Sunday, July 1, 2012

Six Sentence Sunday – The Prophet and the Crown II: Descent (WIP)

            The strange thing about Hell, when she paused long enough to think about it, was there was no lake of fire, no inferno of flames.  Her surroundings were so bland one could go mad with boredom looking at them.  The curved ceiling, the walls, and the floor appeared to be granite, but smoothed over as if carved by a constant underground river.  Smooth, but not polished.  There was nothing to relieve the blandness, no crags, no crannies, no nooks, no hard edges anywhere. 
            For all the time she’d been there … it could have been days or weeks or eternity … she’d never seen a light source.  

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