[Newspoetry] NYT prompts

[Intermittent Fitz]

It was a dark day in hell.  The recently damned gathered on fiery sofas in 
a flaming living room in Satan's realm. Abdul Alkalimat, former director of 
Africana Studies at Toledo University in Ohio had only that day been 
condemned to eternal damnation, after eating an ill-advised, 
artery-stopping breakfast of chicken fried steak.  Nevertheless, he was 
still in control of the mental prowess that made him feel so clever and 
pleased with himself through all those years of faculty meetings. He turned 
his keenly observant mind to the people sharing the room with him.  There 
was a man, wearing a nametag, apparently an artifact from a recently 
attended conference.  The name tag said: "Jason Bram, Federal Reserve Bank 
of New York."

This put Abdul at ease.  On his other side there was a middle-aged woman 
whom he recognized at Matilda Walzer, author of a recent bestselling book 
about the history of political mistakes, and again Abdul felt a sense of 
ease, feeling himself to be, even in hell, amongst his intellectual 
peers.   "This collection [of the damned] is far and above the mother 
lode," he said.

Jason Bram was less optimistic.  He saw the two humanities buffs around him 
as an insult to his hard-nosed economic background.  He spoke slowly, but 
with an authority not easily wielded by those outside of top financial 
circles. "If you're going to have something revised up," he said, "that's 
the one [group] you want [to have revised, given that you'll be spending 
eternity in hell with them,]" he said.

Ms. Walzer broke in: "You see why we wrote the book," she said. "Otherwise 
we'd explode," she said, looking askance at the steady walls of flame 
surrounding them on all sides.  "I once spoke to a spokeswoman, from the 
headquarters of a political alliance that I am not at liberty to divulge," 
she continued, her eyes darting nervously from side to side, "and, frankly, 
that source was more than direct."

Abdul leaned over to Jason in a friendly, almost conspiratorial manner.  "I 
remember this from her book," he said.  Jason looked at him and leaned 
away, wondering what book he meant.

" I asked hard questions, I can tell you," Ms. Walzer continued.  "And I 
got tough answers:  'No. The French did not tip off anyone,' that's what I 
was told.  And by god, I believe it."  Ms. Walzer gulped, realizing the 
futility of her reference to god, given her current situation, and opted to 
end her conversation, close her eyes, and feel the heat of the flames 
around her seeping into the skin of her face.


- I. Fitz