Sure, the book happened to be in my seat. I found the book, but I didn't find it. It was placed on the plane meticulously. It was part of my fate. As the book explains, we all have a fate. Mine is to visit the realm of the living to see what kind of horror humans are making on their own. I then take that information to Hell's main office, so they can make ‘improvements’ to the punishments and general awfulness of the place. Hell still finds a way to be less bad than living for me. No wars or discrimination, everyone is treated like shit. Even the billboards they added recently aren't as unhinged as some on the sides of freeways or toll roads. It's incredible humans aren't the Demons, and Earth isn't Hell. Sorry, I didn't mention what the book is called, did I? It's a leatherbound copy of On a Pale Horse. Thing is, what I see in Hell isn't what anyone else sees. Everyone sees what has been determined to be the correct level of bad for them. I have to continue returning to Earth because it's my own personal hell. That's also why Hell looks very corporate to me. Its appearance has changed over my existence here. I've been part of Hell so long, it once looked like polluted Victorian England during the height of the industrial revolution. It has evolved to match whatever the most heinous human setting is at current ever since. I don't remember my human life anymore, yet it haunts me. Next time I get on the plane, I won't touch the book. Funny how the others in Hell think anything can scar me more than They Live. Especially now that I know you could switch aliens for Demons and the premise wouldn't be too far off. The flaw being that a mistake such as allowing humans to get their hands on the special glasses would never happen. Or would it? I don’t know how much of a difference it would make anyway. If anything the Demons in disguise are more sane than the actual people anyway.

I was vibrating as the airbus catapulted through the heavy, steel grey cloud cover. A forecast of stormy weather embraced the plane as it gained altitude. Overhead bins rattled in unison. I clutched the aged, leather-bound novel a bit tighter as if that would steady me through the yoyo turbulence. The book was a mystery – On a Pale Horse – not your everyday fun, vacation read. It was tucked in the navy, mesh seat pocket, forgotten, separated from its owner. I knew the representation of the Pale Horse in the Book of Revelation. Out of curiosity I started reading it during the take-off delay.

That lead blanket feeling of takeoff lifted. We must have reached the cruising level. I was engrossed in the book but became aware of the eerie quiet. My overhead light flickered. It cast a halo over me. A flash out the window drew my attention. “What the Hell?” I gasped. An illuminated billboard sat on a cloudy patch of nothingness.

I focused on the words: “You’ll flunk out of college. You’re not disciplined enough or smart enough.” The book dropped with a soft thud. Another board appeared. “Matt is going to leave you for that overachieving redhead he works with.” I blinked rapidly. I didn’t want to look out the window again but couldn’t stop myself. “Friends? Ha. Didn’t you see the Insta post of them at dinner without you?” Why? Where did these come from? “Your dad is terminal. Not much time left. Why haven’t you visited?” A tear slid down my cheek. A heavy sadness weighed me down. I tried to unpack what I read and the bizarreness of it.

I reached down and retrieved the fallen book. I closed my eyes pinching the tension that was forming on the bridge of my nose. The novel must have stirred up my insecurities. “More like a personal hell” I muttered. I snapped the cover shut and put it back in the pocket holder. The airplanes’ overhead lights flicked on. The volume of conversations increased around me. The flight attendant’s landing instructions played over the intercom system. Plane life resumed.

Upon landing, I exited the plane as fast as possible. I wanted to put that ride behind me. Matt was picking me up and we were meeting some of his work friends for drinks. I have a final paper due but can pull an all-night work session or do it tomorrow. I need to unwind; I need a drink. I have too much stress in my life. That’s the only explanation for the mid-sky “this is your life” advertisement. I inserted my earbuds and hit my playlist. I froze mid-step and looked down at my phone. This is NOT on my list. ACDC’s “Highway to Hell” filled my head.

April 2024, K. Nave

"Please fasten your seatbelts like so and read the safety information brochure in your seat back pocket."

I scowled as the airplane staff went over the safety information.

I pulled the brochure out of the seat back pocket and something else tumbled out of it too.

It was a disgusting old copy of On a Pale Horse.

I threw it behind me and ignored the screams of a young woman behind me as the book lodged itself in her eyeball.

Then I took a huge bite out of the safety packet and decided that I was done with safety.

I kicked open the window and hurled myself out of it, I grew wings and floated through Hell which wasn't really surprising.

Sure it would have been fun to shove people off of the stairs to Heaven and watched their faces as they fell to the bottom and had to climb back up again, but that required too much effort on my part.

I took the highway, which was actually a plane take-off runway.

One old book, leather-bound, occupying my plane seat.

Nothing else to do.

"On a Pale Horse", a title new to me. Enthralling me, I give my attention to the pale horse as opposed to my plain of existence. Sighing, relaxing, educating, not... connecting.

"How could I not be connecting? What is this disconnect?" I state, loud enough for the wonderful human being next to me to indulge my conversational plea through socially-enforced politeness. Once heard, one must indulge. I spoke loud enough to be heard.

I did not see the full disconnect until after I had announced my presence. My soul's windows burned at the strange sight before me. As if I were in a flying car and not an airplane, advertisements, lights, glitz, glamour - above an infinite, unending inferno of white noise and flame.

[REPORT]

"On a Pale Horse?"

[REPORT]

"I do dearly apologize, God, I haven't finished the book. Or I did, but the information is kept from me, even in my own mind."

[REPORT]

I see now I have many disconnects. The advertisements all flashed the word 'BACK', as if I had working knowledge of how to pilot.

[REPORT]

Have I been reported? Did my plane fail? Am I to be damned to Hell, on the basis of my homosexuality? I wondered as my brain struggled to piece the various simplistic pieces of data together in a way I could even begin to conceptualize.

[REPORT]

Oh - I was, I am a reporter. I used to be a grocery store clerk. Was that my life? Why am I disconnected? The advertisements seemed to be able to sense my emotional State, and adjusted accordingly. Needles, needles, needles, and needles. Slurs, of all sorts. Lights, coming from the fire, heading up to the bright light formed above my view. How did I know it was there?

[REPORT]

"God, I don't get it. Please." Tears of exasperation stung my dry eyes.

[REPORT]

"Please - I will finish the-" My hands reaching for the book, an invisible sensibility stops the move.

[REPORT]

"Please-" The wetness on my face begins to steam.

[REPORT HEAVEN]

"What? I report to Heaven? Now?" The stream of tears reflect my stream of consciousness.

[REPORT]

"I'm in Hell, I am a homosexual with transsexual tendencies."

[REPORT ERROR]

"Please, God. Or Satan."

[REPORT ACCURACY ENSURED]

As if it never happened, I'm in the safe, cool, air-conditioned cabin of a Boeing airplane. The wonderful woman sits next to me. I cannot help my eyes drifting to her chest, where a book is pressed against, heaving. The tears are still fresh on my face, though the red of exhaustion and embarrassment have fully left.

It's Stone Butch Blues. I went to Hell and saw my siblings making it to Heaven, on my goodwill, on my ignorant innocence. Her face is wet with tears, and I know which section of heartbreak she has arrived at. Was she with me? She turns to me and asks,

"I've never seen a woman look like you. In my mind, I look like you. Do we go to Hell for this?"

"No. All lesbians go to Heaven, just like everyone else. I swear on my eternal life."

They advertised my own truth to me. There will never be any sense in advertising a person's life as if another can own it.

[REPORT SUCCESSFUL]