(no subject)
Alfred Stork clutched his chest, hacked a few raspy breaths, and collapsed to his death.
He had not been raised in a religious family, and was not in any manner a religious man himself. The concept of God was far too fantastical an idea to him, and if he was going to be bothered to pay attention to fantasy, it was going to be between the hours of eight and nine on a Thursday evening, in front of his telivision set.
And so, as you might imagine, it came as quite a startling but pleasant surprise to awake in the afterlife. He knew it was the afterlife simply because he did. It was not the afterlife he had heard people describe, however. It was merely the spot he had died. A bit later and cleaned up, certainly, but it was definitely the same restaurant. The janitor shuffled by, showing no sign of noticing him. Alfred stood up.
A slightly transparent man in a dull brown suit approached him.
"Why hello there," he said with a polite nod, "And welcome to the afterlife." Alfred looked at him a bit, and with a shock recognized him as his 7th grade English teacher. Before he could sputter this discovery, his teacher again began speaking.
"Yes, it is I, Mr. Henderson, your 7th grade English teacher. Y'see, upon entering the afterlife, the person who has made the biggest impact on your life will greet you and explain to you the wonders of the world in which you now exist. For you, 'twas I who was selected." After a pause, he looked away and added with a surpressed smile "I'm truly flattered."
Alfred liked English all right, but biggest impact?
...
He went with it.
"First off," continued Mr. Henderson (or James, as he liked to be called [he was one of those new-age, get-to-know-on-a-first-name-basis kind of teachers]) let's get some of the obviouses out of the way. Take a look at yourself." Alfred did this, and found him to be quite young, early thirties he guessed, and also opaque. "The age you have re-become has been calculated, very precisely, with the factors of various attributes of your life. Strength, health, agility, those sorts of things. The ages you were at when these were at their peaks have been rounded, and that's the age you are."
Alfred nodded contently in understanding.
"Next up is, yes, you are a ghost. Everyone is. Look over there." Alfred looked. There was a group of ghosts, sitting around the closed bar. "Your mind, from what it knows from living, tells your ghost body what it can do. It'll let you walk through walls and peek your head through a floor, but when you walk across 2nd Ave, you won't fall through the street into the subway, and you can comfortably sit on a chair. Dashingly clever way of setting it up, if you ask me."
"So..." said Alfred, turning back and finally speaking, "No Heaven? No Hell?"
James smiled. "When you die, you become a ghost. No one goes to Heaven, no one goes to Hell, everyone's...just a ghost."
"Wh...What seperates the good from the bad, then?" inquired Alfred, quickly becoming dissapointed that this afterlife he refused to believe in was showing no signs of reward, except for maybe the Peeping-Tom aspect.
"Well, if you'll just follow me..." said James with a twist of the heel, and he headed outside. The street was bustling with the afternoon crowd, and Alfred could see just as many ghosts, if not more than. He decided on more than. James pointed up, and Alfred looked.
The sky was dotted with ghosts, floating and hovering and flying about. There was also a plane, but it was not a ghost.
"We fly?"
"Some people fly, and some people don't." He motioned back at the ghosts in the bar. "The question, my friend," he said, turning to Alfred, "is if you want to or not. If you believe you can or not."
"That was two questions," said Alfred. "And you didn't form them as questions." James grinned, patted his former pupil on the back (because his mind told him he could), and twirled off into the air.
Alfred stood for a moment (only a moment), and then leapt into the air.
He had not been raised in a religious family, and was not in any manner a religious man himself. The concept of God was far too fantastical an idea to him, and if he was going to be bothered to pay attention to fantasy, it was going to be between the hours of eight and nine on a Thursday evening, in front of his telivision set.
And so, as you might imagine, it came as quite a startling but pleasant surprise to awake in the afterlife. He knew it was the afterlife simply because he did. It was not the afterlife he had heard people describe, however. It was merely the spot he had died. A bit later and cleaned up, certainly, but it was definitely the same restaurant. The janitor shuffled by, showing no sign of noticing him. Alfred stood up.
A slightly transparent man in a dull brown suit approached him.
"Why hello there," he said with a polite nod, "And welcome to the afterlife." Alfred looked at him a bit, and with a shock recognized him as his 7th grade English teacher. Before he could sputter this discovery, his teacher again began speaking.
"Yes, it is I, Mr. Henderson, your 7th grade English teacher. Y'see, upon entering the afterlife, the person who has made the biggest impact on your life will greet you and explain to you the wonders of the world in which you now exist. For you, 'twas I who was selected." After a pause, he looked away and added with a surpressed smile "I'm truly flattered."
Alfred liked English all right, but biggest impact?
...
He went with it.
"First off," continued Mr. Henderson (or James, as he liked to be called [he was one of those new-age, get-to-know-on-a-first-name-basis kind of teachers]) let's get some of the obviouses out of the way. Take a look at yourself." Alfred did this, and found him to be quite young, early thirties he guessed, and also opaque. "The age you have re-become has been calculated, very precisely, with the factors of various attributes of your life. Strength, health, agility, those sorts of things. The ages you were at when these were at their peaks have been rounded, and that's the age you are."
Alfred nodded contently in understanding.
"Next up is, yes, you are a ghost. Everyone is. Look over there." Alfred looked. There was a group of ghosts, sitting around the closed bar. "Your mind, from what it knows from living, tells your ghost body what it can do. It'll let you walk through walls and peek your head through a floor, but when you walk across 2nd Ave, you won't fall through the street into the subway, and you can comfortably sit on a chair. Dashingly clever way of setting it up, if you ask me."
"So..." said Alfred, turning back and finally speaking, "No Heaven? No Hell?"
James smiled. "When you die, you become a ghost. No one goes to Heaven, no one goes to Hell, everyone's...just a ghost."
"Wh...What seperates the good from the bad, then?" inquired Alfred, quickly becoming dissapointed that this afterlife he refused to believe in was showing no signs of reward, except for maybe the Peeping-Tom aspect.
"Well, if you'll just follow me..." said James with a twist of the heel, and he headed outside. The street was bustling with the afternoon crowd, and Alfred could see just as many ghosts, if not more than. He decided on more than. James pointed up, and Alfred looked.
The sky was dotted with ghosts, floating and hovering and flying about. There was also a plane, but it was not a ghost.
"We fly?"
"Some people fly, and some people don't." He motioned back at the ghosts in the bar. "The question, my friend," he said, turning to Alfred, "is if you want to or not. If you believe you can or not."
"That was two questions," said Alfred. "And you didn't form them as questions." James grinned, patted his former pupil on the back (because his mind told him he could), and twirled off into the air.
Alfred stood for a moment (only a moment), and then leapt into the air.