Heaven Or Hell

I opened my eyes and I can see a circle of smiling faces; six people in long white gowns looking down at me.  From somewhere near came the sound of music, a harp playing something I could not quite hear, and yet it had a comfortable feeling of familiarity.  I can feel no pain, though I am not numb.  My body seems to be floating, as if suspended above the ground.
   That’s it then;  I’m dead.  So this is heaven!  I wonder what I am supposed to do now - I expect someone will tell me.
   One of the people in the circle surrounding me is speaking, but I can’t hear his words. The only sound is the harp, otherwise it is quiet, and peaceful.
   The old man is speaking again.  He seems to be the oldest of the group.  Tall (though from my position levitating prone, they all seem tall), with thin grey hair, and a thin grey beard. I guess he’s the leader.
   I expect this a some kind of a welcome party, come to get me and take me on to the reception area.  It’s a pity I can’t hear what he is saying, he looks like quite a nice old man.
   One of the others is talking now, a lady I think, and much younger.  She seems to be pleased to see me.  So much so that I can see tears in her eyes.  Who knows me so well that seeing me would cause her to cry tears of joy?   It’s a puzzle because I don’t recognise her.  Perhaps heaven is such a wonderful place that she cry’s when anyone arrives.
    But wait a minute!  Am I jumping to conclusions.  How do I know this is heaven?  I have never been here before, and none of the people I have ever known who have made ‘that’ journey have come back to say what it is like.  Surely It can’t be . . . what do they call it. . . ?  For some reason I cannot think what they call the other place . . . anyway, you know, where the devil lives.  But no!, it can’t be there; this is far too peaceful, and in any case what about this group of  ‘angels’.  Can it be some kind of half way house until they decide.  
   Until they decide !  My God . . . Oh’ I’m sorry - the old man is looking at me rather shocked, as though he can read my thoughts . . . does that mean they don’t know yet?
    If I could only hear what he is saying to me, I might be able to find out. He is still talking - what is he saying - but now it seems that he is addressing one of the others.   No; I think he is talking to all the others, and something is different.  They are not smiling anymore, and I can see that more of them seem to be crying.
   Why are they crying?  Do people cry in heaven?  I’ve never heard of that before, and what can there be to cry about in heaven?
   The old man starts to shake his head.  What can this mean, am I being rejected?  They are turning away. One by one the welcome party are leaving and now only the leader is left.  Now he too is turning away, a strange sad smile on his face.  
   What’s this?  Now I’m not sure.  The angels in white have gone and there are some rough unsavoury characters with me.  Dark and frightening; I have been abandoned to some  shadowy forces.  The harps are no longer playing but there is some other kind of music - more like a wailing. What have I done to deserve being rejected from heaven, to be thrown into that place of fear and evil called . .  now I remember .  . hell!!
   One of the dark men, fierce with piercing eyes is shouting at me, but I cannot hear him either. His face is close to mine, a grim expression on his face, cruel and threatening.  A kind of mist comes between us until I can no longer see him, and then there is nothing.
   Only darkness.  I can see nothing and I can hear nothing.  I have a sense of myself yet I cannot see, hear, or feel.  
   If I am no longer in heaven, this must be hell.  Worse still; it might be purgatory? that place of the living dead, of lost souls and demon spirits.
   I want to scream but can make no noise. I want to run but even if I could, where would I run to. I wait, quiet but troubled.  How long must I wait?  An hour, a day, a year; I do not know.  I wait, fearful and alone.How is time marked in so heathen a place?   Indeed, is there such a thing as time for isn’t a place eternal punishment.? What use is time when it’s forever.
  What was that?  A little flash of light.  Far far away a tiny light, like a torch when the batteries have just about run out.  Only a faint glimmer but definitely a light, and it seems to be getting bigger.  It’s like an old black and white television, not very clear and not very bright, but it is slowly getting nearer.  I can see something moving and try to lift myself to get a better view.  The vision, somehow aware of my inability to move, rises above me so that I can see it more clearly.  It looks like the back of a van; yes that’s what it is; moving slowly in the clouds. What can this mean?  Am I being taken somewhere?  The picture, still fuzzy and grey continues  to grow as I watch until I am no longer looking at it, but have become part of it. It is getting clearer, and I can see that I am following the van, on my motorcycle, and that what I thought had been clouds, now looks like fog. Thick and swirley; yes I’m sure it’s fog.
   This is very strange because I can remember this van. I remember following it in another life, and yes, it had been a foggy day.  But when was that?; time didn’t seem to make sense any more.
   I am following this van, and I am shivering.  This is my first bodily sensation since the realization that life, with all its pleasures and its pain, is gone.  It is a cold and menacing shiver as the memories start to come back; the memory of that day; that foggy day, and my annoyance at the unseen driver of the van.  Even in my state of suspended animation I can feel the anger returning. I can remember my fury that the anonymous person in front is being so cautious.  He is making me late for work.  
   All the arrogance, the loathing, even the hate that I had felt at that moment returns, and I remember shouting obscenities as I pull out to overtake at full throttle, wishing that man all the ills of the world.
   The memory is very real and my shivering has turned to sweating.  Is this a premonition or am I re-living?  Perhaps both, for in all the time it took to ‘see’ this vision, no other vehicle had passed us going the other way, but at the very moment of my stupid and angry high speed manoeuver, a car was coming towards me.  Too late we saw each the other, and on the  narrow road there was no escape.  
   It was a hard, head on collision, arms and legs flailing like the broken sails of an old windmill  in a futile gesture of hope, while I was flying over the car, heading for certain and undignified oblivion.
   Even in this state of suspended animation I remember that crash.  At least now I know why I am here, but what I can’t understand is, why am I being thrown out of heaven.  Of course  I am not saying that I was perfect when I was alive.  I tried to live a decent life, but yes, I suppose there are a few things that I am not too proud of.  And I dare say that a list of my good and bad points would probably be balanced more evenly than I would care to admit - especially if someone else was compiling the list - but to be thrown out of heaven;  I mean; it’s not as though I ever did anything really bad.
   Something’s happening. The  picture is changing with me still in  it.  I don’t remember hitting the car or the road, but now I seem to be in a small room and I am being shaken violently.  I don’t know if a soul, having passed on, should be conscious of fear, but whether or not, I am very frightened.  There’s an eerie wailing noise in my ears - is this my passage to the gates of hell?   I close my eyes.  A moment to ponder and then to wonder.  I open them again, aware that this small event is the first voluntary movement since the nightmare started.  I am trying to lift my arm, but though I cannot my attempt must have been noticed for in a flash that wicked face is before me again, peering, staring.
   I blink.
   He blinks.
   He leans forward.
   “Can you hear me?”
   The voice was not clear, but I can hear it.  Again he speaks  “Can you tell me your name?”
   I manage to say my name - the first word I have spoken in who know’s how long.
   “Michael.”
   The paramedic leans back a little, and calls out to his college driving the ambulance. “Quicken up Jim, our friend has decided to join us.”
   “Gave us quite a turn you did,” he said, as he starts to work on me, his cruel face transformed with a smile,  “Soon have you in the hospital”
   Just then I see the leader of the welcoming party, the elderly, grey haired man with his grey beard. He is sitting on the bench opposite.  “You gave us quite a turn too,” said Mr Watson, the manager of the shop where I work, “you were only a few hundred yards away from the shop when you crashed.  Someone saw it happen and dashed in to tell us, and we all went rushing to see you, just as we were in our white coats, but you didn’t seem to know we were there.
   “Yes” I answer weakly  “I knew you were there . . you were my angels.”