The Being

A.N. I've fixed some of the grammatical errors that were bothering me. This story is quite random. I've utilized several ideas within it, ranging from Free Will to what might happen when we die. I won't deny that the subject material is quite heavy and spiritual in nature, but really, my intent was to make the reader think. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

She couldn’t remember when she died or even how. There had been only an endless abyss, so dark, so black, and she could remember being terrified, not understanding what was happening to her. What had gone wrong? Where was God? Where was Heaven? Or was this the way to Hell? She couldn’t remember how she knew that she even had died; it was a knowledge that she had somehow simply known.

I am dead.

She couldn’t remember much of her last day, the Last Day, and she could feel all of her mortal memories leaving her. As though they never were. As if she never was. She remembered a clock that had fallen to the floor; an alarm clock perhaps? Pieces of plastic had scattered across the floor and maybe it had been an omen of her own impending demise. When the clock stops, so does your life.

Tick, tock, death.

She remembered the sound of running water, a source of comfort since childhood, and then nothing. There was nothing. Just the black abyss. Just her spirit, her soul, whatever it was that she was now. And that endless black.

Endless, endless black, whenever will you end?

Once upon a time, she had wondered how she would die. It was morbid, but she supposed everyone thought about it at some point. There could be no beginning without a conclusion; no birth without death. It was the law of the universe. Whatever is created must be destroyed. She supposed that the better question to ponder would have been when she would die, but then, no one could really answer that. Not really. Not ever. Because death was a surprise really. One day you wake up, or maybe you don’t, and then you die. And then it’s over. But she had always wondered how. Would she die an old woman, peaceful and content, surrounded by a beloved husband and children? Or would some terrible disease come for her, consuming her body even as it consumed her mind, driving her into insanity and despair before death would come, so welcome, a salvation? Who would mourn her? Who would cry for her? What nice words would the Priest say as she lay there in her casket, so very dead, relentlessly dead? Who would remember her, who would miss her, who would weep for her?

She supposed that it was that moment that terrified her the most, that ultimate moment when her heart would stop beating, her brain slowly shutting down. The Moment. That Final Moment. Would she be able to feel her heart slowly stopping; would she feel her brain slowly cease its endless operations? Would it be difficult to breathe as her body shut down forever? What emotion would she experience last, whose touch would she feel, what scent would she smell before collapsing into oblivion? What would be her last daydream, her last memory, the last thought?

But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. None of it had mattered. Because she couldn’t remember. Not anymore. There was only an emptiness where her memories had been and that forsaken Endless Black.

But then the Blackness receded and she stood in the center of a meadow. She had always loved the color green and now it was all she could see. Endless Green. Small hills rose gently from the land, and somewhere, she heard the sound of running water. Briefly, she wondered if it wasn’t a lingering piece of her last mortal memory, the only one she had left, that rushing water. But she could smell it, so pure and organic and she knew that somewhere a river, or maybe a small creek, branched through the Endless Green.

Endless and Empty. Where were the angels? Where was God? Where were the others? And for a brief moment, she could feel the panic settle within her again. What if this was the end, this empty meadow? Was this to be her punishment, spending eternity alone, endlessly wandering, always hoping for another soul or just one glimpse of God. Something to let her know that it would be alright.

Oh God. Oh God. Have you forsaken me?

Slowly, she moved, not knowing where she was moving to, only knowing that she had to. She was barefoot and even in her metaphysical state she could feel the warm, damp earth, so rich and brown and wonderful. She climbed one of the small hills, knowing up there, there was something, and she moved, guided by an unseen hand. Maybe over the hill, she would find the others. Maybe over the hill, she would discover where she was, what she was. Was she a soul? She was sure that she had retained her earthly body, but something was different. When she put her hand over the place where her heart had once been, there was nothing. She wasn’t whole. Not really. She was simply there. Simply existing. Human, yet not. Physical, yet not.

There was a man waiting for her at the top of the hill, a gentle smile of welcome on his weathered face. He sat on top of a stone boulder, the tan color of the rock such a contrast to the startling white of his long robes. His hair was long and white, but there was something about him, something so friendly, yet dangerous. Somehow she knew this man could protect her, and somehow she knew this man could destroy her without a thought. She could sense his power, such power! and yet his voice, when he spoke, was gentle and soft.

“Hello”, he said kindly, nodding for her to sit on the warm grass at his feet. She fumbled as she tried to do his bidding, so afraid and yet so calm. Somehow she could sense that he could see her, really see her, see her faults, see her mistakes, see all of those evil thoughts that had crossed her mortal mind, and she couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead she found a small blade of grass with her hands, twisting it between her fingers, her eyes focused on anything but the man before her.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, still soft, still kind. “Ask your question.”

What question? A million questions passed through her mind. Who was this man? Why was he here? Why was she here?

“Where am I?” she asked, and then jerked in surprise. Maybe she had expected her voice to sound different, just as her body was different. Instead it was strong, feminine, strangely clear.

“I’d say you’re in a meadow,” he replied, laughing softly. She felt herself smile, a tiny thing, but the first one since The Moment, that Final Moment. And then she frowned.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” she whispered, knowing the answer and yet so afraid to hear its confirmation.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

“I am,” she said, her fists clenching at her sides, the grass moving smoothly between her fingers. “Is this Purgatory? Where is Heaven? Where is Hell? Where are…” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t bear to think of the others. Because what if there weren’t any others? What if she was to be alone? Forever alone. Eternally alone.

“I would say it seems like you have a choice to make here,” he said as he watched her, always inquisitive, always seeing, and vaguely she wondered if he knew everything, what she was going to say, where she would go.

`“What do you mean?” she asked softly.

“Where would you like to go?” He asked as he continued to watch her, seeing her.

“I can choose?”

“You always have a choice. That is the nature of Free Will, is it not?”

“I didn’t choose to die!” she exclaimed, looking up, her eyes meeting his for the first time. Immediately she wanted to look away, to look anywhere but at him. There was such kindness in his eyes and yet he made her feel unworthy. Unworthy to sit before him, unworthy to look into his eyes. She felt as though she had sinned simply by meeting his gaze, but he said nothing. He simply smiled at her, still warm, still friendly.

“No. And yet, you knew that you were going to die at some point, did you not? What is created…” he said.

“Must be destroyed,” she finished in a whisper. He nodded in response.

“It isn’t for mortal people to know of their own death. Can you imagine what would happen if someone knew what day, what time, they would die? Who could enjoy their life knowing they only have so many days to live? Death strikes at random, and though it may seem cruel, is it not also a gift? Never knowing so that one might enjoy the time given to them without the constant thought of their impending end in the back of their minds? But the choices you make during your life are yours alone. You chose to accept that you would die eventually. It doesn’t matter when it happened, or even how. It happened, and you chose to accept that such a thing was inevitable. Is that not Free Will? “

She was silent, looking at her feet once more.

“Who are you?” she asked at last. He laughed softly.

“I am Nobody. I am Somebody. I am. I simply Am.”

“That isn’t an answer,” she said, wrinkling her nose at his response.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, still smiling.

“Are you an angel?”

“Do you see wings?” he replied patiently. “But yes, perhaps I am an angel. Perhaps I am more. Perhaps I am Everything and Nothing at once.”

“Why am I given a choice? I thought that it was for God to decide whether to cast me into Heaven or Hell,” she said, knowing somehow that she wouldn’t get a direct answer to her questions, and again the old man laughed.

“Because you have Free Will. That is, perhaps, one of the most precious gifts given to mortals. The gift of being able to choose. And yet, with such a gift, the consequences for your decisions must also lie with you. You are responsible for making the good choices, yet you must also accept the blame for the bad.”

“I cannot go to Heaven,” she stated softly, her fingers tangled within the grass.

“And why can’t you?”

“Because I have sinned,” she said simply and he could hear the pain in her voice.

“Every person must sin. That’s the nature of life. You are to make mistakes; otherwise how are you to learn? You weren’t made to be perfect, rather, your beauty is found among your imperfections. Your imperfections were what allowed you to be human. And I suspect that perhaps you punish yourself for those sins far more than God would,” he said soothingly.

“To be in Heaven is to be one with God. It means to be at His side. Who but the most Holy, the most pure have the right to demand such a thing? And how can I, a sinner, ask to be sent to Heaven, to God himself, when I am so impure and marked by my sins?”

“You would rather Hell, Child? It is your choice alone, but Hell is vast and eternity is long. Do you wish to spend that without the light of God? In Hell there is only darkness, a great abyss of pain and suffering. Are your sins worth such a punishment? “

“But I am not worthy to be near him! How can I ask to be near him when I am so unworthy? I will not taint the beauty, the wonder of Heaven, with the stains of my sins.”

“God forgives, Child. Even if you do not forgive yourself.”

“How can he? Why do I deserve forgiveness?”

“Perhaps you should not be so eager to set limits on His mercy. Perhaps you should not question why he forgives you, but instead accept that, even if you do not, he will absolve you. Look around you Child. You’re no longer bound to the life you lived on Earth. You spent every day, every hour, punishing yourself for things that were minor, things that were so easy to forgive. The guilt you carried in life follows you even now, a dark stain that only you can remove. You’ve been forgiven. Now you only need to forgive yourself. Guilt like that, punishment like that, shouldn’t be carried into the afterlife,” he said softly, watching her as she bent her head.

“How?” she whispered.

“Let God do the judging, not you. He’ll be the one to decide if you’re worthy enough to get into Heaven, not you. I know you do not feel worthy to ask for Heaven; you pass judgment on yourself. I suppose we are our own critics.”

“You said that God would judge me. That he would determine if I am to be allowed into Heaven. I thought you said I have a choice,” she said hesitantly, looking up, avoiding his gaze to star into the endless distance. So green, so beautiful, so wonderfully endless.

“You do. You may choose which destination you would like to go to, but ultimately, the final decision lies only with God. Remember, just because you may choose your destination is not a guarantee that it will be your eternal resting grounds.”

“So then really, it isn’t up to me. I say that I would like to go to Heaven or Hell, but I haven’t any say in the final outcome.”

“You may look at it that way. But remember, should you choose Heaven, you’re authorizing God to judge you. You’re giving yourself a chance. Should you choose Hell, well, I suppose one does not need me to tell them that options are rather limited. If you choose Hell, that is where you will go. Should you choose Heaven, you give yourself a chance.”

She grew silent, her gaze forever on that endless green distance. He watched her, silent, patient,

“So which should I choose?” she asked softly.

“Whichever you wish,” he replied gently.

“I…I can’t choose Hell. I cannot fathom eternity without God. I cannot choose Hell without having the option of Heaven. But what if God doesn’t want me? What if…who is worthy to say ‘Let me into Heaven’? Not I,” she said, her voice hard.

“Perhaps not. But how are you to know unless you leave the judgment up to God?”

She looked at the man, so old, so comforting, and again she was all too aware of the intense power that radiated from him.

“It’s time to choose, Child. Heaven or Hell? Where do you want to be?”

“Heaven,” she replied softly, hesitantly.

“Is that your choice?”

She paused, closing her eyes, swallowing hard, an action that she suspected was more an unconscious reflex than anything else.

“Yes. May God forgive me for being so selfish, but yes. I want to go to Heaven. Let him judge me. Let him forgive me,” she said. The old man smiled, standing and for the first time, she realized how tall he was. He stood straight, proud, strong and he held out his hand to her, encouraging her grab it. She did, surprised at how warm he was, and he pulled her up, led her across the meadow. Led her into a brilliant light.

“I already have Child.”