On the third night, the demon called in the big guns. He brought Thomas Jefferson right into my cell. Now, Long Tom had always been one of my favorite Founding Fathers. [I cannot understand the American fascination with their progenitors, myself. Do the English parade around proclaiming the great deeds of William the Conqueror? Of course not! Then again, that may be because he conquered the British. This bears looking into. -Wh.] Seeing the curly-haired Virginian in what was left of his flesh had a profound affect on me. Namely, one of disgust; he smelled terrible. Nevertheless, I was in a state of awe. The man on the two-dollar-bill proceeded to explain to me how things are after death, and how little chance I actually had of getting into Heaven anyway. He told me that I might as well live a prosperous life of evil, at least in order to make it easier for my descendents to pursue a life of good. But when I asked Tom why he hadn’t made the divine cut, he looked a little sheepish. He finally gave in, and explained that he hadn’t provided well enough for his descendants. When I asked him to specify, he admitted that he never properly recognized both branches of his offspring. Finally realizing what he meant, I was shocked at his complete hypocrisy. He deserved where he had wound up! Shaking his tiny fists in frustration, the demon took Jefferson away, and Thomas Jefferson received a permanent black mark against his name in my mind. [Is this supposed to a pun on the supposedly biracial nature of half of Jefferson’s offspring? If so, I find it in surprisingly poor taste. However, Mr. Hansen had nothing of a look of humour on his face when he spoke to me, at least not at this juncture. Perhaps I am the one at fault here. –Wh.]
Table of ContentsPreludeThe First NightThe Second NightThe Third NightThe Fourth NightThe Fifth NightThe Sixth NightThe Seventh NightThe Eigth NightThe Ninth NightThe Tenth NightEpilogue©2004-2010 Kris Brower All Rights Reserved