Sarcasmo's Scribblings

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Stories That Never Were #3

The request: Make up a title for a story I didn't write, and I will respond with details of those non-written stories.

The Title: To Hell in a Handbasket and Back

The Result:
Mary Sue squirmed in her seatbelt. “Insulated my ass,” she muttered. It hadn’t been difficult for Martin to convince her that Hades would be a grand vacation adventure now that the underworld had opened its doors to tourism due to the increasingly high cost of torture. “Rekindle the old fire, ha ha” he said. How easily he sold her on the “Jesus Special” (“Descend into Hell – Return on the 3rd Day or Your Money Back!”) as a good way to get the lay of the land without making too much of a financial or spiritual commitment. And how calmly he assured her that the advertised “Handbasket” mode of transportation was just a clever marketing euphemism for “Coach Class”

Now, strapped tightly into sharp, leaking wicker that was allowing the River Styx to stain her best travel clothes, Mary Sue cursed Martin under her breath. She didn’t know why she listened to him –things always ended like this. Mary Sue miserable thanks to Martin’s machinations – from which Martin inevitably & elegantly extradited himself at the last moment. Not that the heartattack had been elegant, exactly, but at least it didn’t involve his pores being permanently infused with sulfur.

On the plus side, the resort had called to confirm her trip, ensuring her that Martin had already arrived (This was promising, the prompt service – their call came before the hospital’s did). At least they’d still get to have the weekend together. And she could give him one last piece of her mind.

And then see if she could exchange an extra torture or two for him in order to get herself a travel upgrade for the return trip.

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