I don’t remember dying but I do remember waking up in Heaven. It wasn’t anything like I expected.
Heaven looks like a desert, a red desert, like Mars, and there’s a long line of people, stretching into eternity. They’re all the same age and in the same condition as when they died.
There are soldiers from every war, with gaping wounds, bullet holes that are burbling crimson, so, of course I fit right in, with the big bloody gashes in my limbs. I’m certainly better off than the car accident victims, all mangled and missing arms, legs, yeesh…
There’re even people who are just a severed limb, just an arm or leg just hanging in the air.
There are babies. Animals. Insects. Houseplants… Every form of life, standing in that never-ending line…
There’s tons of suicide victims. They’re blue from asphyxiation, nooses on them, dangling like a necklace, and there’s jumpers from bridges and buildings, and they’ve got hideously cracked bloody faces, faces deformed by impact, their limbs twisted and jelly-like.
Undoubtably, plenty of old people are there, in wheelchairs, hobbling on walkers, lying on a gurney, hooked up to beeping machines.
The people come from every time period, too, and are mixed together. You’ll see a Roman soldier, behind a Native American chief, next to an African tribesman, or an old Tibetan monk in front of a young, tattooed face Soundcloud rapper who overdosed on pills.
Death is truly egalitarian.
Everyone in the line looks confused. Or like they got backhanded, smacked in the face. Some have grossly shocked expressions, their eyes bulging, their jaws dangling open.
None speak. They just stand, separated by an equidistant 6 feet. When I arrived there, I was beamed to the front of the line. My form, my body dissolved into a puff, into a white cloud, and then I snapped to, and was standing at the front of the line.
An old man, in a toga, maybe a Greek, stood first in the line. He had horn-rimmed, solid gold eyeglasses hanging over his nose. He grabbed his crotch, and then I was sucked forward, almost vacuumed, into a cave, a hole, that looked like a black hole in outer space.
Inside, there was a narrow room. It had a low ceiling and dim rectangular fluorescent lights that blinked on and off, giving it a strobe light effect. The room was similar to a stock room. There were shoebox-sized, brown boxes piled to the ceiling, endless rows of them on each side of the white walls, the boxes stacked to the back, as far as the eye could see.
A black marble table sat in the center of the room. Behind it was an ivory chair. The ivory carved into meticulous patterns of curling snakes and dragons.
In the chair sat a mirror. Its edges were gilded in a shiny gold that had a phosphorescent aura to it. The mirror had to be approximately 3 feet tall and 1 foot wide.
The mirror spoke in a telepathic voice that sounded like my own thoughts. It told me it was God. It told me I wasn’t its son, but that it appreciated my doctrine. It told me it created Earth life, then man as an experiment. It had created other species, lifeforms on other planets, other galaxies. God said God was created by another God. That God created by another, and so on and so forth.
No one knew exactly who the first God was, or if there was a first. It was likely to have been an accident, said God. Or an experiment by another creature or force.
And what is this room? What is this Heaven?
God said that in every box, there’s a soul. The bodies outside are flesh vessels, soul vehicles, carriers. Compost. They’re to be used again.
But as what? God wasn’t sure. God confessed to be overwhelmed by how fast humanity had developed and was overwhelmed by its cities, its problems. God tuned out a long time ago. God doesn’t have time. Time isn’t even a concept to God. God isn’t even a concept to God.
God sits in mirror form, watching a window; the window sandwiched between stacks of boxes; the window the size and shape of a coffin…
The window displays views of faraway galaxies, explosions of stars, emerald green planets inhabited by humungous bees, and little gray men acrobatically frolicking, dangling on gargantuan vines and trellises. The little gray men are smooth, naked, appear genderless and eyeless. They are living among the bees in buzzing electric hives nestled in thickets of pastel palm trees and flowers. Their planets have hot pink skies and are peaceful and lush. Their planets are endless garden fields of animated radiant plants that move with maws like Venus flytraps. Their planets are all greater and brighter than could be imagined.
God gazes most longingly at pure, clean, cobalt blue water planets, at purple octopus the size of whales, with tentacles the size and length of smokestacks, the immense creatures swimming, twisting, and plunging deep, living happily in superstructures of neon coral reefs.
God doesn’t bother watching Earth. Not too much. Here and there, God tunes in, and if annoyed or angry, throws a wildfire, hurricane, or tornado or tsunami. The majority of the time, though, God watches the other planets, watches the stars.
I asked why God stays in this room… Why not move on elsewhere? Go swim with the octopuses? God had no reply. I asked other questions to which God also didn’t reply. I was finding God to be a fan of the silent treatment.
Moses popped his head in, then emerged from behind the boxes. He was holding a wine bottle and smiling at me. His teeth were crooked, and I noticed he walked with a pronounced limp.
Muhammed, Buddha, Ganesh joined us later. God let us keep our souls. God lets us watch our followers, if we want, but we rarely do. We prefer to sit next to God and watch the collisions of stars, watch the green planets and the water planets.
God never had an animal body. God can be anything. God was the sun for a billion years. Then God was a mountain. Then God dug this space cave, this black hole.
So every black hole is a Heaven, I inquired. God didn’t respond. Nor did God disclose anything regarding the golden mirror. I told God the sun would be a better form.
But God said God made the sun a finite star so it’ll explode and that’ll be the end of man. God believes in journeys. God believes in a beginning and an end to every experiment. Even if there is no end to God.
https://www.free-ebooks.net/horror-gothic/NFL-Concussion-Protocol-The-Tragedy
Meth Lab Press 