At sundry times, the interspeaker drolled:
“Boarding: Alpha Gate to Oblivion
Boarding: Lambda Gate to Limbo
Boarding: Omega Gate out of Hell.”
He rose, he thought solemnly, holding his little white ticket out before him still in disbelief. Leaving the mercilessly cold bench, he approached the ticket master. An angel, he wondered. He felt the laugh before he heard it, felt the deep echoes of mirth rise in this ticket master.
“Let me see your ticket,” the man said between chuckles. Punching it, he ushered the passenger aboard, muttering to himself, “An angel.”
It was an empty place, beautiful, comfortable, but empty. A warmth radiated from the walls and ceiling and the very floor. He took a seat by the window, looking out into the ever-darkness of Hell. Milling about were the throngs of damned and sordid creatures forgotten by God. And he, one of them, had a ticket away.
They talked, Hell was full of rumors, about where the Omega Gate led. Some say there were things worse than Hell, deeper pits yet to be mined for their torments and pains. Others said that the promises of Oblivion would be fulfilled there, that it was the place of ultimate destruction. Still others said that “out of Hell” was merely going back to Earth, back were “we’d” come from. Of course they all thought, never daring to say, they all hoped.
But he decided to try; He asked the price for a ticket out of Hell. With a grumble, the creature at the ticket booth opened a folder. Muttering, it asked his name. At the words, “John Smith,” more grumbles replied, and turning page after page, the monstrous entity finally sighed:
“It appears your ticket is already paid for. The train leaves in ten minutes.”
No bells or whistles sounded to prepare the passenger: With a jerk, the train began to move, and Hell dissolved away into the distance; And he, away, he knew not where, but away, and hoping, he left Hell.
Tale Told 