Devonne Brown

In the middle of the journey I came to a dark wood where the straight way was lost. There was no yellow brick road circling toward an emerald city, only a crooked weed lined path with scraggly trees and tumbleweeds. None of the medication I took every morning made the day go right. Harpies to the left of me, harpies to the right and here I was, stuck in the middle, sauntering with demons up and down the spirals of Hell, not a pilgrim in sight..

It’s not as hot in Hell as they would have you believe. There are unbearable places for those who chose to go that route, though. Styx is the river of boiling blood, so that ratchets up the heat a notch or two. There are other places with specific hot pockets, so it’s not a cool place, but there is always a breeze. It’s confusing, I know.

It’s his wings. They’re always moving, I suppose trying to fly out of the ice where his feet are stuck takes more strength than the almighty gave him. Lucifer was well and truly messed up when he got kicked out of heaven for his stupid attempt at mutiny.. His bottom half was in ice while his wings beat a breeze forever through hell. Consequences can be harsh.

Midway up the side of the winding mountain, a harpy sat and watched me from the ledge above the narrow path. The breeze from the eternal wind gently ruffled the harpy’s feathers and lifted the meticulous coiffed blue hair, like the elderly ladies who had the appointments once a week in the salons with hairdressers who specialized in shampoo sets.

The half bird, half woman wiped away a heavily mascaraed too long eyelash that turned backward from the wind. It was painful, like everything else down there, as it should be. Harpies have fingers under those feathers with long manicured red razor nails that could cut paper if they wanted, but loved to cut things that bled and did when they could. The harpies primped and fussed over their hair and makeup, bickered over who got to sit where and why, and then they watched me walk by. They shamed me with my memories every step of the way and ridiculed me for my choices. Harpies are vicious as well as ugly to the bone.

The road went through a dark wood at the top of the hill. The demon had left my side and the only guide I had was a forked path without footprints in the dust beneath my feet. My demons had never been trustworthy, their consequences expensive, dire, and lonely. I had no idea where I was or which way to go. I was so tired.