Getting turned down at the Pearly Gates

A Story by Often Baffled

Part 1...?

GETTING TURNED DOWN AT THE PEARLY GATES

" Are you finished now... good then we can begin"

Pie'o'Pa the familiar to Sartori the reconciler

--Clive Barker

Imajica

THE END

Scott Squires believed he was a wise man until the day he died, or at least that is what he thought. He soon realized though, shortly after the hard impact, that what he had known and believed and indeed been taught by his elders, whom by the way were beyond reproach, was a complete scam. They had all been wrong, every single one of the God damn liars were wrong, as they would no doubt find out sooner or later themselves. Sooner Scott hoped.

But all in all the suicide went quite well. There had been a lot of witness's to account for what he hoped would become a strange testament to his Thirty six years. His boss of ten years... three months, six days and thirteen minutes, (Scott glanced at his watch just before he took his last shot of martini and slipped over the edge, you see), His wife Elaine, with whom he had been married all his life, or so it seemed had looked on in a horrific expression. something Scott had never seen on her face before. At least that bore any resemblance to emotion. Actually except maybe that time in high school she miserably failed that Calculus exam she had studied for weeks. He thought he had fallen in love with her the moment she received her grade of F, but then like almost everything else in their marriage it only happened once. And she never cried again... or so it seemed.

Yes, once seemed to be the magic word in Mr. Squire’s life. One romance that slowly decayed once they had been married, One child that he had hoped would bring him some form of redemption or salvation that he called existence, the child that had killed any hope of a happy future for Scott when it abruptly died at six months. Post-crib death or complications or faulty genetics past from father to son, the insanity that seemed to pass through generations in his family. Eternally recycled through the vicious circle. His father had shot his mother and then turned the rifle on himself when Scott was fifteen, by the time Scott had met Elaine Three or four years later, the murder suicide had transformed itself into a auto collision with a drunk driver, something Scott almost believed himself. Almost.

Though truly in retrospect, as Scott fell the fifty-two floors, approaching the pavement that would absorb the weight of the years, it was almost beneficial. Scott’s parents one George and Cindy Squires, were at each other’s thoughts more often then not, it had been a slightly arranged marriage, though emotions did exist, Things were never quite right between them. The details of his parent’s life became more and more sketchy through the years; he tried to blank out as much as he could. He had also been slightly abused, not beaten but ignored; he knew something of a brother but also a very vague topic around the Squires residence. He believed he had escaped the family curse via the service, and had never returned. Something Scott always admired while nursing the hope that he would return someday and perform a miracle rescue, or at least one day find contact with him, yes one day, but it always remained just that. One day. Someday. All once upon a time.

That time was over now, he thought as he hurtled a zillion miles an hour towards Earth. Terra firma, he thought, firm Earth. He was free here, at least for a few more mille-seconds. He was no longer a captive of gravity. This was what sky diving was like, only no shut or safety hatch, no bailing out or being a chicken s**t. Here in mid air facing self-destruction you knew what awaited you.

Of course this wasn't his first plan of action, oh no, he had been through it all, the gun in the mouth... no no he couldn't stain the white interior of his jaguar. The overdose, no never could swallow them dirty little pills his wife took, hanging, this method amused him the most. First off he couldn't tie a noose if his life depended on it... or his death. Desperately he would struggle with the damn rope, and yet nothing, he remembered then that Elaine always did make fun of him for not being able to tie his shoes correctly. Then one day around Christmas last year he had seen It's a wonderful life, and instantly he knew his calling, and maybe just maybe an angel would come to him, to show him how life would have been if he was never around. But the thought just depressed him all the more. There would be no bells ringing for what’s his name in this movie, and there certainly would be no Zulu's petals.

So it came to pass. His decision was made, the place figured out and his method relaxed. The only thing left was to get his affairs in order and to decide the time and if it would be in the company of him or in the company of all the wolves, thieves and liars, the latter he thought. The months that followed the wonderful life decision was spent in dazed euphoria, for once in his life he was sure of what he was doing. There would be no more a*s-kissing or indecision. His mind was made up.

Instead of waking up groggily as he and his wife had ritualized, he would rise welcoming the morning, the bright sun and the birds, and would whistle while he made breakfast, showered, dressed and kissed his beloved wife good-bye. For she did not leave for a full half an hour after he did.

Why are you so happy she would ask, your usually so solemn in the morning, are you having an affair with your secretary?

He would laugh kiss her full on the lips passionately and leave, gently closing the front door, as opposed to the regularity of the slam.

Things had certainly changed since the Wonderful life episode, so much so in fact that he had brought his wife to multiple orgasms almost overtime they made love, which had drastically changed from once or twice a month to a full tree or four times a week. He had even woken his wife up in the morning and displayed such affection she had no alternative but to comply. What was it with him lately she would think in the total satisfaction of afterglow? such warmth he had developed, he even seemed harder, and no doubt endowed with renewed vigor and energy, and to top the whole thing off he had gone down on her six times in the past month, the first time of which was the most wonderful and exiting experience in her Thirty four years. Something was going on and she was suspicious, but hell if this continued, let him have his secretary, though secretly she knew it couldn't have been that, his secretary was a brunette and she knew Scott had always liked redheads, she had even died and kept her hair red on his request. No this was the action of a man obsessed or a man on a vendetta.

THE END pt 11

As Scott went plummeting downward he took a moment to smell the world around him, the howling air around him, a few onlookers on the sidewalk below, oblivious to the whistling sound of a hundred and forty pounds. It was a peaceful night, the sounds reverberated around him, and even now he was filled with a sense of purpose and strange, as it may seem, pacification. Then a slight nostalgia went through him. It wasn't the lies that people uttered after a near death experience though. He did not watch his life flash before his eyes or anything quite so cliché' as that, it was just a form of regret that he and Elaine hadn't shared a life as happy as the past few months since Christmas. They had shared something's that they never had before, and perhaps he was a little too harsh to say that she expressed no emotion in their years of life together. To outlive your child was the worst thing that could happen they all said. For sure it struck Elaine harder than it had him. She immediately enveloped herself in a shroud since then, claming up and instead focusing everything on raising the corporate ladder. Perhaps that was most maddening about their love life before, they had become convenient, comfortable. Two cold hearts that sat in solitude together. They were in effect the same person. Emotions shrouded by the remembrance of the past.

Once, there’s that word again, once about a year after Katrina had died he had brought up the idea of attempting to have another child together, but she would stare at him with those thousand year old sorrow filled eyes, and without whispering a word condemn him for even thinking such a thing. Scott knew like everything else it was his fault.

He was picking up speed now, as he hurtled past an open thirty second floor window, a couple making love, thirtieth floor a couple squabbling, twenty fifth a man smoking a cigarette out the window, (later when asked what happened Mr. Johnston would remark that he thought he saw Scott grinning as he whizzed past). No he defiantly didn't see his life pass before his eyes but a myriad collage of sorrows and joys, secret heavens and their seductive hells as counterparts. Scott was witness to all the possibilities in life that was chitin out of him. The chance to travel and meet new and exotic people, a chance to take a chance, the possibilities of living on the edge. Ah, what a crummy deal fate had struck him; he never got a chance to live on the edge... because he was always over the edge. Or in this case he thought in a little bit of ironic humor, over the ledge.

THE END pt 111

Prologue

It was going to be one of those lovely little exec parties that everyone talked about the fallowing morning. The kind Scott abhorred but always went to. You had to actually; he had heard through the grapevine that if Mr. Tonken was at a party and his top team of execs was not, you could be awaiting a pink slip in the morning. Simple as that. Coupled of course that this month the party diem was to be held at the Squire’s.

It also was convenient that Elaine’s accounting firm was the numbers people that worked with evirotech, sorting out figures, keeping the money in symmetry with its silicon valley counterpart, keeping it all legal. Yes it was quite convenient indeed. Still, if it was not for the fact that Scott and his wife had at least been getting along, he would have told them to shove it, but he had to keep the charade up. Then it dawned on him, what more of a perfect chance could he ask for? Witnesses, grammaticism, and hell how more memorable could a party get then watching someone get crushed under tons of gravity. Wonderful.

Scott mingled through the party, most of the guest were still absent, but he knew the time would soon come. Elaine had gone to the lengths to order top gourmet catering for the impression, and as Scott wolfed down a lobster pate' or some such, he never had much of the gourmet appetite or class, beyond the Surf and Turf at PINK SHRIMP AND STUFF fine dinning. As the last vestiges of the cru station wormed its way down his gullet his mind wandered back to the days previous to the party, he had gone to his Insurance lawyer and cashed in his hundred thousand dollars, (since insurance doesn't cover suicide), and transferred his money into his last will and testament. Oh yes he was of sound mind. So much so in fact, he had never felt so clear headed in his life. Next he wrote out what he was leaving behind, and to whom. Mostly everything was to be given to Elaine, so she would be well taken care of, Some, a small amount in comparison to Elaine’s Six hundred grand was to go to a free party, free meaning mardi-gra type festival open bar, hundreds and hundreds of people type party. (Scott had made himself quite wealthy over his short career at Envirotech). And though Scott never did much like parties, this would be one he enjoyed himself at.

Scott chased the lobster down with some fine Chardonnay, which subsequently went down the wrong pipe and caused Scott to cough, but of course he tried not to cough too hard... Etiquette you see. A slap on the shoulder brought him back from the edge of his thoughts, and turned to gaze right into the s**t eating grin of his boss. The fat and obnoxious Mr. Tomken, he had the air that millionaires seem to manipulate and yet somehow Scott thought in the privacy of his own mind, came from a fat Georgian slob of a farm family. Nice to see that you made it Mr. Tomken, Jesus get me out of here, oh yes the parties going fine, remember the statuette of limitations Scott old boy, Oh the party hasn't even begun yet Mr. Tomken, I'm drowning... that’s how I feel around this man... drowning, ah excuse me sir I have to get some air.

The air is crisp and clean tonight, the perfect night to die, and in the perfect company... himself, well not really but for were he was going, no one could fallow. Off in the distance a dog barked, he thinks of this. It seemed somehow familiar, somewhere off in the distance a dog barked, some book he had read probably. He realized that this, the dog and the sound of Inane partiers with their idol words and empty revelations would be the last sounds he heard on this earthly domain. And the song on the radio, somehow familiar, yes it was the song that his college roommate had played continuously on his new quadraphonic stereo his parents had bought him as a Christmas present. Listen to this song he would say, the drums sound so good. It was from the Police, that band whose lead singer went off to start a solo career in adult contemporary, a blasphemous pair of words in college, but The Police were cool. The song was called Message in a bottle about this guy who is like sending this s.o.s to someone in a bottle, and then at the end the guy would walk up on this shore and a hundred thousand bottles were washed up on the shore, It had struck Scott profoundly then as it did know, he hoped they remembered this was playing when when... well you know.

Then a strange thing happened, Elaine who chatting with a few co-workers, probably about a recipe or something, glanced out and looked directly into Scott’s eyes, she knew he thought, and the moment lasted forever it seemed but then she just smiled, and it instantly broke his heart, if only somehow things could have been different between them. If only somehow the world could have found a solitude for the cancer growing in him. It was now or never. Elaine glanced again and Scott whispered the words goodbye I'm going home. And a second and a half later he was six stories to his mark.

THE END

pt IIII The last six stories

It's funny about suicide through jumping off a tall building. You hardly notice anything till the last six floors, It's like a dream, just air and howling wind until the final moments, no life flashing before your eyes and yet something akin to deja vu occurs, remembering something that never happened, and yet has it happened? Or was it something you remembered happening only forgot then caught a momentary glance, a taste of something you’ve never tried? The feeling was way out of Scott’s logic to comprehend or in fact process. That was what it was thought remembering something long forgotten. So sorrowfully forgotten. He didn't dwell on it though, now his mind focused on the crowd almost making their way to the edges of the balcony, their mouths forming grotesque expressions, and then the ground, the trees and finally the blood sprawling out the sides of his head.

THE END

pt V CENSORED FOR READERS DIGEST READERS

Contrary to popular believe, sudden death is not so sudden, it takes time. First comes the terrible impact, a loud slap... especially if its pavement. Scott felt the hard man made Earth make contact with his face, the body would come later. Secondly a big mis-conception with sudden death is that there is pain a large and terribly hellish amount of pain. A pain with the intensity of a thousand suns. Going nova. Flesh is seared and ripped apart like butter being cut with a blow torch butter knife.

Then the body would follow, the bones becoming brittle as if it had been exhumed from a hundred year old tomb and then place in a compactor. The force of the drop of fifty two floors weighed down on him, making him compact into a human pancake. At this rate he thought through clouds of agony, he would never die. Damn he thought won't this crunching sound ever stop, and just as he completed the thought, his head burst open, he didn't think it was a crack that happened first but an instant obliteration of the marrow. It burst like a water balloon, or perhaps more appropriately a melon, and the innards of the melon would coat the sidewalk in a fresh new lair of bright crimson paint. Pop.

His eyes were wide open now, since he had closed them in fear of impact, and noticed that one of his eyeballs was almost directly next to the other one, separated only by a thin lair of flesh. Then it shifted again a slowly fell out of its socket. If he weren’t in so much pain he tried to think with what was left of his brain, he would probably laugh, eye to eye with an eye.

The blood was flowing now, oceans that split into rivers that split into creeks, the liquid that spread across the pavement earth. Cold, cruel and unforgiving, but now life on top of the lifeless. His conscious had finally begun to fade now, finally mercy would be upon him soon... or so he had thought. Unrenowned to Scott there were still vestiges of brain still operating and processing existence, for some reason refusing to give in to death. This he realized was what his biology teacher meant by the brain has its own defenses.

But at least gravity was over now. The grinding of bones had stopped, and the pop of his brain exploding had finally relinquished its reverberating in his head. Now all he had to do was to await the sweet kiss of oblivion. Then more torment came to his withering and fragmented mind. Hadn't that same biology teacher he had had, said something about insects. How it takes less than a minute for the slimy little creatures to infest the host. This truly terrified him, the flies would be alright but with flies came the Prego wives with their sacs full of festering maggots, tiny larvae that had made him cringe even at the sight of instant rice as a child. That time at twelve years of age when he had uncovered the rotting carcass of a dead dog, crawling and moving with renewed vigor. Could it be that that dog like himself still be alive beneath the deceiving masquerade of death? probably not but the idea still taunted him. No the ambulance would be there in another matter of moments, of course they would... unless of course they were backed up, or couldn’t find the place and got lost, and soon panic was griping Scott’s mortal soul. Not that he could do much about it in his condition.

It was going to end up all right though, as his one good eye he focused on one of the trails of his life blood creeping towards the sewer grate. Yes everything was going to be all right. He was going to return to the waters that spawned his damned soul. And this was the last thought Scott Dawn Squires had on the plane of existence called life.

LET ME GET BACK TO THE OCEAN
LET ME GET BACK TO THE SEA
LET ME STORMY
LET ME RESTORE ME
LET THE TIDE IN AND SET ME FREE
SET ME FREE

- THE WHO

SELF DESTRUCTIONS MOST ATTAINABLE GAIN

- HEADSTONES

GETTING TURNED DOWN AT THE PEARLY GATES

CHAPTER TWO

THE BEGINNING

Let us begin at the end; Let us suppose that once we are dead we travel no further. No spirit ascending to heaven, no deliverance and no salvation. I agree that it is a rather un-Christian and rather paganistic view but let us suppose. Are existence in life has ended however it may have come to be. Tragic... sudden... prolonged agonizing death from terminal illness... Cancer or AIDS. For this hypothesis it makes no difference. It is over and there will be no after life, and you will not be cradled in the arms of divinity. It is the eternal Abyss of unconsciousness, and for evermore you will have no memories, thoughts, emotions or reasons.

Kind of a lame excuse of a theory isn't it?

Now, for the sake of conversation let us transcend the limited and boring views of the Atheist, and add a new twist to the plot of life and death. Let us instead call to debate the idea of the life of death. We die and there is nothing more but suppose we do have a what the holy call an immortal soul. We die and yet the soul lives on, furthermore the soul is stuck in the shell of the human body. Fragile and delicate while we are alive and yet an impenetrable fortress of a prison while we are dead.

Are you catching my drift?

In the case of dying, and inevitably in turn being buried, the soul lives on. Try if you may imagine the infinite insanity of a soul being trapped in a dead and buried body. Hapless and broken, the physical body is immovable; there is no movement, no growth, no nothing. The flesh is rotted away, bones are brittle and everything stops growing, but here you are. Dead as a proverbial door nail, but with your soul struggling for escape. Of course there will be none, because as a world evolved we prefer the company of worms to the light of the sun and the sweet sound of the birds.

If ever judgment day does come about, I do hope the dead are never raised. For if they are there will be hell to pay. A hundred thousand years of enforced captivity, all in solitude.

Perhaps this is the reason that past cultures have preferred burning their dead, not willing to damn their fellow country men to this verdict. Yes I believe cremation would be much more preferable. This would allow the soul release and would leave what smoldering memory of the shell we call flesh behind.

Yes I agree. Flesh is a trap.