Pink Snow Bunnies will Ski in Hell

Herman Wilding stood two miles away from the Gate waiting his turn. The queue spiralled in two circles one mile long. Herman looked down at his ticket. A certain chill ran up his soul. His number was 666. Herman shuddered and shivered. He was freezing without his jacket. “Hey, buddy, something wrong?” asked the man behind him. Herman turned around to find a man with a tattoo of a pink bunny on his left arm.

“Nothing wrong, friend, just curious and cold. Take a look at my ticket.” He flashed the man his ticket. The man laughed and grabbed the ticket. “That is funny, mate.” He turned the ticket upside down. “Maybe you were reading it the wrong way, in which case, you should be standing 333 places behind me.” Herman scratched his head and looked at his ticket again. Now it read 999.

“Well, fancy that!” said Herman. He slowly made his way 333 places behind the man with the pink bunny tattoo. The sun was getting brighter and the queue wasn’t getting any shorter. Finally, it was Herman’s turn to walk up to the Gate. He smiled at the man behind the desk. Herman flashed his ticket in the man’s face. “Hello!” said the Porter. “Passport, please.” asked the Porter. Herman fumbled through his pockets and took out a rather old and raggedy passport. The pages were torn and yellow with age. He handed this to the Porter.

“Interesting,” said the Porter. “You have led a very long and sinful life, my friend.” Herman looked down at his feet, unable to look at the Porter in the eye. “It says here that you were a gambling man—tsk, tsk. Oh, and you are a fighting man, too. You were involved in several rumbles which ended with blood and gore.” The Porter flipped a switch and the large screen in the Square behind the Gate flashed images of Herman’s sinful life for everyone to see. Herman looked in horror as every scene flashed images of his sinful deeds and words. He heard the crowd behind him gasp in horror. “Please, please, Sir, turn it off! Turn it off!” said Herman in shock and embarrassment.

“So, you are embarrassed by your deeds?” asked the Porter. “That’s good. Unfortunately, that’s not enough to win you a ticket inside the Gate. I’m afraid it is the end of the road for you, my friend.” The Porter stamped Herman’s passport with a great big red stamp that said, “Entrance denied”. Herman looked at the Porter. “But, where will I go, Sir?” he asked.

“I am afraid, Herman, it’s down the basement with you!” The Porter flipped a switch and the last thing that Herman said was “Nooooooo!” before falling down into an unfathomable pit. The Porter looked up from his desk, turned to face the crowd and said to himself, “This is the part of my job I love the most!”

Herman found himself in a vast wilderness. He looked all about, but all he could see was a white cold wilderness. Taking a few breaths, he thought he saw a phantom before him. Oh, wait a moment, it was his own breath. “Where in tarnations am I?” he asked himself. Suddenly, he saw something swish by him. He adjusted his glasses. As he stood up to compose himself, zoooooom...another thing passed by in rapid speed. “What the hell?” he said. He was horrified to see two pink bunnies on skis zoom past him. Herman fell on his backside in a blanket of deep snow. “Where the hell am I?”

“Hell indeed is where you are!” said a husky but familiar voice in front of him. Herman tried to stand to face his adversary, but fell back down the frigid snow. The man held out his hand to help Herman up. Herman noticed that his fingers were gnarled, sporting black fingernails. He then noticed the pink bunny tattoo on the man’s left arm.

“Excuse me, but weren’t you standing behind me just a little while ago?” asked Herman. The man laughed quite haughtily at Herman. Herman recognized him in an instant. What was this man playing at? What type of a place was this? Why was he even having this conversation?

“You’re very observant, friend,” said the man with the pink bunny tattoo. “I believe we are going to be friends.” He shook Herman’s hand with a rather tight grip. “I am Nick. I run the ski resort here. Welcome to Hell Ski Lodge.”

“Hell Ski Lodge?” asked Herman. “Is this what this asylum is called?” He tried to brush the snow off, but the snow seemed to be stuck on him. “It’s freezing here. Is there a warm place where we can sit and talk and maybe have a hot drink?” asked Herman.

“Ha, don’t make me, laugh! There are no warm places here. You are in the middle of hell—the coldest place on earth! You might as well make the most of it, because you are going to call this place home for the rest of your life.” Herman howled like a jackal in distress. His nose twitched suddenly and his ears grew long. He wiggled about and felt a cotton tail grow behind him. His two front teeth grew six inches long and his hind legs thumped nervously against the snow. “What’s happening?” he asked Nick. Nick just laughed and handed him some skis and a pink jacket.

In the distance Herman could see miles and miles of snow- covered mountains and billions of pink bunnies in pink suits dashing by. They laughed and giggled as they skied up and down the snowy mountain peaks of Ghana Nova, their googly eyes dancing ever which way in sheer insanity. As they zoomed by they chanted,

Pink snow bunnies will ski in hell, hurrah,
Pink bunnies ski with great chutzpah.
Up and down Mount Ghana Nova
Pink snow bunnies will ski in Hell, Viola!

Copyright 2011 Mary Aris