Sinkhole

Ron Koppelberger

Sinkhole

Unmoved by the edges of the sunken yard, Moody Carol sat in his recliner, feet up and leaning toward the sky. He had hauled his beige Easy-Boy to the center of the depression in the yard; the hole had spread in a perfect circle swallowing the cottage and a portion of Peace Avenue. The lip of the depression revealed a small crowd of neighbors and the shiny red glow of a rescue vehicle. They were shouting down to Moody and pointing to a rope and steel ladder the fire crew had lowered into the incline.
Moody was oblivious, eyes nearly closed, slivers of twilight sky leaking through to fill the void in his mind. He would ride the broken earth, the soils of encroaching perdition. He would sling low, six gun on his hip, breaths of Pabst Blue Ribbon tingeing his lips, a ride on the way to places bidden by dark shadows and bread crumb trails. “Yeeeeeeeeehhhhhaaaaaa.” he yelled up as the hole deepened.
The chair swayed in uneasy rhythm with the crumbling earth and he moved down, down to the depths of dramatic wandering pass, the sky becoming smaller until it was nearly a pinpoint of azure beckoning. Down, down and further down, finally he reached the bottom, the base of the depression, the center of the earth and close to the devils hearth. Whereupon a demon, winged in crimson, flew across the gulf and came to rest next to Moody’s chair.
“ What hath the lot of selfish wont brought you Moody?” Moody thought for a moment before answering.
“ A moment to trip up the lot of fate demon, I’m here early for the sake of a distraction and chance, chance before the last peal of infinity, chance for redemption, chance for a pitchfork in your backside devil.”
The gentle rush of a beguiling blue light filled the pit and Moody was transported to heaven where he was received in passionate embrace. An angel was heard to comment,” He has the temper of a tiger and the heart of a lion.”