The Free Indie Reader #1

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  Alan pulled the last bit of crab grass from the yard, surveying his work. There wasn't a weed in sight. Not even a dandelion. He dared the Homeowners Association to find something wrong with the yard.

  Lou emptied the grass-catcher into the garbage can. “It sure feels nice to get something done with my own two hands,” he said.

  “What we obtain too cheap,” said Alan, “We esteem too lightly.”

  “Thomas Paine,” said Lou. “He's a good man. A bit racist, but he's just as smart as everyone thinks he is.”

  “Named my son after him,” said Alan. “Maybe that's why he's such a smart-ass.”

  Lou laughed. “Well, if it's any consolation, the real Thomas Paine isn't the most humble human being in Hell either.”

  “He's not in Heaven?” asked Alan. “He doesn't seem like a bad person.”

  Lou grabbed the garbage can and shook it. The grass clippings settled at the bottom of it. “Almost nobody gets to heaven, Alan. Hate to break it to you.”

  “Why is that?” asked Alan. “I was wondering why Heaven's army was so small.”

  “It doesn't have much of one,” said Lou. “Just Gabriel, Ezekiel, a few other names that I can't remember, and a few humans that managed to get through.”

  “How come?”

  “God's law,” said Lou. “We all have to follow God's law to the letter, I'm afraid. Though, as I'm sure you've guessed, some of us read between the lines.”

  “But God says people can get into heaven, doesn't he?”

  “Yes,” said Lou. “But it's such a strict set of rules one has to follow-- some of which I know were thrown in there to fuck with me-- that it's quite literally a miracle when someone manages to follow every single one.”

  “That's hogwash,” said Alan. “Something I'd likely hear from Richard Dawkins, not the devil.”

  Lou shuffled the garbage can again. “You know how when God created humankind, he gave each of you free will?”

  “Of course,” said Alan.

  “Well, he didn't do that for us,” said Lou with a shrug. “We can't help but play by the rules.”

  “That hardly seems fair,” said Alan. “Have you talked to God about it?”

  “Would if I could,” said Lou. “But he's not been around since before the Bible was written.”

  “Why not?”

  “Perhaps he's grown up,” said Lou.

  “You're saying God was a child when he created the world?”

  “I like to think,” said Lou with a knowing grin, “That our world is just sitting at the bottom of the Lord's toy box.”

  Alan wiped off his dirty hands on his trousers. “So since nearly everyone goes to hell, you punish them all?”

  “Only the bad ones,” said Lou. “We still have to follow all of God's commandments. And it says in the Bible that Hell is a place of fire. It's a bottomless pit. There is torment and there is the gnashing of men's teeth. There is weeping and misery and sorrow.”

  “Jesus Christ, that's terrible,” said Alan.

  “But,” continued Lou, “There is also swimming and ping pong. There is chess and Subbuteo and shuffleboard and skydiving. There is a lending library with every book in the world, and the tallest rock climbing wall you've ever seen.”

  “So even the damned get to play ping-pong from time to time?” said Alan with a chuckle.

  Lou looked deeply and seriously into Alan's eyes. “Eternity is a long time, Al,” he said. “Not everyone who goes to Hell deserves to suffer for that long.” He looked down and inspected his hedges. “There are kids down there, you know.”

  Alan felt a tinge of discomfort and embarrassment. “Well, at least God says you can still play ping pong in Hell.”

  “Not exactly,” said Lou. He smiled warmly, cheerfully, and earnestly. “He just didn't say I couldn't.”

  Lou and Alan laughed. Then they both looked at Alan's lawnmower.

  “So once I get this back,” said Alan, “What's to stop you from starting the Apocalypse?”

  “The window's closed now,” said Lou. “The Apocalypse can only be fought when every member of each army has completed all their obligations, and there is literally nothing left to do but fight the battle at the end of the world. You and your lawnmower prevented that this time. And while we were doing yard work, the Denizens of Hell started borrowing and trading and doing favors. It won't be another thousand years or so until all of us have got no obligations left, and there's nothing else to do except fight the Apocalypse.”

  “What happens then?” asked Alan. “Are you going to borrow a shovel?”

  “It's not my turn,” said Lou. “It'll be up to Gabriel.”

  “What do you think he'll do?” asked Alan.

  “Hopefully,” said Lou, “There will still be Homeowners Associations. And they will still be bastards.”