I cannot feel it, but I can feel the essence of its hand on my shoulder. Asking politely to see the fear on my face.
Heaven has been believed in for centuries. The idea of standing above the living on clouds in a pure white setting--it’s supposed to be perfect. Greeted by the Man whom most have worshiped since their birth, it is an unproblematic place of joy.
In reality, it’s just as painful as the real world. Possibly even more painful.
When I first stepped in, no 10-foot tall gates or angels awaited my entrance. I believed I had stepped into hell. I stood shocked. I attended church every Sunday, would pray before dinner. Although not the most religious of my family, I thought I was okay.
I dragged my feet as I was still attached to my death. I could still hear the doctors pacing around and my family grieving. I could hear the monitor flatline. All as if I was just closing my eyes. I could hear the moment of my death. I was able to smell my body rotting inside and out--a smell I wouldn’t wish on anybody. My body felt numb. My muscles were loose. My eyelids were heavy. There was no light to follow. I walked through the darkness, but I was not consumed by it.
Once I finally reached silence, I thought I heard whispers. I couldn’t say when, since time felt... gone, as if time had never existed. I couldn’t feel or see if I was walking anywhere, but at the same time, I felt myself getting closer. To where, I don’t know, but I was definitely closer. I wanted so badly to drop down and rest, but at the same time, I was full of energy. It was like I was feeling every emotion I had ever felt before, all at the same time.
I turned out to be right; I was close, and then I was finally somewhere. A door: dark red with a silver knob. Something about the knob being silver reassured me that I wasn’t going to hell. If it were gold and fiery, I would’ve been more suspicious. But silver is such a calming color, colder somehow. With this new confidence, I opened the door.
Angels, I’m guessing, stood in a line on either side of me. But they were clearly in trouble--being punished for something. Their wings were low and stained; dried blood crusted throughout their hairlines. Seeing as how their lips were sewn together, my guess was they told lies. Because of this, they were now being forced to work, acting as living demonstrations to newcomers that falsehood and slander will not be tolerated in Heaven.
I walked past them quickly; their sadness made me uncomfortable. The expressions on the angel’s faces read, “Why?” Some faces looked familiar. They were people I had seen before. But one angel had my face! I turned to look again, but when I did a double-take, it was just another ordinary face.
The lines ended--everything I had walked past was gone and there was just more darkness. Then another door, this time grey, with a bronze handle. I opened it and proceeded. There were more angels, this time tied up in thorns. Their hands and feet were bound with sharp spines. They looked angry. Some were fighting to untangle themselves, while others were presumably tired of trying. For violence, I realized. They were bound to keep them from hurting others.
The lines ended quickly since not many violent people would last in Heaven. It was apparent they wouldn’t. My question was then why they risked it. I didn’t feel for any of them. My empathy gradually dwindled the closer I got to my destination.
The light. Finally! I saw that bright white light that’s always talked about in movies. I ran towards it, but a hand-pulled me back. I started again and continued to run. The hand once again pulled me back. I ran, over and over again and the hand pulled me back, over and over again.
I decided to see what was holding me back. I turned around and faced it. I screamed as I saw an inhuman face with eyes and a mouth. It was made up of a black substance, similar to the consistency of fresh blood. Almost as if it was crying with a frown, white tears dripped faster and faster. I could hear the drip hit the nonexistent ground. My heart began to beat faster and faster. Then I collapsed.
I woke up. The darkness was spinning around me. I felt my pupils going in and out of focus. I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t. I saw the dark red door again but this time from the other side. The nonexistent clock had been turned back. I was not where I was before; I was supposed to be ahead. My back felt heavy--I was carrying something. My head ached and stung. The door opened; angels were beside and in front of me. I watched a person walk in. It was me. My short brown hair, my green eyes, my yellow shirt, even the coffee stain on the sleeve of my jacket was identical. I looked myself in the eyes. Once we both made eye contact, I could tell she was just as puzzled as I had been. But my doppelganger suddenly went faceless. Her face sunk inwards and she kept walking.
I’m stuck. Stuck in a body that’s not mine. With this new face... I left myself here. Well, she did.
This is it; this is Heaven, the only Heaven I will see. Where I stand there is no forgiveness, no sympathy. No pure white city on top of the clouds. I’m stuck thinking about what I lied about. I can’t ask, as my lips are forever shut. I can’t even think with this immense pain in my head. I can’t hug with my broken wings weighing me down. I can’t cry with dry eyes that are eternally open without my consent. I can’t rest without answers.
But then I realize: these aren’t unlucky angels caught telling lies and being punished. These are newcomers who have seen it. The people who only felt darkness when they walked through that door because of their doubts. The ones who doubted what was in the light now watch as others make the same mistake.
This is Heaven, not some middle ground, not Hell. This is just one part of happiness that’s not mentioned in the Bible or at church. This is where most people live out their eternity.
Do not be so quick to assume that someone’s death guarantees that they are in a better place. I have no peace. It is quiet, but my thoughts will forever keep me awake. The yearning for closure rings louder than any earthly noise. I have only just arrived but the pounding in my chest and the ache of my mind is something I can never conform to. I am not in a better place.
Teagan is a writer who enjoys the depths of writing that others don’t dive into: relating feelings to things and completely disregarding any expected situations. Although she enjoys all the cheesy things that she reads about, she writes the opposite. Teagan also likes to write about more modern topics, situations from the real world but fictionalized. She likes to stay in the fictional world, where ideas are limitless, even though she has to write thousands of essays. She claims to be just an average writer but says that her ideas are what give her an edge.