Archangel Gervais tugged back the drape with a flourish. ‘Your portal to undreamt realms.’ Not his best, he admitted to himself but work was work.
‘It’s a bit sparse.’ Celia Triangle shuffled her bosoms dismissively.
Gervais sniffed. They’d said she was a right one.
The woman continued, ‘What about landscaping? Manicured lawns?’
‘Aren’t lawns just nature under totalitarian rule?’
‘Oh.’ Mrs T’s mouth formed a tight ‘o’ reminding Gervais of the time cats were gods and showed their displeasure anally.
‘Isn’t it a bit wooden?’
‘Like you,’ murmured Gervais, before sweeping the woman forward. ‘Why don’t you step through and be transported?’
‘To realms beyond imagining?’
‘Oh you’d better believe it.’
As Mrs Triangle passed beyond, the earth opened and she began her plummet to the first of seven levels of hell, managing two wails and a preliminary tooth gnash as she fell.
Lucifer stuck his head out of his office. ‘Another, Gervais?’
‘Yep. She had no clue.’
‘For an angel, you’re a bit of a sicko, you know? And Gervais?’
‘Has anyone told you that you can be a little arch?’
‘Ho bloody ho. See you at the club on Tuesday?’
‘Soul night? Wouldn’t miss it.’
This was written in response to the final flashfriday prompt, here