“Well uh, I uh, I’d really like to go to heaven please”

John, 20's, discontent with his life, has a hard time finding out what's really going on after one fateful day los Angeles.

ACT I

I didn’t know it was possible to feel this much pain.

It was a fairly regular day about to turn, in a semi cliche like manner, highly irregular. My name is John Spuked. I’m was a pretty normal guy I guess. You know, white, middle class, short brown hair, average looking. If you had met me, you would have met ten other guys who looked very similar.  I had recently graduated from UC Berkeley and taken an accounting job at some firm in Los Angeles. Soon after doing this I came to the realization that maybe I should’ve studied something more interesting, and a little less mind numbingly dull.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing, but if there’s one thing I hate it’s writing the same thing over and over again.

I don’t really enjoy big cities like Los Angeles either. I came here because there were jobs available, and I had friends who lived here. Also, like many others, I felt a total loss of my sense of direction after collage.

The one thing I did enjoy about living in LA, more than any other place I had lived, was the food culture. Never before had I seen such a vast variety of amazing restaurants and types of cuisine. I had made it my mission to try a new restaurant at least three times a week. This was going real great and all until some of the places I had heard about and wanted to experienced were in some of the more urban parts of the city.I didn't think much of this at first but as I tried to visit these places I became more and more fearful of what could happen. I started to notice people following me. Or maybe I was just being paranoid, but it was very scary.

It didn’t help that when I was born my knee came out at a weird angle, and now to much stress on it is very painful. So running away wasn’t really an option for me.

I don’t know if I actually wanted to fend off thugs, or if I just wanted to feel a little safer, but I decided to buy a gun for my own self defence. Having been raised in a family of avid hunters I had found that I was much more comfortable around guns that most people. Because of this I decided not to tell my friends about it for the time being. I wasn’t worried about having a gun in our apartment because the truth is, in America seventy percent of gun victims are also the perpetrators.

Which leads me to that day. The day that turned fairly irregular. The day that I died.

The day previous I was watching television with my roommate and best friend, Puck. He told me about this amazing sandwich shop on the corner of Bixel and seventh, just a few blocks from where I worked, and that somehow I had never heard of before. I knew that it was very important to him that I tried it out because usually nothing interrupts us watching the newest episode of our favorite prank show, “Dunked”, as we always do on thursday nights. I promised that I’d go, and on that day I did.

That day for lunch I walked all the way over to it. The place was called “sandwiches to die for”. I wondered why I had never heard of it before but then again, I was fairly new to LA. I walked over to it from my office, and saw the place from across the street. I quickly ran over to it and walked through the glass door, totally unaware that I’d never walk out of that place alive.

It looked like any other place that I had been to. It was white mostly, and there was some stereotypical restaurant artwork on the walls. It had a counter to order food, round wooden tables placed throughout.

I had know the moment I stepped into that place that something was very off about it, but I couldn’t for the life of me put my finger on it.

I walked up to the man at the counter. He had a strange expression on his face, the kind you have when you’re trying real hard not to laugh at a board meeting, or another place where it isn’t appropriate.

“Welcome to sandwiches to die for, may I take your order.” he said with a polite smile.

“Yeah man, I’ll take a pastrami.” I said

“Will that be all?”

I nodded.

I would have replied verbally, but the way he looked at me made me very uncomfortable, like he knew something about me that I didn’t.

I backed up slowly at first, turning around, trying to find a table. The only available table was in the very center of the room, with only one chair. All the other six or so tables were filled, and lined the edge of the room.

It was at that point that I realized what was so off putting about that place. No one was talking. Everyone was sitting, heads down, reading, or else just looking at a cup of coffee. As I stared longer I realized people weren't actually drinking or even reading.

No sips taken. No pages turned.

As I watched my heart beat faster, and the silence became more and more deafening.

“An order for John S.” Said the man at the counter, his voice echoing in the sea of silence.

I realized that I had forgotten to sit down, and walked over to the counter. As I walked over I purposefully bumped into a man reading at a table. He had no reaction whatsoever, he just continued to stare emotionlessly at his book.

I arrived at the counter when a frightening realization came to me, and a knot swelled in my throat.

“How do you know my name?” I asked, plainly aware of the fear dancing in my eyes.

“We know all the names” He said with a malicious smile. “We’re here to usher all the dead into their next home.”

I was drowning in an avalanche of confusion and fear.

“IM NOT DEAD!” I yelled at the man.

He gestured towards to door. At first I thought he was telling me to leave, but I saw a crowd gathering outside. He wanted me to see something out there. The crowd was gathered around something on the ground. Hesitantly I stepped closer and saw that it was a body. I stared, blank minded at it for a while. I couldn’t see its face, but I could see its shirt, and pants, and shoes, all stained with blood. I looked down at my own clothes, the same clothes that the body was wearing, but a bloodless version.

“That isn’t me.” I said, not purposefully out loud. “It’s there and im.. I’m here.”

“You were hit by a car on the way to some sandwich shop.” The man at the counter said. “Now you’ve come here to the gates of heaven to be transported into the realm of eternity.”

I tried to speak but my voice caught in my throat.

It couldn’t be. It’s impossible. I felt so alive when I walked in there. well not alive but… but normal.

My heart was pounding so hard that it was the only thing I could hear.

Could I be dead?

Could none of this be real?

I reached into my coat pocket and felt the cold steel. It felt real good. Like I still retained some power over my mortality. It felt like salvation, true salvation. Salvation from whatever fresh hell I had just walked into.

I pulled out the gun and pressed the barrel firmly to the bottom of my chin. The people in the shop began to notice. One by one they saw and immediately stood with a look of horror on their faces.

“OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” shouted the man at the counter as I backed up into the doorway, gun still pressed, aiming straight up into my brain.

I backed up onto the door pressing into it. It was locked.

I held my finger to the trigger, ready. I knew that with just a twitch of my finger everything would be gone. The fear would stop. My heart would stop its incessant beating. The sharp pain in my bad knee that I just now noticed would be no more. All these people walking cautiously  towards me, hands outstretched trying to comfort me would leave.

They yelled things like “It’s ok!” and “It’s not real!” towards me. Someone was crying. I was so sure that they were lies. Every one of them. I had never been more sure about anything in my life than that in this situation it was me, versus them.

Suddenly one ran towards me, diving, hand aiming for the gun.

I squeezed.

I heard a fragment of a bang. I don’t know why but I could swear I saw a flash of my best friend Puck’s face. Then nothing.

No noise. No silence.

No light. No darkness.

Nothing.

ACT II

There was nothing.

Then, suddenly, there was still nothing.

I opened my eyes, of which I could swear had not been there a moment previously. A bright light shined down on me. For a second it was all I could see. It looked like the sun, but I knew it couldn’t be the sun because the blaring light from it in no way hurt my eyes. Maybe it was a new, different sun. Or maybe I had new, different eyes.

I remembered to try and look around. I felt strange, but not exactly in a bad way. I felt the way you feel when you wake up from a really intense dream, like your not really sure whats real anymore. In a calm way though, without any of the existential panic.

Everything around me was blue. Sky blue actually. The ground wasn’t visible because of this thick white mist about a foot deep resting on it. It felt soft and warm on my bare feet, which also was just noticing I even had.

I looked down at my body. I was draped in these white robes that were so soft and light it was like I couldn’t even feel them.

I held my hands up to my face. They looked pretty much like hands, which comforted me strangely, knowing that I was still pretty much a normal human.

I looked at my palm and fingers and noticed that my blisters were gone. I used to have these blisters because once a week for my work I had to hand write these long accountings reports.

If there’s one thing I hate it’s writing the same thing over and over again.

Other than that they seemed to still be my hands.

I wondered what happened to that job I had. I wondered what happened to that life I had. It all felt very vague to me. It felt like trying to remember a dream, but instead of slipping away like dreams always do, it slowly came back to me.

I remembered my job and How much I hated it. I remembered that cute intern in the office who would wink and smile at me, and almost make my day bearable. I remembered my friends that I hung out with, and my best friend and roommate Puck.

What happened to make that all go away?

I remembered how I went to that store. I was so scared. I didn’t know what was happening. They backed me into a corner. After that nothing. I must have died, I guess. Well that sucks.

I wasn’t close with my family, but they’re still going to be devastated. I think the worst part was that Puck was going to need to find a new roommate. He was pretty sociable and wasn’t going to have a lot of trouble with that, but I felt bad for abandoning him like that anyways.

I snapped back, remembering that I was in a strange foreign environment, although it didn’t feel very strange. In fact it felt quite calming and peaceful to me. It was as my mother was constantly holding my hand, telling me that it’s ok. I didn’t feel a shred of fear.

I looked around and found that there was absolutely nothing in front of me.  I decided to try and turn around. As I did so I started to realize how relaxed my muscles were, which previously was definitely not the case. This thought, however, was interrupted by me seeing the most magnificent structure I had ever gazed upon in my entire existence.

They were these two magnificent golden gates, joined at the center by an equally magnificent silver lock. The edges of the gate were lain with fantastic carvings of things I couldn't quite make out, but I knew were amazing. I couldn’t tell if the gates were a thousand feet away and a thousand feet tall, or miles away and miles tall. There was no fence connecting to the gate, but in the places where you could see through the gigantic golden bars the space behind it was shimmering in a way. Not unlike in pirates movies when you see the treasure under the water and it’s shimmering perfectly in the light of the sun.

My awe of the gate was cut off by the deep voice of an old man just in front of me saying “Yeah, yeah, yeah, everyone always loves the gate.”. I looked down from the great gate and saw a wrinkled man with white hair, a white beard, and wearing just the same robes as I was looking at papers on a podium.

For a second I thought that he was god himself and was just about to ask when he said, as if he knew what I was thinking “Hello, my name is Saint Peter, I will be your usher into post-life for this evening. Our special for the day is salvation with a side of transcendence. And before you ask yes you really are dead, no this isn’t what heaven actually looks like, and no you don’t actually get to go through the gate. It is there for symbolic reasons, I can’t imagine what it would take to get that giant lock off of it.”

At first I thought he was being rude to me and wondered why, but I thought about how many people die everyday, and how hard it must be to answer the same questions and do the same thing time and time again. I knew what it was like to have a repetitive, monotonous job.

“So you’re John Spuked? Yes?” I nodded. “Okay, good. You have no idea how many times we think one guy has died when really another has. Its actually only happened twice, but you know it’s heaven. We’re suppose to be organized  and omnipotent and whatnot.”

I was taken aback by his humor. Being raised in a christian household, and going to church every sunday had made me assume that God, and Jesus, and other heavenly entities were very strict and boring. Just as the priests and other people at the church I attended were.

I was just at the age where I was learning that often times when I assume something is something it’s actually something else. In retrospect I probably should have learned that a little sooner but I’ve always been a bit stubborn of a person.

“The real reason that you and I are talking in this crazy cloudy place” Saint Peter said in his deep slightly mumbly voice that old wise people often have “Is that it is my job to determine whether you get salvation, or damnation. Up, or down. Heaven or hell. Where do you think you should go?”

“Well uh, I uh, I’d really like to go to heaven please.” I said in a shyer tone than I would have liked.

“Unfortunately for you your opinion doesn’t matter. Not because you don’t matter, but because all people have the same opinion in wanting to go to heaven, and yet we’re still required to ask that stupid question. Well, I’ve looked at you transcript and it shows you have gone though you life without any major sin, right up to the point of your death when you commited suicide. Can you tell me about this instance?”

I didn’t know what to say. Some guy told me I was in heaven, then some people cornered me and I shot myself? I wasn’t even quite sure what happened myself. I was sure of one thing, I really wanted to get into heaven.

“It wasn’t my fault sir, I was tricked. I didn’t know what was happening. It wasn’t my fault.” as I said it my bad knee started to ache.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t even think about trying to lie your way into heaven.”

The truth was I didn’t know if it was my fault or not. My memory of the events were very fuzzy.

“The predicament we are in now is” Saint Peter said “we don’t know any more about the events of your death than you do. The only things we know are what you know. We get all of our information from the dead, and we can’t question anyone else because anyone who knows anything about this situation still remains in the mortal realm, while we are in this one. So I am granting you temporary access into heaven until someone with more information on the matter dies. Be warned however. Being in heaven makes being in hell fell that much worse, knowing what you could have had. So hope beyond hope that your death wasn’t your fault.”

I didn’t know how I felt about Peter's words of caution. I also was feeling a bit nervous about what actual heaven would be like, after learning that it was nothing like this place.

Saint Peter stamped a paper on his podium and wrote something on it with a long quill. He handed the paper to me. The first thing I saw on the paper was my face looking back at me in the top left hand corner. Next to it my name, and below, on the rest of the paper was a list of all the moral and immoral things I had done in my lifetime on a huge timeline. I looked at the section of the timeline labeled “age 12” and read things like “stoll a pencil from Sarah Shummer” and “Gave 75 cents to a homeless man”. In the middle of the paper was a big green stamp that said “SAVED” and under it in loopy handwriting “Temporary”.

I had never thought of heaven as being such an organized bureaucracy, but as I thought about it the more sense it made. They had to categorize and process the countless amount of people somehow. Saint Peter looked me in the eye with a penetrating warmth and said “Enjoy your visit to heaven”, then winked.

At that moment I felt weightless. It felt similar to that time that I had died, but a much slower, and more comfortable process. One by one my limbs stopped feeling, or stopped existing, I didn’t know. I stopped seeing. I stopped everything. If I was somewhere I didn’t know it, or have any way of knowing.

A consciousness without a body. A soul without a vessel. Like if all the electricity running through a computer still flowed but without the solid computer parts. Would it still compute? Is it still a computer? Can you think without a brain? Am I still a person? I definitely think, but I don't think I am.

ACT III

I can’t tell you about heaven. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, or that I’ve sworn a vow of secrecy or anything in the like. I literally do not have the vocabulary to let you understand heaven. The goings on in the place that is called heaven exist on an entirely different plane of existence. Describing them to a being that has only experienced the mortal world would be like trying to describe a beautiful sunset to a blind man, or a fantastic sonata to a deaf one. You can tell them that it’s very beautiful but they will never truly understand.

I can tell you that the beings in heaven are not plagued by worldly needs. They do not need food, or water, or entertainment, or sex. They might not even have bodies, for once you are in heaven thinking about such subjects seems trivial.

After being in heaven for as long as I was I came to realize why Saint Peter was as grumpy as he was, and Why he gave me that warning. It was because after being in heaven being on mortal ground, in a mortal body seems ever so pointless and irrational. Which brings me to about fifty years after I went to heaven, when I was summoned. Summoned back to the plane of existence between the mortal, and immortal worlds. Where all people go when they die. Where I went, and where I met Saint Peter.

I instantly noticed how cumbersome it was being trapped inside a human body after being nothing but consciousness for over fifty years. I felt like who had let free trapped back in its old cage. I did, however, remember nostalgically the bodily pleasures I had once enjoyed, but I knew that here I would experience none of them. There was no succulent feast or breathtaking massage waiting for me. I felt only anxiety when I was chained back into my humanly body that I once called a home. This was the moment I was going to learn where my permanent place of residence was, heaven or hell.

I opened my eyes to the familiar face of Saint Peter. This calmed me slightly but still I could feel my heart pumping all the way in the tips of my fingers.

“welcome back  Mr. Spuked” He said looking expressionlessly at his podium. “We have brought you back, as I’m sure you’ve assumed, because we need to discuss once and for all where you are going to reside for the remainder of eternity. A man carrying extensive information on your death has recently died, and we have informed him of the situation. He is now waiting to see you. We believe you know this man, he goes by the name of Patrick Gaphman.”

My heart jumped with excitement. Puck! I said to myself. My old friend Puck! Puck was my roommate and best friend during my life. He was probably one of the only people people I even thought about during my time in heaven. Was I going to see him one more time? That would make me just ecstatic.

“Yes, yes, please bring him!” I said excitedly to Peter.

He nodded to the left of me, I looked and there I saw a man. I had a lot of fond memories of puck, but none where he was this old or fat. Though as we studied each others faces I could recognize that twinkle of charm in the eyes that only chuck had under that short brown hair of his.

We ran to each other into a warm embrace. I was happy during that hug with my old

friend that for just a second it was even better than being in heaven.

“You’re just the same as I remember you.” He said with a sniffle, and a much older and fatter voice than I remember.

“You look a lot worse I’ve got to say” I said and we both chuckled and let go of each other. I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time that we were together. Twas the night before I died and we were watching TV together, just the two of us. Looking back on it it seemed like the happiest time of my life, moments like those. If it hadn’t been for that damned sandwich shop that he’d recommended to me I would have had many more of those memories, but I didn’t blame him. I knew he didn’t mean it.

“Well” Saint Peter said “I’m glad we had that nice reunion”.

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere.

“I have brought you both here today because this recently deceased man holds information that sheds light on the enigma of the death of John Spuked.”

I looked at Puck. He didn’t look at me.

“On the day of John Spukes death he entered a shop where in which the owner falsely told him that he was dead, fooling him a body that looked like him. Mr. Spuked then found that the door was locked, and out of fear removed his firearm from his jacket. When the people of the shot approached him he took it as a sign of aggression, and to escape from the overwhelming fear of possible being dead and being cornered by strangers, fatally shot himself in the head. Is this so far correct Mr. Spuked?”

I nodded somewhat shamefully.

“Under all normal circumstances behavior of this sort is considered a mortal sin and, proof that his soul is corrupt, is punishable by an eternity in hell.”

My heart fell and I lowered my head.

“These however are not normal circumstances.”

I looked up, confused.

“Have you ever heard of a television program by the name of ‘dunked’ before Mr. Spuked?”

“Well… well yeah” I said hesitantly. “It was a prank show we used to watch together all the time, but I don’t see ho-”

“Well Mr. Spuked” Saint peter said cutting me off, “it appears that your friend Mr. Gaphman here, in partnership with the producers of said television program, had a large part to play in your death.”

Again I looked over at Puck, and adamantly he continued not to look back at me.

“It appears that Mr. Gaphman contacted the shows producers as to collaborate on an elaborate prank, as is the shows speciality.”

I held my eyes firmly on the side of Puck’s head. He continued to stare in front of him.

“They set up a fake shop, while he recommended it to you, knowing that you would go. They filled the fake shop with actors, and told them to remain silent and do nothing. When you arrived they locked the door, and placed a fake body outside, wearing clothes similar to yours.”

It couldn’t be.

“Then the man at the counter told you that you were dead, as he was instructed to.”

I wouldn’t believe it. My best friend. My killer.

“I was watching the whole time.” Puck said, wiping a tear from his eye, looking only at his feet. ”I was just in the back room when you... when it… happened.” He shuddered. “It was just a joke. I thought you’d like it.”

My chest was a cavernous pit that my heart was falling down. I didn’t want my best friend to go to hell. I wanted to hurt him myself. I wanted make his blood spray in all directions, and watch the life drain from his eyes.

How could he have done this to me? I loved him like a brother, and he cut my life short.

I saw nothing but red. I breathed nothing but fire. I swung as hard as I could. I felt his teeth dig into my knuckles. It hurt. I didn’t mind. More pain for me meant more pain for him.

He staggered backwards, clutching his mouth. Blood was dripping through his fingers. I stepped towards him onto my bad knee which was throbbing in pain. I didn’t care. My face was red, my heart pumping adrenaline.

“Enough!” came the booming voice of Saint Peter. “Patrick Gaphman, in punishment for the part you played in causing the death of John Spuked you will spend an eternity in hell.”

I watched as the foggy ground opened up under the feet of my best friend. I had one last glimpse of his face as he began to fall. His hands stretched out in front of him trying to grab some support that wasn’t there. His white teeth lined with dark blood. His eyes wide in terror.

Good, I thought to myself. Serves him right. The b*****d.

I looked back up at saint Peter. He was looking back down at his podium, expressionless.

“Now for you Mr. Spuked. Under these circumstances with Mr. Gaphman being responsible for your death your suicide is completely condoned, and forgiven. Because of this you would have been let into heaven for all eternity.”

For a second I was utterly ecstatic, but I couldn’t stop repeating something he said in my head.

Would have, would have, would have, would have.

What did he mean by that.

“Unfortunately for you” Saint Peter continued “such a display of wrath you just invoked, in the presence of a saint no less, is considered a mortal sin in the eyes of god. If it wasn’t for that heaven would be your domain. Now, just as your friend will, you will spent an eternity in hell.”

He didn’t even watch me fall. He looked back down at his podium just as I felt the solid ground under me evaporate.

I fell for what felt like ten minutes, but was probably more like eleven. I could see nothing. All around me was a thick white smoke that progressively turned darker into grey and then eventually into the deepest black I had ever experienced.

The fall probably would have been pretty relaxing, but I was completely engulfed in terror for what was to come, and had no time to enjoy it.

I now realize I had never really known what the expression “striking fear into the heart” meant, until I landed painfully face down onto a hard rock surface, and I heard the voice of satan himself say with an echoing voice, as if there were many of him saying it from all directions “Welcome John”. Following it was a maniacal cackle, and with that a became part of a lucky few. I knew what the meaning of true and utter terror was, something that not many were so lucky to experience.

If I could have s**t myself I would have. If I could have shot myself again I would have.If I could have whipped my neck and crashed my forehead against the ground until I was dead, and went to any other place, or even just ceased to exist, I would have. Unfortunately I knew That there was no escape from this eternal prison.

I used to think that the fear of death was overwhelming. Now I wish it was still an option.

And now here I am, writing about this infernal sequence of events that lead me to this place. I hate writing. I didn’t used to hate writing, back when I was alive. I enjoyed it very much, but that’s what hell does. It takes everything you love, and makes it agonizing to you.

So here I am, blessed with the knowledge granted to all of those who entered heaven, and forced to write only about the worst part of my existence, my death. Over, and over, and over again I have written and will write about it, until the devil himself feels fit that I am a broken soul.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel this much pain.

It was a fairly regular day about to turn, in a semi cliche like manner, highly irregular. My name is John Spuked. I’m was a pretty normal guy I guess. You know, white, middle class, short brown hair, average looking. If you had met me, you would have met ten other guys who looked very similar.  I had recently graduated from UC Berkeley and taken an accounting job at some firm in Los Angeles. Soon after doing this I came to the realization that maybe I should’ve studied something more interesting, and a little less mind numbingly dull.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing, but if there’s one thing I hate it’s writing the same thing over and over again.