the Monday Musings column from that consultant bloke

I was in a room in a large building when the man came for me. It isn’t often that you get to meet a man in a black cloak and hood, and carrying a scythe, but there he was. As he lead me out through a back door I saw the mini-bus, the sort they use for shuttles from American airports and hotels. He motioned me to board.

I took a vacant seat, there were other people on the ‘bus, and we moved off. The realisation that I had no luggage struck me, although in most places, outside of the UK, the driver would have loaded my bags for me, but I couldn’t remember taking anything out of the building with me. Outside it was dark, and we seemed to stop for other people to get on, but without all of the usual activity that goes on when a ‘bus stops.

The ‘bus also seemed to have morphed from the small one into a full sized coach. No-one spoke to anyone else, and the silence was eerie. I tried to look out of the window to see what we were passing, but all I could see was my reflection. That took me by surprise, because I seemed to be a good thirty years younger, and was suited and booted as I was at the height of my working life.

Looking back down the ‘bus it seemed more like one of those new underground trains that appeared in London around 2010, where there were no doors between the carriages and you could see right down the train. I did what I always do on journeys, I closed my eyes and tried to go Zen.

The vehicle began to slow and, rather than a public address announcement, the message that we were arriving at our destination, all change please, seemed to come more as a thought. We all got up as the doors hissed open, but there was no rush to get off, no pushing or shoving, just an orderly disembarkation.

Where were we? An impression of corridors and escalators saw us arrive into what looked like an enormous airport lounge, but there were no departure boards. People sat, then got up and walked out for no apparent reason, and then I heard, or rather thought, my name was called. Before I could process the thought I had got up and was walking forward.

The lounge had gone and I walked into an area where an identical man was sat at a table with what looked like a laptop. Alongside every one one of these identical men was one of my former fellow passengers, except for one, and he beckoned me to him, motioning for me to sit beside him. He asked my name and date of birth, consulting an entry on the laptop screen, but this had become the size of a 55 inch flat screen TV on which my name and date of birth were writ large.

As I looked on a series of image appeared on the screen, like watching an animation of a photo album. In turn I appeared at each of the five schools that I had attended, then in the various employment that I’ve had. These were all highlights; receiving school prizes, exam results, getting pats on the back, pay rises, promotions and the like. then we seemed to go back to the start and, this time, I was in trouble; getting caned, staying for detention, getting told off, things going wrong. Not so much fun.

Then ladies began to appear, although only a few, a dark haired one in a bikini, a schoolgirl, one who could have worked as a lookalike for a young Sophia Loren, a blonde, an Amazonian redhead, another dark haired one, and then my first wife. Then a series of children, each on which then grew into adulthood. There were six, but I only recognised the last two.

There was more; sporting activities, charitable stuff and other memories from my life, but I was puzzled by the omission of the Berkshire Belle from the parade of ladies. The old man’s voice came into my head again; “So here we are, at the gates of heaven and hell, somewhere that you did not believe in. How wrong you were, and you are about to find out your fate, but first, you have questions about these memories, but the answers will come to you in due course, but, to answer the main question, what are heaven and hell.”

“In heaven you will meet anyone from your past that you would like to meet, as long as they want to meet you. You will see them as they were at some point in your memory that you were happiest with them, and they will see you likewise. You can do what you like and the aim is that you should be happy. In hell you will meet only the people that you wronged, that wronged you or that you most disliked. You will have no choice over who they are, nor when they visit you.”

“As to where you go from here, this is being voted on now”, he indicated the screen where two sets of counters were whizzing around, on above a green thumbs up symbol, the other below a red thumbs down. Everyone in heaven has watched the video that you have just seen, but with a commentary, and they are voting as to whether or not you should be admitted.”

I thought that I had no chance of avoiding purgatory, and closed my eyes. Opening them again I was in a darkened room. It slowly dawned on me that I was looking at a Venetian blinded window, and that it was very alike my bedroom at home. I raised my head slightly, and could see the tip of one of the blades of the ceiling fan. Behind me came the sound of gentle breathing, and I stretched out a hand under the duvet to find a warm thigh. “Groff” came a sleepy voice. It was the Berkshire Belle, and I was still very much alive. I tried to go back to sleep, just to find out a bit more about the parade of people, and other unanswered questions, but the dream had gone.

Author’s note. I am an atheist, and believe that when I’m gone I am gone. For me there is no heaven or hell, no afterlife, just nothing: It will all be over.

I did have a very similar dream to this when I was in hospital last year, during that first week when it was touch and go as to whether or not I would recover. I think that it was just the effect of some industrial strength drugs. Who knows? Anyway, I hope that you have enjoyed this tale. I enjoyed writing it, and, maybe, my Holiday Humour muse might be making a comeback. Happy Holidays!