"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."
― Albert Einstein
Once again John journeyed into Hell. Mary accompanied him. He wasn’t willing to risk the entire population, just in case they ran into more Enumi, or more demons. He saw a stovepipe hat bobbing in the distance. "The Mad Hatter?" he asked Mary.
"Who?" Mary puzzled.
Soon the unmistakable form of Abraham Lincoln appeared, walking the same trail as Nixon. "Oh, no, not Honest Abe!" He looked at Mary, who seemed confused. "Sixteenth President of the United States. Freed the slaves. Looked up to by everyone."
Abe approached, head down looking at the ground. He sounded as if he was repeating something over and over. John approached him. "Mr. President! A word, please."
Lincoln paused without looking up. "I’m sorry if a relative of yours died in the war. It seemed worth it at the time."
"It was, Mr. President, it was."
Lincoln moved on. "Seven-hundred and fifty-thousand good men dead, and their families in tears. Seven-hundred and fifty-thousand good men dead, and their families in tears. Seven-hundred and fifty-thousand good men…." He faded out as he walked the path, forever tortured.
John waited reverently until the President had moved out of range. They started to move forward again. A man, riding a lightning bolt, landed at John’s feet. John jumped as if struck by the lightning.
"Thou wilt get used to that; 't rains people hither."
The man, jumped up, blustery as a stormy winter day. "Is he dead?! I’ll get that idiot!"
"Who?"
"The guy who was passing on a curve, going a hundred miles an hour, and ran head on into me, that’s who! I was working on an important deal!"
"Yeah, me too." John flashed to his own demise. In his impatience he had stupidly stood where a truck was going to dump rock. Stupid must be a special qualification for Hell.
Bryan stomped around, flailing his arms, too blinded by rage to see where he was.
"I can see your soul isn’t peaceful."
"I’m not a peaceful person!" Bryan stopped for a moment and let it register where he was. "What am I doing in what is obviously hell?"
Bryan seemed to fit right in. "Just come with me. I have a better place for you."
"Shouldn’t there be a boat or something?!" he blustered.
Mary smacked him across the face, with the old "sober you up" slap. "Thee wanteth a boat, wend findeth one. Or cometh with us. Thy choice."
Bryan studied her for just a moment. "Who the hell are you?"
"Whatever your name is, this is Mary. Me, I’m psychopomp. Soul guide. You know, like Charon the ferryman? And mayor."
"Mayor? Town?" the man did a double-take and shrugged. "I’m Bryan." They walked a few steps. Another man, riding a lightning bolt, landed on John with both feet.
John untangled himself from the man, stood, and dusted the ashes off himself. "I’ll never get used to this."
"I'm Richard. I remember an ambulance. Where am I," the man asked, dazed.
"This is Hell," Mary informed him.
"No, hell is being hit head on by a car going a hundred miles an hour and passing on a curve. That’s really hell. By the way, have you seen that guy?"
John pointed to Bryan, who was rapidly approaching him. They started throwing punches. John let them punch it out until they were both worn out and laying back on opposing ash heaps. "You know," John said, "you pass on a curve at 100 MPH, you’re just asking for all hell to break loose."