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The FutureThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Peter | |
| Monday, 04 February 2008 | |
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It was the First of January 2009, and due to doubt that has been lingering for as long as remembering has existed, God finally decided to show His face, manifesting Himself at an Agnostics' convention (yes I'm sure they might exist.. cough...). He was very flustered, panicking about the future of Religion. The attendees at the convention were actually a little underwhelmed by God's sudden appearance, and they challenged Him. They asked what He could give them as a token of His revelation. God thought for a few seconds, and resolved on the second thing that came into His head: "OK. When a person dies, I will allow you time with them, roughly for the duration of a traditional Catholic wake - that is, up until their wooden overcoat hits the clay." "Catholic!? God... MY God! There are so many ways of thinking to choose from, and you chose THAT?" one of the former Agnostics said. God coughed nervously, and turned a little pink. He stroked his long white beard which he'd recently re-grown due to reading in Cozmos magazine that the Santa look was back in again. He muttered an excuse. "I dunno. Catholicism - a little unimaginative I'll admit. I think it musta been ‘cause I was watchin Father Ted earlier..." *** It was the weekend after St Patrick's Day, and Maggie, as ever, was worried about her son Martin who had been out from early afternoon drinking with his friends. She sat at the kitchen table, and suddenly, there was the knocking she'd been waiting for. She ran into the hall expecting to see the police again when she opened the door, but thankfully, it was her son himself. "Martin!" She looked at him relieved, but then realised almost immediately that he had the shine that her husband had done after he'd had the heart attack just under two years before - about three or four people per week in their small town had this same shine. "Martin, you stupid, stupid boy. What did you do to yourself?" She hugged him, the tears leaking hot into his shirt. "Ah, I was a wee bit drunk, and fell against the railings outside Brennan's - hit my head." "Let me see." She reached up to his head, and then remembered. "Where are you?" "Well, sure they've taken me away to the hospital. Conor and everyone's there - they think I might still pull through. I didn't. Then when Big Christmas Man asked me where I wanted to show up, I thought about you first." "Stop you blasphemin!" She hugged him again. *** At around half eleven, there was another knock on the door. Martin answered. "Martin, you ****** eejit. Why didn't you let us know first? We had to hear it from a doctor! In this day in age..." It was Conor. "Ach, sure I just thought I'd head round and have tea with mi ma first. Sure I knew yis'da caught up anyway." Conor hugged Martin. More tears. "Where's everyone else?" Martin asked Conor. "On their way," he replied. Martin, seeming a little troubled, said, "Listen, can yous wait till tomorrow - when I'm home and all. I wanna spend some time here." Conor looked slightly surprised, and then just nodded, saying, "Right, right... But sure none of us'll sleep anyway, so we're bound to call round later!" "No, no don't. I need to get... my head around this," said Martin. "OK." Conor left. ***
Martin sat with his mother at the kitchen table. She was gazing, glassy red-eyed, and stunned. The tissue she clasped was getting increasingly ragged and damp. "Here." Martin handed her a fresh one. Maggie looked at her son accusingly. "Martin, I told you to be careful. I always told you that. Today, and anytime you go out. And I just knew you never ****** listened to me! God forgive my language..." "Ma, it was an accident. Just one of those things." More silence. Then Maggie suddenly spoke again. "You'll be seein your da soon. You tell him everything. EVERYTHING." "I'm sure he knows, ma - if he's still about. I mean, we don't know where he, or anyone goes. No one knows what happens afterwards." *** At 9:30 the following morning, Martin's casket was opened, and there was a gasp from most in the room. "Well... They didn't do that bad a job," Conor quipped, smirking. Martin was a little miffed though. "Look at the state of my head!" he yelped. "Could they not get that bruise out? I'm supposed to have no blood left in me! Why's that bruise still there!?" There was chuckling. "You hit your head pretty hard, Martin," Conor said, staring seriously at Martin's pale still face, but then turned to Martin himself, and grinned saying, "But sure look at you now, standin there gleamin - as good as when you left the house yesterday mornin!" Martin took a while to see the humour, but soon he was in good spirits - under the circumstances.
The drink started flowing, and everyone was soon reminiscing about the good times that were had. That evening, everyone took turns at sitting with the body, and at around 3:30am, it was Martin's turn. He looked at his bruised face, and thought about his carelessness. He held strong that he was bound for somewhere better though - he wasn't evil, and appreciated forgiveness. But all he had was his faith, and part of him was still terrified that he would go somewhere dreadful, or to nowhere at all. He'd often thought that just because people who died now were still present for a few extra days, it didn't mean they'd be there for forever. Fair enough, God existed and proved it, but this was only his first real 'trick' - it might have just been something to keep His Bored Entity occupied in Eternity. It may even have been some sort of sick joke, because a lot of sick things happened in history, and when God appeared on New Years Day, he didn't stick around long enough to explain to everyone why. Not going anywhere afterwards wasn't an easy concept for Martin, because for the moment, he wasn't ready to stop existing in some form or other. Then he became fearful that even eternal 'bliss' could eventually end up as Hell in a Chinese torture kind of way. What was going to happen after the party was over? *** The following afternoon, faces from the day before reappeared, and new people who'd ‘only heard' showed up with their Mass cards. "Sorry, Martin," and the handshake - he was soon pissed off hearing it and feeling surprisingly dead-duck weak grips from a lot of people he'd looked up to throughout his life. "Sure, tell your dad I was askin about him," an old teacher said. Martin nodded and smiled over enthusiastically, covering up his real fear of the unknown. He kept this up as best he could for most of the afternoon. *** With the new-style wake since God's showing up, over the first months of the New Year, a fresh tradition had quickly emerged. At 7:30pm the night before Martin would be buried, it was time for him to sit aside, shut his mouth, and listen to people talk about him as though he wasn't there - like the old style wake. The obvious idea would be to get him to leave the room, but part of the purpose of this new tradition was to allow people to let the deceased know what they always felt about them.
"Yeah, he didn't actually have that much to drink. Just unlucky I suppose..." Conor remarked. "It's awful that the ambulance didn't arrive sooner," an ex-girlfriend said mournfully. She hadn't cried yet. "Even if it had though, he was ****** anyway. I don't think there woulda been much they coulda done," one of his other pub friends said. Silence for a while, then an uncle spoke: "I remember when he was about eleven or so..." Martin cringed and pinched his brow in his fingers, closing his eyes. Appropriately, no one took his reaction into account. To them, for now, he was the remains in front of them, lying still and lifeless. The uncle continued. "...he fell off his bike and split his head." So it wasn't an embarrassing story at least. "He hit it exactly where that bruise is now. It's strange that..." More silence and sips on tea. "He was some craic though. Remember the break dancin him and Conor used to do, Maggie?" Martin shook his head, and looked to the floor. He was smiling though. Now there was reason for him and Conor to cringe. "But he was a good fella," the uncle concluded. More silence, but then Ex-girlfriend said, "No he wasn't. He could be a complete ****** ****. He never hit me, but with the way he bullied me, sometimes I'd've preferred a black eye or two." Martin's eyebrows shot up, but despite having gained courage through the few drinks he'd had, he knew it would have been against protocol to speak up. "That's my son you're talkin about. Have a bit of respect for the dead," Maggie shouted. "He was awful kind and good to charity." Martin couldn't keep his silence any longer, and blurted, "That's cause I keep gettin stopped in the middle of the street by bank account-syphoning smilers with clipboards every time I'm in Dublin. I'm such a ****** cowardly sap that I bend over and end up lettin everyone o' them shaft four euro a month outta me!" "Shut the **** up, Marty," Conor spat. "This has nothin to do with you. You were kind and gave to charity, and that's how you'll be remembered." *** The next day was cloudy, but as Martin was lowered into the ground, the sun came out. Still in his pub clothes, he waved bye-bye to all of those who were there to celebrate his life. As he walked out of the graveyard into The Great Nothing, he heard the girl's teary voice echoing: 'There was so much I had to tell him. It's a shame he couldn't've stayed...' Copyright 2008 Peter |
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