It was the day after yesterday, and Jimmy was skiing on clouds. His mother warned him about the thin ones. “Stay away from those cirrus clouds, son. You need to ride the cumulus clouds. They’re much safer.”
Yeah, and boring.
Jimmy tightened the bindings and prepared for his next run.
Sure, Mother knows best about keeping house and cooking and putting Band-Aids on boo-boos. But cloud skiing? Get outta here!
He adjusted his goggles and gave everything a final once-over.
Looks good.
He took a deep breath and pushed off down a slope of silky cirrus clouds, fine as spiderwebs stretched across the sky. The wind whistled in his ears as he gained speed, faster and faster, until it shrieked like a pack of howling banshees.
“Whooohooo!” he shouted, his voice ringing across the clouds. “Best run ever!” He sped effortlessly on his skis, the sun glinting off the thin wisps trailing behind him.
Too late, he saw the break. The clouds gave way beneath his skis, and he slipped through, tumbling head over heels to earth. He reached for the ripcord.
Uh oh. No chute.
He flailed and grabbed at the billowy cumulus clouds all around, but managed only to tear away a few chunks.
The ground rushed toward him, closer and closer, until he could see the blades of grass and weeping willow trees. He closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I should have…”
Splat!
Jimmy opened his eyes and looked around. His blood ran cold, a near miracle.
How can this be?
Screams. Writhing shapes. Flames. Hot. As. Hell.
Again.
A burly red devil holding a glowing pitchfork stood a few feet away, engulfed in flames he seemed to enjoy. He laughed and waggled a crooked finger at Jimmy.
“Like I always say, kid, you should have listened to your mommy. Because Mother knows best.” The devil crossed himself, smoke curling from his fingertips. He snickered.
“But lucky for you, you’ve got a whole eternity to learn your lesson.”
