The eyes are done so well! Something about the hyper-realism when compared to proportions is giving me chills. Great job!

I just want you to know that I rarely post written works because I'm so critical of myself, so thank you for brightening my day!

(Obligatory on mobile disclaimer)

"I see I have Mrs. Johannesburg here, did I read that correctly?" I ask as I adjust my pointlessly thin glasses on the bridge of my snout. Unsurprisingly, the benefits for this job suck ass.

"Yes sir, one of the only people... Err, creatures to ever do so," the elderly woman says with a soft chuckle as she sits on the rickety wooden stool placed in front of my desk.

I skim her file one more time before shutting it with a sigh. I don't get paid enough for this.

"Mrs. Johannesburg, you've lived an exemplary life! Single mother for 20 years, a loving grandmother, devote christian your entire life... You even defended a mosque from bigotry! Not to mention decades of volunteer work and fundraising. Ma'am if I might be so bold, you absolutely deserve to be in heaven."

"Oh yes dearie, I'm aware."

I gawk at her for a moment before I can regain my composure.

"Then why the hell did you want to be transferred here? You know this is the "bad" place, right?"

Mrs. Johannesburg laughs softly again. Her calm demeanor flashes briefly into something more sinister, but it's gone far too quickly for me to analyze anything. When she meets my gaze, her mouth is twisted into a sickly sweet smile. Her eyes, though... they look flat, empty, and dark, a look only the most heartless of demons can muster. I inadvertently shudder.

There is residual laughter in her voice as she answers, "Every Sunday for as long as I can remember, people have been trying to sell the idea of heaven to me. They said if I was a good girl and I did everything right, that one day I'd get to live in paradise with my late husband, but when I got there I was told he'd been sent here. Well mister, I've been nothing but good, and I want the paradise that was promised to me."

Ahh, so that's what it is...

"I understand that this must be hard for you, but unfortunately there's nothing I can do. If he was sent here, I don't have the authority to reverse tha-"

Mrs. Johannesburg's peal of wicked laughter stops me cold. It's the kind of laugh with no humor, just pure unadulterated malice.

"Oh no sir, you misunderstood me! The night he died that man ran out on me, and I promised him that should we ever meet again, I'd make his life a living hell. Since I never got my opportunity in life, I'd like to follow through with my threat in his afterlife."

Damn... These are the types that get slotted for the pearly gates? I guess the big G doesn't care about intent after all. I shrug, pick up my landline, and put in Satan's extension.

"Hey boss... Yea sorry, but I have a weird one for ya... Can we allow saints in here to torture people?... Oh, we can!? Oh well, that's great I'll let her know!"

I run my hand over the smooth scales on my scalp and give Mrs. Johannesburg a sheepish smile. "So I guess you're not the first to ask! Could've fooled me! Ahahaha! You just need an escort on your first trip through the rings. Satan said he's sending a personal friend, Saint Olga of Kiev, to come guide you. You can wait at the benches at the end of the hall. I hope you enjoy you stay!"

Tlaltecuhtli, is that you?