Hell on Earth

Chapter Two

Hell on Earth
(Mila's POV)
•••

       Her words sounded like a symphony. Strong and lyrical. I was so inclined to hear more. She was hypnotic, almost as if her voice put me in a trance.

        That was until that weird woman I talked to in the other room, spoke up. "Excuse me, um, she's still in denial and we're not exactly sure what she's done --"

        "Did I ask you, Farrah? I'm taking over her case, since clearly, none of you remember how to do the screening process correctly. I want her files on my desk, now."

         The woman-- who's newly learned name is Farrah, opened her mouth to speak, but didn't dare let anything fall out.

          I didn't know who this woman was, but I got the sense she was definitely in charge. She was the only one not sporting a red ensemble. Instead, she was in a leather jacket, black jeans, and tall, black heeled boots. Kudos to her for not sticking with the crowd.

          "You," she looked at someone in my direction.

           I looked around to see who she was talking about but everyone's eyes were staring back at me. "Wait, you mean me?" I asked.

           "Yes, you. And someone get her some decent clothes so I don't have to look at those cheese stained sweatpants anymore."

            I looked down, suddenly embarrassed of my grey sweatpants covered in numerous stains. Cheese, paint, blood, coffee, vodka, you name it and it's on these pants. I don't think I've washed them since college, freshman year. A night club's floor was probably more sanitary than these bad boys.

The celestial being of a woman, power walked to what I would assumed was her office, as Farrah guided me to another direction. The rest of the crowd seemed to go back to work.

"Let's get you cleaned up. You smell like a trash can at a Burger King." The woman said with a very admirable quantity of disgust.

"Jokes on you, Farrah, because I happen to love the way Burger King smells."

She shook her head and ignored my truthful statement. "So, do you believe me now? About being in Hell?"

"Not a chance," I replied.

"Then why are you following me to get changed?"

"Because A.) that woman seemed pretty scary back there. And B.) this is my dream and I'd prefer to look hotter in it."

I didn't need to look at her face to know her green eyes were rolling at my response.

The halls were wide with red carpeting. I felt like I was at the Oscars. Like a homeless woman who broke into the Oscars red carpet, but still. To both sides of us were glass offices filled with pretty people in red. They resembled the conference room we were just in, only smaller. Boy, would I hate if my door at work was see-through. Then I'd get judged for unbuttoning my pants at lunch, and watching clips on YouTube of guys getting hit in the nuts.

We finally stopped outside of a door that wasn't glass; it was red.

She opened it to reveal what could have been a Kardashian's closet. If the Kardashians only wore the color red, but nonetheless everything was beautiful and designer. The entire room was scarlet velvet with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. I had never been in such a luxurious room in my entire life.

"What kind of office is this?" I mutter to myself.

I immediately showed myself over to the rack of dresses to my right. Chiffon, velvet, silk, I was in every girl's wet dream.

"Wow, I feel like I'm in The Devil Wears Prada, when Andie goes into the Runway closet and chooses --"

"The Devil does wear Prada." She mumbled.

"What?" I asked, "No, it's The Devil Wears Prada. Have you ever even seen the movie? It's iconic. You know, you actually kind of remind me of the British lady in it. She's like the mean assistant who shows her around at first--"

"Never mind. Just pick something out and throw on some makeup." She said showcasing the the vanity full of cosmetics behind her.

"There's so many options. Should I do a dress, or a skirt?"

"Here. Try this." Farrah threw a pile of clothes at me. Red leather pants, a tank top, and a blazer.

"You think this ass could squeeze into these leather pants? I think I'll just do a dress." I said as I pulled a deep red, long sleeved dress off of one of the numerous racks, and held on to the blazer she gave me. Stylist Mila was coming out to play. I looked at the tags of the dress and jacket and then both read: Chanel.

Jesus Christ, I'm starting to love this dream.

"Okay, let's get a move on. We shouldn't keep her waiting long."

"Fine. But I better get these sweatpants back before I leave."

"Leave? Ha!" She chuckled. What a fucking weirdo. I just wanted my sweatpants.

                "I'm serious. I'm not going home all the way to Brooklyn, just to have to come back to the city during rush hour for those pants,"  I applied some red lipstick, and brushed my ratty, blonde-ish hair. "Okay, let go."

I did a little spin and showed Farrah the finished product; hoping for praise because I looked damn good. But all I got from her was a small smile and a mumbled, "Not as horrible as I thought you'd be."

She once again led me down the long glass hallway, all the way to the back. The red and glass theme seemed to fade as we approached where she was taking me. The light began to dim at a dangerously fast rate. And the darkness grew, until we stopped in front of two large, black double doors. They were decorated with brass door knockers, that looked like a face. A familiarly angry face. Ones I had seen before in old mythology books that I almost never paid attention to.

"I'd wish you luck, but it wouldn't help. Fate is fate. They make no mistakes." Farrah said in a strange tone and walked away, leaving me alone in this dark part of the office.

Why does this bitch keep saying "they make no mistakes"? And who the fuck are these 'they' people, anyway? They're starting to cramp my style. I've grown sick of this dream. I got my nice makeover, now wake up, Mila.

I placed my hands on the devilish door knocker, and knocked? Is that the terminology? I didn't even know these still made this things.

After a few seconds of waiting awkwardly behind the doors, it opened to reveal the beautiful being from earlier. The one who scared everyone and demanded I change out of my beloved sweatpants.

"Mila Hastings. Get your ass in here."

She said in a rather aggressive yet playful tone that confused me. Like, is she going to sacrifice me? Unless, this is some weird sexual fantasy I'm unaware of.

At this point, I'd probably be okay with anything. I just want to wake up and go back to watching some Netflix.

•••

Author's Note:
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