Present: Hell, (Who knows where?)
“W hoa! Off with their heads!” The Queen of Hearts cheered with a white wine glass in her hand. “That was brilliant!”
“Wasn’t it, my Queen?” Margaret Kent, the Duchess cheered back.
They sat sweating on a black leather couch in the resting room. Other residents sat next to them, exhausted and trying to catch their breath. Not to mention all of them were repeatedly burned, and their skin was peeling off.
As for the Queen and Margaret, they enjoyed their lunch break with white and red wine and a lot of bacon. God bless the guards of hell for providing a TV. Everyone in hell enjoyed watching the end of the world. Business was doing great as so many people died and so many were about to be punished. Even in hell, it was all about supply and demand.
The scene of Alice chopping off Jack’s head was being broadcasted on the BBC. Who knew you could still watch the news in hell?
“She’s done, my Queen,” Margaret was talking about Alice. “Seeing her on TV chopping Jack’s head off will only show the world that she and the Inklings are the enemies.”
“I don’t care about her being guilty,” the Queen chewed on some of her favorite nuts, which had been provided to her specifically. Who said you can’t use your influence and prestige in hell? “I care about the misery in her eyes, having killed the one she loved.”
On the screen, Alice was on her knees crying next to Jack’s chopped off head. Malice the plant swung but didn’t talk, waiting for the BBC cameras to leave. Constance the small girl hugged the broken Alice.
“How come we couldn’t make her suffer like that when I was alive?” the Queen mused.
“We’re still alive, my Queen,” Margaret said. “Only we’re in hell.”
“Don’t remind me,” the Queen sipped her wine. “Soon it will all be over.”
“I hope we win this time.”
“Who cares?” the Queen said. “Sometimes I wonder what happens if Black Chess keeps winning. I’m mean it gets boring. Let them win for once.”
“But if they win, we might never win again.”
A loud knock came from behind the door, which fumed a smoke from underneath. “Lunch break is over.”
“Sad,” the Queen said. “Watching the news is even better than Netflix.”
“Maybe they should turn our lives into a series,” Margaret said. “I’d be paid a lot.”
“Nah, they won’t believe it. People want cupboard heroes, happy endings, and they certainly don’t want madness.”
“I wish I had time to stay and see the Pillar suffer for killing me,” Margaret said.
“He is going to suffer, darling. Don’t worry. Besides, I don’t care about his suffering as much as I want to know who he really is.”
The guard ramped the door again. “Time’s up!”
“Blimey,” the Queen said, putting down the wine. She turned and looked at Margaret. “Ready?”
“Not really,” Margaret pointed at her burned arm. “Can we switch seats this time, my Queen?”
“You want the one next to the window?” the Queen mocked her.
“I just don’t want to be squeezed between two people like everyday. Can I burn in the big bed of yours on top of the hill?”
“I’m a Queen, Margaret,” the Queen rolled her eyes. “When I burn, I burn high in my throne. Accept that, darling.”
The door opened and the fumes from hell plowed into the room. The heat was enough punishment already.
“Don’t worry, Margaret,” the Queen’s last words. “It’s just fire. Count sheep, meditate, or think of it as medicine. Until the next lunch break, that’s if the world survives this long.”