The two greeters grinned a ghastly grin;
As they granted cold welcome to the hopeless ones.

But these greeters were not misanthropic
People in dead-end jobs, mechanically
Performing their laborious duties.
These greeters guarded the iron gates;
To the realm of Lucifer;

The gates of Hell!

With scythes in hand, and the hourglass of lost lives
Hanging from each skeletal neck, they continued to grin.

And grin!

Their onyx rings, symbols of rank in this underworld,
Shined dully in the dim misty light;
Black as the cloaks of mystery
Which adorned their skeletal figures.

The interminable line of haggard lost
Souls, shuffled slowly in single file;
Along the road to Hell, known colloquially
To the greeters, in their own warped
Sense of non-humour, as route 666.

These greeters were people once.

The confused girl, only seventeen,
Unsure in life; and now, in death even more
Uncertain, looked despairingly around her
For a friendly face; 'anyone, please'.

But the only friendly face to be seen in
This realm, was her own; reflecting from
Polished, mirror-like obsidian rock walls.
The walls so steep, towered above her
On both sides of this narrow path of the dead;
As the reflections of the hopeless ones
Echoed all around her, in collective misery.

The confused girl continued to shuffle along
The rock strewn path; unwillingly partaking in
This absurd ceremony of the dead, originating
From the deepest depths of time;
Ever since the Archangel Lucifer claimed
Dominion over the souls of certain human beings.

Closer and closer she came to the iron gates,
To within a few yards of the greeters and their
Putrid odour, who continued, as ever to grin-
Their unwelcome.

But suddenly, as she prepared to enter the
Gates to her doom;
Pain exploded within her as her senses returned;

And the warm lights of the hospital emergency
Room flooded her vision;
As her almost lost soul was yanked back
From the brink of Eternal Hell and into
The vibrant land of the living.

Where the greeters did wear friendly faces.