#1: He would open His door even if you don't deserve it.
There's no turning back now. You couldn't have blamed me for shooting him. He threatened me. I can't have him come close to my family for even an inch. I love them. Do you think they remember me?
This place seems empty. Where on Earth am I? Heck, I don't even think I'm on Earth. Damn, I can't comprehend it. All the work I left behind. Again...you can't blame me. I'm dead now. Go ahead, punk. Pinch me. It won't hurt at all.
Up ahead I see something sparkling. What--what is that? My pace is incredibly slow. Just like Foster Trohman, my lawyer. He walks the way people do on the Moon. Jeez, someone should indict him. I try to lift my legs faster and put one foot over the other, but--WHAT THE HELL?! I'm floating! I can't even blink to show my astonishment. How is this happening?
Beneath me I feel a wind, a somewhat gentle force that is pulling me to my destination. I can begin to see what sparkles ahead--it looks like a gate, no, a door? A bookshelf. It's my mother's cupboard. A gate. Yes, a gate.
It is only here that I am beginning to be aware of where I really am. I'm completely naked, stripped of my usual suit. All my hair's gone, too. Well, I was balding anyway. Touching my chest I don't feel a heart beating. Instead I can hear a faint thumping sound from the palm of my hand. I'm breathing, sure, but no air escapes from my nostrils. Nothing from my mouth, either. Somehow, even before I think of moving, the wind beneath me moves first.
Finally, I reach the pearly gates. The wind beneath me is gone, and I am back on my feet. Where is that Saint Michael they call? Shouldn't he be manning the gates with vigor, holding the big Book Of Who Gets To Go To Heaven in his hand? Wearing some sort of dressy outfit like Moses did in The Ten Commandments? Turns out, you can't trust a movie.
Instead, the door is left ajar, open for anyone to enter. I take my chances. Saint Michael must be out to lunch. It's now or never. I start talking to myself like a madman. Jack, get in! This is heaven we're talking about. Not just some increase in revenue or being named the biggest shareholder in the company. Or being first in line for Missy's Hotdogs. Or courtside seats. It's heaven. And the door is freaking open, so you better get your sorry ass in there or else!
What I see inside is nothing from the stereotype Heaven image we're spoonfed back on good ol' Earth. Here, Heaven seems more like a lounge than an all-white courtroom. Oh, and there's Saint Michael. Seems very busy, the guy. He must be the receptionist. I walk over to his desk.
"Hello. You must be Saint Michael." I give him my hand to shake, or kiss, whatever they do here.
He waves a hand at me, as if to shoo me away, and points to a small metal hook. Golden cards with numbers hang on it. "Take a number, Jack."
What, what is this, a doctor's appointment? This is just like my trip to Tucson last September. Completely blown off. I sit on the plush white couch and grab a copy of Time from the coffee table before me. God is on the cover.
God?
I always imagined him to be a thundering grandfather figure. Here he seems...different. He's wearing a jersey and shorts, balancing a basketball on his forefinger. His big smile almost blinds me. There's a tagline here that says: God, The New Obama? No way. This can't be God.
"Excuse me," I wave at the woman beside me. "This is God?" I ask rather idiotically, holding the magazine in front of her. Obviously this woman has never met me, and has most likely never met God either. She shakes her head goes back to reading Sports Illustrated.
It's only then that I see enormous double doors just beside Saint Michael's desk. THAT is heaven. Where I am, I have no idea. I look down at my golden card. Engraved on it is a number 3. Well, now. I feel like a valued customer.
After an hour or so of waiting, Saint Michael stands up from his desk, walks over to me and says, "God wants to see you now."
He leads me to the double doors. The thumping on my palm is faster. My breaths are shallow. I'm going to heaven.
"I hope you'll enjoy eternity here." He gives me a quick smile, gestures for me to come in, and closes the door behind me. I turn around and am given the shock of my life.
(to be continued)
This place seems empty. Where on Earth am I? Heck, I don't even think I'm on Earth. Damn, I can't comprehend it. All the work I left behind. Again...you can't blame me. I'm dead now. Go ahead, punk. Pinch me. It won't hurt at all.
Up ahead I see something sparkling. What--what is that? My pace is incredibly slow. Just like Foster Trohman, my lawyer. He walks the way people do on the Moon. Jeez, someone should indict him. I try to lift my legs faster and put one foot over the other, but--WHAT THE HELL?! I'm floating! I can't even blink to show my astonishment. How is this happening?
Beneath me I feel a wind, a somewhat gentle force that is pulling me to my destination. I can begin to see what sparkles ahead--it looks like a gate, no, a door? A bookshelf. It's my mother's cupboard. A gate. Yes, a gate.
It is only here that I am beginning to be aware of where I really am. I'm completely naked, stripped of my usual suit. All my hair's gone, too. Well, I was balding anyway. Touching my chest I don't feel a heart beating. Instead I can hear a faint thumping sound from the palm of my hand. I'm breathing, sure, but no air escapes from my nostrils. Nothing from my mouth, either. Somehow, even before I think of moving, the wind beneath me moves first.
Finally, I reach the pearly gates. The wind beneath me is gone, and I am back on my feet. Where is that Saint Michael they call? Shouldn't he be manning the gates with vigor, holding the big Book Of Who Gets To Go To Heaven in his hand? Wearing some sort of dressy outfit like Moses did in The Ten Commandments? Turns out, you can't trust a movie.
Instead, the door is left ajar, open for anyone to enter. I take my chances. Saint Michael must be out to lunch. It's now or never. I start talking to myself like a madman. Jack, get in! This is heaven we're talking about. Not just some increase in revenue or being named the biggest shareholder in the company. Or being first in line for Missy's Hotdogs. Or courtside seats. It's heaven. And the door is freaking open, so you better get your sorry ass in there or else!
What I see inside is nothing from the stereotype Heaven image we're spoonfed back on good ol' Earth. Here, Heaven seems more like a lounge than an all-white courtroom. Oh, and there's Saint Michael. Seems very busy, the guy. He must be the receptionist. I walk over to his desk.
"Hello. You must be Saint Michael." I give him my hand to shake, or kiss, whatever they do here.
He waves a hand at me, as if to shoo me away, and points to a small metal hook. Golden cards with numbers hang on it. "Take a number, Jack."
What, what is this, a doctor's appointment? This is just like my trip to Tucson last September. Completely blown off. I sit on the plush white couch and grab a copy of Time from the coffee table before me. God is on the cover.
God?
I always imagined him to be a thundering grandfather figure. Here he seems...different. He's wearing a jersey and shorts, balancing a basketball on his forefinger. His big smile almost blinds me. There's a tagline here that says: God, The New Obama? No way. This can't be God.
"Excuse me," I wave at the woman beside me. "This is God?" I ask rather idiotically, holding the magazine in front of her. Obviously this woman has never met me, and has most likely never met God either. She shakes her head goes back to reading Sports Illustrated.
It's only then that I see enormous double doors just beside Saint Michael's desk. THAT is heaven. Where I am, I have no idea. I look down at my golden card. Engraved on it is a number 3. Well, now. I feel like a valued customer.
After an hour or so of waiting, Saint Michael stands up from his desk, walks over to me and says, "God wants to see you now."
He leads me to the double doors. The thumping on my palm is faster. My breaths are shallow. I'm going to heaven.
"I hope you'll enjoy eternity here." He gives me a quick smile, gestures for me to come in, and closes the door behind me. I turn around and am given the shock of my life.
(to be continued)
posted by Chandra Pepino at
Sunday, August 30, 2009
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