Canto 3: Lies

King describes their purpose for returning from death

The sliver of light on the horizon began to grow brighter, thicker. All around us, people began to ooh and ahh as the sound of a thousand camera shutters chirruped from every direction.

“The four of us have returned from death for a reason,” King explained. His words were rushed and frantic, as if sprinting from his mouth in anticipation of a coming culmination of events.

“Okay?” I replied. From beside King, Joan began to shift uncomfortably where she sat.

King chuckled. “It would seem that Heaven is somewhat reluctant to welcome authors of fiction. Despite the lives we may have lead outside of our writing, lies are lies and fiction is nothing but.”

“But fiction is meant to be entertaining,” I argued. “No one actually believes that it’s true.”

“If you tell a lie and no one believes you, is it still a lie?” I blinked. “Anyway, as I was saying,” continued King. “In order to earn our passage, we have been charged a mission. All of Heaven agrees that you are to be the next great literary mind. It is the desire of Heaven that you use your fame to relay a message to the writers of the world.”

“Stephen,” whispered Joan, touching his arm. “It’s nearly time.”

“What kind of message?” I shouted at King above the sudden roaring of the crowd. The sun had at last begun its crossing over the line of the horizon. The imperfect orb sent impossibly blinding shoots of light across the sea of cumulous, causing me to squint. I looked at King, but his face, his glasses, his smile were already becoming blurred and lost in the consuming white light.

“That,” shouted King, his voice beginning to fade as a heavy silence quickly pressed on my ears like a set of Bose headphones, “I’m afraid we must show you.”

Author's Note

Please, PLEASE don't leave me any reviews about either a) Narcissism, or b) religion. I am spoofing a famous peice of literature.