The hellhound prowled the halls of its abyssal home, leaving smoldering footprint that smelled of brimstone.
The damned watched the creature pass warily. A few quaked and hid. But there was always one who would run, overcome with terror. He chased them down with sharp fangs and fiery breath. He fetched the shredded soul back and put it where it belonged, whiplike tail wagging.
There was a contradiction deep in the hellhound’s heart. All dogs are good dogs, even him.
But he decided long ago it was better to be a good boy in Hell than a lapdog in Heaven.

Hellhound by N Stjerma is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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