Ok, so I had cause to revisit this story and take into account the great comments/suggestions posted last year when I originally posted the story. But most of you probably wouldn't have read it, because forum people come and go with the wind!
I can't really talk though. 2 years here and only 160-something posts to show for it. Ah well. Constantly looking to improve every aspect, please, grammar nazis, dialogue nazis and just general nazis more than welcome!
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St Peter’s serene and inherently tranquil manner was compromised terribly that afternoon. The noise and bustle of the gathered souls went directly into his head, clouding his thoughts and causing the first glimmerings of a headache to snake their way across his skull. He regarded the massive, seemingly unending line of people, and wondered idly how long he had until his tea break.
“One person to a machine at any given time,” he boomed methodically. The phrase was imprinted into his mind, and more than once he rationalized that a tape recorder with a bottle of Schnapps could accomplish the same thing he laboriously did. Irritated with the jostling and clamouring souls, St Peter raised a perfect hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. It was interesting, that among this group of people from all different walks of life, different cultures, religions and races, no animosity was present. Not a single iota. The only thing that transcended the journey from their lives to what was commonly referred to, rather ignorantly, St. Peter thought, as the ‘afterlife’ was impatience; apparently inherent in the human psyche even after the human psyche ceased to have any meaning at all.
St Peter, seated comfortably behind his marble desk, gazed away from his slight wad of paperwork into the individually indistinguishable mass of souls, all jostling and pushing one another; trying in vain to make it to the machine in the shortest possible time. As if they had somewhere to be. As if they were vying for the last French stick in the bakery section of Woolworths. As if they were important. They weren’t shimmering, or transparent. To St Peter’s eye, they were completely solid. Real. God had explained it all to him once, that souls were manifestations of people’s perceptions of themselves. He’d said that the will of humans was so strong, that once they’d shed their physical bodies, they would, without any effort, project who they believed they were. If they knew how they’d died, then their soul would show the wound. If they thought they were pretty, they’d be pretty. It was one of the great myths of heaven – that it would grant souls their wishes. For their amputated leg to come back. For their hair to be blonde. It was all a delusion. St Peter didn’t really care, after a lifetime of working where he did; he had developed a deep contempt for humanity in general. It was hard not to.
St Peter was not sure why there was such a jam of souls today. Granted, he had given up keeping track of the various wars and conflicts humanity managed to get itself into long ago, so it could have been anything. But giant gaping wounds and khaki uniforms were not apparent in the writhing mass of souls on this particular day, so St Peter resolved that this was not the reason. Maybe the forces of the earth needed to shed some baggage. Get rid of some of the querulous cosmic waste weighing it down. God knew it had more than the right to do so.
The small, energy-efficient computers at the far end of the slick, practical courtyard were running smoothly and efficiently, to St Peter’s relief. Sometimes when there was a bank up of souls like today, they spat the heavenly dummy and decided to go the stubborn horse route, refusing to work for the rest of the business day. St Peter again made a mental note to thank God the next time he saw him for the efficient computerisation of the system. He remembered back to the days of old when he had had to do the entire thing by hand. Now, all a soul had to do was step up to the computer (one at a time, as St Peter constantly advocated) and place their palm against the flat, metallic panel. The computer would buzz, take a while to load, and then give them a weighted percentage score based on the deeds done in their life. A score above 60% would see a white card emitted from the machine, with the soul’s name and social security number embossed in God’s own calligraphy font, which would see the soul safely past St Peter and through the Pearly Gates. A score under 40%, however, would see an angry red card spit out and would allow the soul to be entered into the Hell database and traipse past Satan’s assistant, to be swallowed up into eternity. This was pretty straightforward. It was the scores between 40% and 60% that were interesting, and St Peter had spent many idle seconds pondering this anomaly. He knew that these souls’ cards were marked “purgatory”, but where they went after that was a mystery. God only knew where they ended up.
There was another, smaller group who sat by the large tree to one side. These were the souls who could not be placed by a mere (although admittedly spiffy) computer system. These souls awaited the Eternal himself, and the judgement he would pass down.
One particular soul today was destined to sit in that group. Her name was Anna, and she was collected, with a rather smug look on her face, as she finally reached the end of the line. Righteousness exuded from her being as her shoulders squared, readying herself for her verdict. The look on her face suggested to St Peter that she knew exactly what it would be. She placed her palm on the panel, shivering slightly in anticipation. Her whole life had been leading up to this! Her first impression of the afterlife was perhaps not exactly what she’d expected, but eventualities were eventualities. The computer whizzed and whirred, and a green card spat out. She looked at it, and visibly blanched.
“Undecided?” she asked, staring at the card, as if that would make it change into the white she had expected. The thought had never entered her mind that she would not make it into heaven.
St Peter noticed this flash of green among the whites, reds and grays. He picked his way through the souls and tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around, eyes round.
“Over there,” he said, and pointed to the small group sitting by the tree. Anna nodded wordlessly, frown etched upon her face, and made a beeline for the souls. Upon coming closer, she saw the green cards they were all holding that were identical to hers. She reached the tree, and was surveyed by the silent souls. An understanding was reached, and she was accepted, before seating herself on the lush grass sprouting up around the trunk.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. Not a word was exchanged between the ten or so souls around her. They were an island of all consuming silence in a sea of noise and interference, watching as souls here and there wailed at their red cards, or rejoiced at their white ones. The small group awaited their judgement patiently; indeed, patience was one thing they had all practiced stoically throughout their lifetimes. Their lives had been in long preparation for this moment, and they looked forward to their imminent verdict with an eager anticipation that palpitated through the little group the same way as their silence did.
A noise met their ears, a crashing, metallic sound, followed by an almighty groan. The souls looked up from their introspection, and saw that a giant barrier had descended, cutting souls from the courtyard. St Peter and his devilish counterpart, the doorman for Hell, were guiding the last few souls through their respective gates, and then they were closed too. The two receptionists looked at each other, then turned to their small desks, and pressed a buzzer on their control panels. It was the end of trading, and they were keen to get home.
A ripple went through Anna’s small group, causing them to shiver collectively. Thoughts had whirred through all their heads. Maybe they were too good for heaven! Angel material, perhaps? Anna certainly thought that she deserved it. None of the souls considered the other polarity, and rightfully so, as all they had been taught in their lifetimes had been followed dutifully. They had taken the straight and narrow path, when the baroque meadows of sin stretched all too invitingly before them.
“Alright, lets get this done with.”
A voice reached Anna’s ears, and she turned towards St Peter, who opened a small door next to the closed Gates. A figure emerged. The souls were confused, he had the air of one with complete authority, and yet he did not look at all like their image of god. No flowing white robes or sandshoes were forthcoming. The man looked to be in his mid thirties, and black hair lay almost carelessly over his eyes. He was dressed in a stiff black suit that seemed in immaculate condition; indeed the only sign that it was the end of a long day was the tie that was just slightly to the left. His gaze rested on the group of souls as he walked briskly over to them. St Peter followed, as was his due. There weren’t usually this many, he mused, who could not be placed. And he couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something distinctly different about this lot.
“Alright,” the suited man said brusquely, as he surveyed the souls, eyebrows raised, waiting expectantly. After a minute of silence, he turned to St Peter.
“What a group of inquisitive souls you have gathered today, my friend. None of them have even enquired as to the absence of my long, flowing beard! And let’s not even get started on the sandals.”
With this, it suddenly occurred to the souls as to the identity of the being addressing them. As one, they averted their eyes and jumped to their feet, each scrambling to avoid being the last remaining on the ground.
“Oh sit down,” the being said irritably, upon which all the souls scrambled to sit again. In all honesty, God was disillusioned, and in a relatively bad mood. He’d had a long day arguing with the most persistent of philosophers on the issue of omnipotence, and he was not in the mood to pander to the expectations of ignorant humans. The sorry souls scurried to do his bidding. They did not question his rule, his power, his greatness. He wrinkled his nose slightly. They were witnesses, were they not? They lived in the world their entire lives, watching other peoples lives snuffed like candles, and for nothing. They watched those who murdered and were murdered, those who grew sick and died, those who simply withered away at the mercy of their own consciousness and their damned intelligence.
“Dutiful you were during your lives,” he said to them, unable to keep the bitter strain from his voice. “Now you expect to be rewarded.”
The delight and ardour on the faces of the souls only furthered to drive the spike of near-anger into the mood of the Eternal. Feeling vindictive, he pointed to Anna.
“Stand,” he commanded. She did so, light filling her eyes. “Tell us. What have you sacrificed in your life?”
Anna’s life had been long and arduous. Although she’d suffered, she had remained worthy and unwavering. Her face now closed, as she was inexplicably forced to remember her earlier years. Years she’d tried to strike from her record. Now her voice betrayed her, relaying her pain to the God she’d waited for her entire life. The Eternal listened with barely contained disgust about her trials. She had given up her one chance for love when she was young – he was a married man, and being the decent and god-fearing people they were, they did not pursue the dalliance to any extent. Misery set in for Anna, as she turned towards God. It became her mission to educate the uneducated, to bring people around to the truthfulness that was God and life everlasting. She had become hard, and her faith narrow and unforgiving in its zeal. The one thing she had, she clung too. She had devoted a large percentage of her time towards prayer and seclusion, and she fondly but with a small shred of bitterness remembered the hours spent on her knees in the chapel… the hours spent studying the thick Bible, the hours she spent preaching to both the converted and the heathens. And now that her time had come, she expected nothing less than a reward. A bonus. Her selflessness not to go unheeded. She alluded to as much as the litany of her life was relayed to her beloved Authority. With shining eyes and a fevered face, she rounded up her tale nicely, waiting in eager anticipation for her beloved’s verdict. As she had been most of her life.
The Eternal could not contain himself. He raised a hand, pushed his flawless, black hair from his face, and sighed.
“Tell me,” he said, wearily. “How is spending half your time on your knees helping me? How is it helping the cause?”
“By showing devotion. By expressing love and support for your battle,” Anna answered automatically, too devout to question even this most intriguing of arguments.
“A mother does not show devotion to her children by sitting back and watching them,” he countered. “A husband does not show devotion solely by admiring his wife.”
“No,” Anna replied. “But I have also done much for the cause.”
“And what cause is that? Do you even know what you’re fighting for?”
At this, Anna wavered. “To make people see the light.”
“Operative word; make,” God said sadly. “You can’t try to force people to think how you do. That’s not the point at all. Do you know how you can tell a true Christian from a false one?”
Anna was speechless. Even in her wildest dreams she would never have imagined the afterlife to be thus. For her God to be so… so… strange.
“How?” she asked hoarsely.
“You know someone is a true Christian when you can’t tell they are one at all.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Almighty.”
“Someone who lives by their convictions, rather than preaching them. I wish you ignorant fools would learn to live your own lives instead of trying to make others live the life you think they should. I look at atheists, I look at people who have no faith, and I see them as more worthy of this place than you boring dolts with your collars and your habits. The two being symbols – I have many friends who are nuns. Atheists! Deserving of a place at my supper table! I bet you never saw that coming, did you.” The Eternal paused, looking through Anna now. “You never see it coming,” he continued softly, as if coming to an epiphany. “You spend life assuming that something is going to happen, just because you want it to. Why isn’t there a “hedge your bets” commandment?”
Anna opened her mouth, an indignant look evident on her face as she struggled to process what her Lord had just said.
“Stop!” The Almighty commanded, loud enough to make her jump and take an involuntary step backwards. “You would argue with me? You would try to convince me that your religious ideals are correct? You have gone too far. You should have lightened up a little. Made some meaning from the life you had, rather than wait.”
“I was saving that for the afterlife,” she answered, honestly.
God exhaled. “I know,” he said, anger gone and replaced again by tiredness. “Your last mistake. Eventualities aren’t always guaranteed.”
The Eternal hesitated. He could have mercy. He could send them all back, as was in his power. Make them live lives, oblivious to their previous one, effectively reincarnate them into a new life, give them another chance. But, deep inside him, he just knew that given another fifty years, they’d all be back here doing it again. Fear drove them. Fear of the unknown, enough to make them create their own idea of “known”. He would never understand the people he governed.
Bitter taste in his mouth, he jerked his hand. Anna and the ten or so souls were, without further thought, completely snuffed from existence.
God turned to St Peter, who was horrified. As much as he held them in contempt, they were his charges. He was supposed to look after them, and he supposed, in retrospect, his horror was just the cap to a bone-wearying day.
“Its like reading a story you wrote years ago,” the Almighty said, not really speaking to St Peter. “You thought it was great when you wrote it, and now it is flat and meaningless. Thus is humankind. Desperately in need of a good edit.”
St Peter got over his shock rather quickly, and looked towards the closed gates of the Courtyard. On the other side, shades milled, waiting, eager to finally reach the place they’d been waiting for their whole life, casting veiled glances to the computers, anticipating the morning, when they would sputter and whir into life again.
Heaven’s receptionist turned back to the Eternal, who was rubbing his brow worriedly, obviously still thinking about Anna and the others.
“Don’t worry,” he said, brightly, as the two made their way into the foyer of the large, white building in front of them. “That’s ten less waiting for business tomorrow.”
