the heavenly tale
short story
Is death what it's cracked up to be?

Agreeably unaware that his horrible death was due in thirty seconds, Mr Pious sipped Martini in his delightful garden. It was a lovely day too; the sun warmed his skin and birdsong serenaded his mood. He thanked God for being so nice to him.

'Give God a chance, Mr Free!'

'Prove he exists, my dear fellow, prove he exists!'

Mr Pious tapped the garden fence in his frustration with his neighbour, Mr Free. It seemed to Mr Pious that his neighbour was almost too stubborn: it was as if he refused to see The Light for the sheer hell of it.

'You are proof, Mr Free, because without The Good Lord you wouldn't be here!'

Mr Free lit his pipe and slowly shook his head.

'If he created me then logically it follows he must have created Satan. Tell me, what kind of God would go and do a perverse thing like that?'

Mr Pious sighed despairingly. He resented all these objectionable riddles.

'But Mr Free, you are fantasising as usual because you are blind to the truth and can't see that God made us all and He loves us all! He-'

'Good heavens! What on Earth?'

Seeing the astonishment in his neighbour's eyes, Mr Pious glanced up. A dazzling light appeared against the blue sky. At first he squinted at it with curiosity before looking away with terror. It outshone the sun.

'Glory to God!'

'What the Hell?'

'I've seen the light!'

The very next instant Mr Pious blinked and kneaded his sore eyes. To his astonishment he found himself in what looked for all the world like a waiting room. In common with every waiting room he had known in his life, his chair was slightly uncomfortable. In the centre of the room was a low glass table with some magazines and a potted orchid.

'I'm in hospital!'

With a quivering hand he picked up a magazine. In a fancy italic script the words The Newly Deads' Guide To Paradise glowed prominently on the cover. He grabbed another, Heaven Today, Volume 320444820579203335779230115732 Issue 1038533927597855559789. The cover showed an animated hologram of a puzzled looking angel walking around a towering fossil Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Fossils! Mr Pious sighed. Often, when Mr Pious tried to convince Mr Free of the truth of the Bible, Mr Free would argue that the scientific fossil evidence disproved the Bible account of creation. Mr Free would ask why dinosaur fossils predate humans by more than sixty million years when the Bible implies the world is only six thousand years old. Mr Pious was baffled by evolution and in fearing it, denied it. How was he, Mr Pious, a man of modest education, supposed to spread The Word with all those fossils ruining his credibility? He planned to have his meek Christian wife bear him children: maybe one day they would spread The Word where he had failed.

Mr Pious had little more success at spreading The Word to his workmates. He had been promoted out of harms way to an ineffectual middle management position at an insurance company. The people who were supposed to report to him ignored him completely, so engaging them in conversation was a futile task. They got on with their jobs, explaining neither what they were doing nor how they were doing it. Now he thought about it, Mr Pious realised he didn't have the faintest clue what they did. But he did believe that whilst everyone else worked hard on unholy matters like doing their job, it was his special right to hide in his office where he could reread the Bible in peace. After all, Jesus himself loved a good disciple who shunned ungodly hard work, didn't he?
'Mr Pious! Thank goodness! Are you alright?'

Mr Pious' reverie shattered. He felt comforted to see his neighbour seated beside him, even if he was an atheist. Mr Free seemed even more dazed and bewildered than himself. Mr Pious rose to his feet.

'Mr Free, what happened? Last thing I remember, I saw The Light and my entire life flashed before my very eyes! Praise the Lord! I saw The Light!'

'Sir, excuse me. You didn't see the light, actually,' hissed a rasping, female voice.

The two neighbours turned towards a prissy looking woman with an immense hairstyle of elaborate red curls and coils. She stood behind a huge desk with the word Reception gilded across it.

'I saw it! I swear I saw it!'

'Sir, the light you saw,' sneered the receptionist with infinite weariness, 'was the asteroid. Not many survived. We've been very busy over the last ten thousand years processing all the applicants and you two gentlemen are the last in the queue. We've preserved your souls on ice so to speak. Until now.'

'This is crazy! It's a dream!' cried Mr Pious.

'They all say that Sir. No, you're not dreaming. You are fully conscious.'

Mr Pious knew she was right. He was as awake and as clear headed as he had ever been in his life.

'Are you saying we're Dead?'

'Dead?' echoed Mr Free sceptically.

'Yes, we're dead!' rejoiced Mr Pious. We're dead and we're going up to Heaven!'

Mr Free laughed.

'What downright nonsense! I'm alive and well, thank you very much. Heaven is for wishful thinkers.'

'Let me see if I can change your mind, Mr Free, Sir,' sighed the receptionist with strained patience. She pulled out a handgun and shot Mr Free in the exact centre of his forehead.

Jaw agape, Mr Pious watched Mr Free's brains dribble down the wall. Four huge rats sprinted towards the white flesh and devoured it. They scuttled up Mr Free's legs, his chest and his face and jumped into the jagged hole in the back of his skull. Mr Pious wretched, backed away and fell over the table. The glass shattered and the orchid was crushed beneath him. When Mr Pious looked at Mr Free he saw his severely shaken neighbour put his hands to his head. The wounds had healed perfectly.

The receptionist was juggling seven hand grenades menacingly. Her mass of hair seemed to writhe and swirl.

'No one in this room is dreaming. No one in this room is alive. Any more silly questions?'

'We have no further questions!' blurted Mr Pious in panic. 'You see, Mr Free, what did I tell you? We're dead!'

Mr Free's face was ashen with excited astonishment. He rubbed his head tentatively.

'But this makes no sense at all!'

'And our Holy Lord God Almighty is our Saviour! I told you so!' bellowed Mr Pious triumphantly, his arms outstretched. Then he collapsed to his knees and prayed.

'Very good Sirs,' interrupted the receptionist sarcastically. The hand grenades she juggled became radiant doves, which flew soundlessly from the room through an arched doorway. 'Today is Judgement Day. Saint Peter is expecting you.'

Mr Pious grinned ingratiatingly and Mr Free frowned as they were ushered through the same exit the doves had used. They blinked in white brightness. From behind a grand table a kindly looking old man stroked his long white beard. In the distance stood a pair of monumental, glistering gates as wide and tall as the eye could reach through the subtle mists.

'Saint Peter, I present the candidates,' chirped the receptionist sweetly. She backed away and was gone.

With a stately gesture the old man summoned the neighbours to be seated before him. Instead Mr Pious prostrated himself.

'Mr Pious, if it doesn't trouble, please take a chair.'

The old man's voice was the most beautiful voice Mr Pious had ever heard. He wept with joy. It was a long while before he could be persuaded to raise himself from the floor.

'Permit me to confess,' gasped Mr Free, 'how much I've always deeply regretted the unfortunate incident a few years back in Acapulco. You see, I met these three tarts and they suggested we go to a hotel and they'd show me this amazing trick involving a bottle of chilli and-'

'That's disgusting!' chastised Mr Pious.

Mr Free looked at him with an air of dispirited bemusement. Mr Pious covered his mouth with his hand. What had he done? Had he inadvertently damned his neighbour? Literally? Mr Free was an atheist, but not even Mr Pious wished eternal Hell on him! Of course not! What kind of a person would wish Hell on anybody, least of all his neighbour? He shuddered and tried to abolish the thought from his mind.

'Mr Free,' smiled the old man apologetically, 'I understand my receptionist shot you in the head. That girl does indulge her mischief so. In ancient times men knew her as Medusa, you may have heard that name. You see, she is too wicked for Heaven and I needed a receptionist so I furnished her with a wig and employed her.'

'I think she's quite the charming girl!' laughed Mr Free as he ruefully rubbed the back of his head. 'But if she is Medusa then why are we not turned into stone?'

'Because you are already dead.'

'I see. That's perfectly rational explanation, yes. Mind terribly if I smoke?'

'Be my guest, Mr Free, enjoy it while you still can. The Christians have just made Heaven into a no smoking zone.'

Mr Free lit his pipe and looked pensive.

Mr Pious resumed his mission to impress the old man.

'Your Worshipful Holiness, I think Medusa is a lovely girl!' gushed he. 'I doubt she would have turned all those poor, wretched people into stone all those years ago had she had welcomed Our Lord And Saviour Jesus Christ into her heart. But alas, she chose to ignore Jesus, so if your Worshipful Holiness might let me convince her to put Jesus into her heart-'

'No no! That won't be necessary thank you Mr Pious,' sighed the old man. 'I don't wish to lose a devoted receptionist. But let us return to the matter in hand shall we? I now do declare the Judgement Of Mr Paul Matthew Peter John Luke Pope Pious to be underway! Now, where did I put The Book? Ah yes, here it is. Mr Pious, what was your first recollection?'

The old man quizzed Mr Pious about his parents, his childhood and his adulthood. Mr Pious boasted repetitively of his virtuous deeds, both real and imagined, at every opportunity. Whenever the old man demonstrated his guilt of a sin, Mr Pious was less eloquent. He squirmed and parried, deviated and evaded. When he felt he had no choice but to confess, it was with the brevity and reluctant agony of an indicted child.

A sleepless month of questioning came and went as Mr Pious' unabridged life story was sifted in patient inquisition.

'Were you a conscientious manager at work?'

'Oh yes, Your Worshipful Holiness Saint Peter, I was a very good manager because I was so easy to work for, my people never even needed to talk to me.'

'Did you love your wife?'

'Oh yes, Your Worshipful Holiness Saint Peter, I preached the teachings of Our Lord Jesus Christ to her every night. Sometimes she wanted passion, but I told her that her lust was sinful and she should be ashamed of herself and she said that it was OK now that we were married, but I wasn't fooled. I quoted Revelations to her until her passion was cured!'

And on it went, difficult questions followed difficult questions. Just as Mr Pious felt he was about to crack up, the old man closed his book.

'Mr Pious, I will now pass Judgement unto thee!' he declared thunderously.

Mr Pious gripped the table to steady himself. He was faintly aware of the supportive hand of Mr Free upon his shoulder. The old man looked at him with the air of one who is suffering indecision. Then his face cleared and he spoke.

'Mr Pious, everything seems to be in good order. Welcome to the Holy Afterlife!'

Mr Pious and Mr Free shook hands, slapped each other heartily on the back, hugged each other, danced and sang three Lions. Tears of joy poured down Mr Pious's face.

'You see!' said Mr Pious to his neighbour, 'I told you God exists, fossils or no fossils!'

'So, my dear fellow, how did those fossils get there then?' teased Mr Free.

'The fossils were placed in the Earth to deceive the atheists,' chuckled the old man.

'Yes, I told you so!' yelled Mr Pious victoriously.

'Indeed,' said Mr Free, with a tone of doubt creeping into his voice, 'however a good god would surely not deliberately deceive honest people with fake fossils!'

'You are extraordinarily perceptive, Mr Free,' said the old man.

Mr Free scratched his head.

'So it must follow that either God doesn't exist, or that He does exist but He is not good.'

'I am unable to refute your assertion, Mr Free,' the old man concurred.

'But there must be a god or the fake fossils would not exist.'

'Again, your deduction is flawless Mr Free.'

'So God is not good. Ergo God is bad. God is evil!'

The smile vanished from the old man's face.

'That is truly the only reasonable conclusion, Mr Free.'

Mr Pious frowned.

'But Your Worshipful Holiness Saint Peter I don't understand, there must be some mistake!'

'Look more closely Mr Pious, look more closely at the Gates,' murmured the old man.

Mr Pious walked towards the Pearly Gates. He gasped. He thought he could discern smoke seeping through the cracks between the bars. His heart thudded as if it were trying to escape its cage.

He turned.

His scream was hideous, like that of a threatened wild beast. A red-eyed demon glowered down at him.

'Saint Peter!' gasped Mr Pious.

'Saint Peter?' guffawed the demon. 'Not I! Saint Peter is burning with all the others.'

Mr Pious coughed on the searing air. He felt his eyes and his flesh begin to melt. In blind agony he whispered raucously at the demon as his last hope faded.

'Who are you?'

The demon laughed.

'Mr Pious, my dear fellow, I am Mr Free. In ancient times men knew me as God.'


Jim E
5 Feb 2002





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From:	John Carter	Subject:	:)	2002-10-20 01:57:13
From:	Russell Cash	Subject:	short story	2004-12-13 05:34:39

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