From: Chuck Einhorn <unicorns@mmtcnet.com> Subject: [PW!]The Grey Among the Blackness Date: Friday, December 10, 1999 8:18 PM "Listen, kind sir." Frost turned to see himself confronted by two non-descript Rockets. "Wha? What do you want?! Don't hurt me, I...." *CRACK!* Frost turned just in time to see a massive, red-headed, leather jacket-wearing, shades-cloaked man wielding the largest spoon he had ever seen. The battered Rocket dropped, having suffered a concusion. "My partner! WAYNE! No!!!" The other Rocket grabbed his partner by the shoulders and dragged him to the relative safety of the woods. "Jeezus, thanks pal. If they'd a gotten ahold of me, who knows what evil things...." "Evil things? I INTERUPTED PEOPLE DOING EVIL THINGS! Darn it!" Phil, being evil himself, wished he hadn't interupted the ones in black. Next time, he would leave them be, or help them. They really should be friends, being in the same business. "Anyway, about you..... All does not seem right with you. You are in unbalance. I can help, methinks." "What are you babbling about?" Frost had to look up at his new companion, if you cold call him that. "I'll bet you would have wanted to join them, eh? Woulda had fun, huh? Well, I've got a better idea. You can go to Heck, and live like a king!" "Heck? Ain't that a figure of speech?" "Fuck no, it exists, and it's great! Cmon, just say the word, and you'll go there!" "Well, there's this girl I've gottatake into consid..." "Screw her! I'll letcha screw tons more, better even!" "BUT I sorta like being here and all." "Oh, don't be such a spoil-sport. Come with me to Pewter, I'll take you to a great place for maing decisions!" <2 hours later> "Yup. Uhn than ah took mah Sheal ot, and e haud a frickink Giradios......" Frost spoke slowly in a typical drawl. Yes, Phil knew that The Hot Jynx was an excellent place to make decisions. "Heya, paul, I evr tall ya 'boot th towm mea'n Atillar th' Hun was playin wit dah haeds from thar Franch Rev'lotion?" Phil, while totally unaffected by alcohol, was able to perfectly match the drawl of the wasted drunkards. Frost burst out in jolly, slurred laughter, even though the joke was borrowed from Shadowman, and not that good. "Er how'bout tha towm meas an Caesaer was trien to gt Mariea Antoineat ta takit off?" Moreloud laugter, from even other patrons, nurseing beers. "Er alla towms mean Haitlear wa playin Riask? He wz allaws beain me, an beain me. E as good. Bu he near seamead to beaat Miester Rowsevalt, fer some reasin. Ee'd git almad 'en whartnaut, en jus giveup......" Phil took of his glasses. While his glowing red eyes would have startled a sober man, they had no effect but amusement on one that was drunk. Frost needed assistance on this decision. So, Phil had got him drunk. Smashed. Wasted. Polluted. Waxed. Glazed. Preserved. Wiffled. Stewed. Hammered. Pixelated. Trashed. Beerified. Spliced. Anviled. Blasted. Ripped. Embalmed. Twisted. Hell, the guy was totally Zulued by now. "Hey mana, howsn can auh gets ta Heckl? "Ah kay, man, lemme demostrate on ye. Staund erp luk this, un just claoseyer eyes en relaks." Frost followed orders on shaky feet. "Naw, cuant ter tan, en feal rlaxeds." "Waurn." "Gaud." "Taow." "Kap goin." "Tray." "Gaud ENOUGH!" Phil swung the mighty pitchspoon, and Frost went out like a light. He was so drunk, another beer would have had the same effect, but this was more fun. The other drunks mearly laughed as if this was a planned slap-stick comedy. "Now, by th power invested in me, I DARN YOU TO HECK FOR ETERNITY!" Frost faded, reformed, faded, then dissappeared in a puff of blue smoke. Phil couldn't send a consious person to Heck permanently, altough minor sinners cuold be sent there anytime, anywhere, for temporary punishment. Frost, he was gonna be there a long time. "Phil threw his head back, eyes flashing red, blazing hair flailing behind him, and cackled like a madman. The rest of the drunks joined in, too crushed to know what had really taken place. Theirs was the laughter of insanity. Sour peppermint. Cold summer joy. Windless laughter of the storm. The storm of children at play, the howl of the wolf at midnight. It was everything abut nothingness, a bittersweet symphony, that's life. It was the laugter of insane men, too up in false joy to realize they were rotting from the inside, and if they did figure it out, they wouldn't care. What became of Frost? He lives on, in a sense. He is a servant of Phil, in his master's own horrid paradise, awash in all the riches evilness could provide. I'm sorry ifyou have not liked Frost, but he is happy now. He, unlike they many false worshippers that fail to meat there reigions demands, yet still believe they shall go to heaven, Frosttruly has gone to a better place. Ethan Einhorn