Satan hissed. “Do you want to start us off?”
In powerful, liquid-symphonic tones, Angel Gabriel passed his
judgment: “I just want start with saying thank you for coming today,
which mustn’t have been easy, what with the venue being so far north
from where you come from.”
Pockets of clapping rode the acoustics of the auditorium.
“I enjoyed it but it was not quite right for me. However, I do wish
you every success in the future. I would suggest you might be more
suited to comedy, perhaps . . . It is a no, I’m afraid.”
Satan spoke again: “Yet again, I find myself disagreeing with Mr
Gabby!” The crowd entered into a network of whisperings. “I certainly
did not enjoy it. Not at all! In no way did it set me alight with
entertainment!”
Again the crowd guffawed and hailed, only a brave few booed. “A
definite no! How about you Dr. Jekyll?” Satan asked.
“I am afraid I must concur with Satan on this one. A no from me
also.”
“Lady Medusa?”
Lady Medusa turned her head, wearing dark sunglasses even though it
was overcast, but in the land of celebritydom such eyewear ruled, and
certainly no one was complaining about it! Even though he could not see
her eyes, Dante felt weighed down by the force of her gaze—as though he
lay naked before her.
“Yes, well, I thought it was a good effort actually, thank you for
that Dante. I think I will say . . . Yes!” Some of the crowd clapped
before realizing the awfulness of the result.
“Okay Diablo,” Satan said, “that’s three no’s and only one yes.
Judgment hath been passed on you.”
Suddenly a trapdoor opened below Dante’s feet, pulling him down out
of sight and into blackness.
Satan lent over to the right toward the other judges, speaking at
low volume.
“For God’s sake, are we going to actually find some talent today?
It’s like an eternity in Purgatory!”
The panel of judges murmured in agreement with Lady Medusa rolling
her eyes beneath the sunglasses.
Someone else had suddenly appeared center stage. Satan nodded for
him to start, with exasperation in his movement.
“Yes . . . my name is The Phantom M—”
The trap door lever hastily pulled; the contestant falling into a
deep well of nothingness before he could finish.
Satan gave a triplet of tuts, shaking his head. Must He forever
punish me so?
“Next!!!”
THE END
© 2015 L.P. Melling
L. P. Melling has been writing since an early age. He won the short
story competition held by his University’s student newspaper and is
currently writing his first novel, a comic fantasy/mystery (humorous
fantastry). When not writing, he works as debt advisor for a national
charity in the UK.
E-mail: L. P. Melling
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