Departures – a #FridayFlash

Barry Bloors, part-time burglar, full-drinker and layabout, took his night job one step too far, and, with a smell of powder and a surprisingly soft “ping”, was knocked from this world into the next.

Hurled through a fortified metal door that creaked open as he approached, banging his elbow as he passed, he found himself in a blisteringly hot, cavernous space, lit by a liquid fire in its depths and by greeny-yellow shuddering orbs, floating by forever. The sound was that of an ocean, aeons deep, with a tide of sobs ebbing and flowing. A stomach-churning smell of roasting rancid pork surrounded him, and a small dark figure, looking disconcertingly like Hitler, pranced around near the bottom, cackling: “Don’t stint on the crackling, lads!”

Satan, for he it was who danced that infernal tango-for-one, spied Barry, reaching   him in one impossible leap. “You’re not ready for us yet”, he snarled, “You need more practice. Piss off!”

On his rebound through the ancient door, banging his elbow again, Barry was aware of a tunnel of light pulling him, and he heard an educated voice saying, “He’s coming back.”

“God?” Barry wondered, before the light was switched off and he was told that he was in hospital and had nearly died.

“Mwaaaeurgh”, Barry attempted.

“Never mind, old chap”, soothed the doctor, but Barry’s shout could be heard across the wards:

“CALL THE JOBCENTRE!”