“What a pleasure to see you again.” Plato limped outside and onto the Devil’s back porch, favoring his damaged foot. He tried to shake Socrates’ hand with some sense of sincerity even if he’d prefer to cut it off.
It felt as if the software had set up to attack him again.
The rolling Hills of Hell that spread out from Michelle’s back door were covered with the amassed refugees of Heaven all clothed in flowing gowns. He’d never before noticed how similar her cove and the surrounding hills about them were shaped like a Greek amphitheater.
The hordes spread upward in an unbroken expanse almost to the foothills of the Mountains of Hell rising their rusted heads off in the vast distance. Their Heavenly robes were like a pointillist’s drawing done all in pastels, no discernible pattern to a h
