A/N: This is dedicated to all those self righteous people out there. They know who they are. Or maybe they don't. *shrug * I had so much fun with this idea, but can't quite get the tone right. Please Please Please review and leave suggestions? What you like or don't like. I can deal with criticism, and any flames will be used to light campfires and toast marshmellows. Yum! Enjoy.
In a perfect landscape there stands a lone figure, a shadow against the pristine sky. He moves aimlessly, erratically. Still a moment, striding the next, then sulking, perhaps stopping to pose languorously against the drama of his surroundings. One thing is certain. He talks to himself.
You know, sometimes I wish I hadn't been such a good person. Wish I hadn't done pro bono work, wish I hadn't donated money for that new wing. None of that shit is expected of lawyers, but it seemed the proper thing to do. And I always have done what is proper. I'm sorry I wasted my time on things like that. It's not like I needed my name on a building.
I mean, I got moral satisfaction out of it. Being good always gave me a warm snugly smug feeling inside. None of my acquaintances, dare I say friends, are here though. They were… interesting… Very… twisted. Sometimes very wrong. I was, am, better than them. But sometimes I miss them. They aren't here. And I am. Shows who the better soul was. Shows who won. So why isn't this so great?
Heaven is fucking boring.
Don't get me wrong, it is beautiful here. I enjoy walking all around this place. Picture perfect, like something from an idealized painting or a little girl's doll house. My own personal, eternal, park to promenade about. It is everything young children are told about in Sunday school.
Every blade of grass is a shapely spear of spring green, every wildflower stands with the poise of a professional floral arrangement. Soft brown earth rolls gently beneath them, land locked ocean swells under an oriental carpet of greens and yellows and lavenders with white throats and orange-red stamens. Paths flow through the terrain, smooth as rivers of tan silk. My footsteps raise no dust as I walk on the ground. Old trees stand proud and strong and upright, kings in dark brown and mossy green, while younger trees bend and dance with light leaves in a pleasant breeze. Whenever I look up the sky is a vault of cobalt, draped with cirrus clouds finer than gauze. The sun always shines here, casting its golden light over and through everything.
I see no other souls, no animals, not even a single insect. I wish for a dry patch of grass, a clod of dirt, a blighted leaf, a pool of water breeding mosquitoes… Or night. There is no dark here, Nothing to threaten the soul, nothing to hide behind.
Each person gains his own heaven, and I am alone. It is beautiful, I am rewarded. Eternally. It is so perfect, so perfectly miserable. Beauty such as to make you put out your eyes. This is what I get for following every rule, for always doing good, for behaving socially acceptable. What the fuck?
In the shadow of a straight, silver skinned tree, something snickered. A touch of quiet malice under the tranquil jade canopy. The laugh reeked of decay, echoing with the harshness of rush hour traffic and the grating of rusty razor blades, a sound with a bitter metallic aftertaste. The darkness clung, stuck to whatever hid in it. A self satisfied, poisonous voice whispered to itself. "Of all hells, I like the hypocrite's best."