Hell of a day

‭          T‬he hard gray of the above clouds caught John’s attention as he stepped out of his less than modern house,‭ ‬one of many secreted along the road in an endless row of brick and mortar reproductions‭ ‬-‭ ‬eggs lovingly laid by the local council.‭ ‬He closed the door behind him and negotiated his way through the minefield of loose paving slabs that waited to trip the unsure and naive.‭ ‬The planted borders that ran either side of the path were filled with struggling and diseased plants upon which fat insects dined noisily,‭ ‬while weeds grew healthy and unhindered among them.

‎          “‏The gates going to creak,‭” ‬he unwisely pondered,‭ “ ‬cities and nations will fall,‭ ‬the stock market will boom or crash,‭ ‬Arnold Schwarzenegger might pronounce a sentence coherently,‭ ‬but the one thing in the whole universe you can be certain of is that gate is‭ ‬going to creak.‭”  ‬Sure enough with its ear shattering,‭ ‬bone juddering crescendo of white noise the gate swung open to emit John onto the rough,‭ ‬cracked,‭ ‬slightly tacky surface of tarmacadam walkway.‭ ‬The asphalt was smeared with liver-spots of chewing gum,‭ ‬which if any man were foolish enough to step on they would be sucked unmercifully into its bottomless depths.

‎          ‏John had died twelve years ago and had been in hell ever since.‭ “‬But I couldn’t go to your normal everyday hell,‭” ‬he thought bitterly,‭ “‬with your fire and brimstone;‭ ‬your devilish imps, their impossibly sharp pitch forks and your everlasting damnation.‭ ‬Oh no not your old John,‭ ‬I had to end up in this place,‭ ‬wandering up and down this bloody street,‭ ‬spending eternity looking for a way out.‭”

         He tired of walking after a few hours and paused in the street to pick a house to rest in.‎ ‏He knew this to be futile because all the houses were identical in exterior and interior.

‎          “‏Pick a card,‭ ‬pick any card,‭” ‬he mumbled and walked towards his chosen house.‭ ‬He lifted the stiff front latch on the gate and winced at the accompanying fortissimo of screeching hinges.‭ ‬He stepped on to the see-sawing path and made his way to the front door,‭ ‬stumbled and received a grazed knee as always before he reached the threshold of the house.‭ ‬The door was unlocked and swung open to reveal a horribly conservative hallway adorned with floral wallpaper and a clashing carpet.‭ ‬The hall was inhabited with a hat-stand whose pegs fell out at the slightest pressure and an elephants foot which looked as though it had been stabbed to death by angry umbrellas.‭

         He put his coat on the hat-stand which predictively made its way quickly to the floor and laid there in a sad looking heap.‎ ‏He limped into the living room which was embellished with the same nasty decor as the hall,‭ ‬also added to this room was a slumped‭ (‬for slumped was the only word to describe it‭ ) ‬sofa.‭ ‬John knew from experience that this sofa would be the most uncomfortable item on gods earth.‭ ‬In front of the sofa was a portable television that sported on top of it an incredibly thick layer of dust.‭ ‬The telly rested precariously on a thin tripod that looked like it could not take its own weight let alone support something.

‎          ‏John sat on the floor‭ ( ‬which was a damn sight more comfortable that the sofa‭) ‬and prepared to begin another daily ordeal of unspeakable horror.‭ ‬He reached for the television remote control,‭ ‬as he had done day in and day out for the last twelve years,‭ ‬and tried to stop himself touching the on button.‭ ‬It was useless,‭ ‬he knew whatever force that controlled his hand could not be stopped and he realised the worse part of hell had begun.‭ ‬His finger came down and the television sparked into life.‭ ‬The screen began to show endless repeats of the Jerry Springer show and John's wailing scream echoed down the street.