Fiction logo

An interesting day at The Pearly Gates

God has a plan; God has a plan…Bullshit!!

By Jack NanuqPublished 2 years ago 8 min read
An interesting day at The Pearly Gates
Photo by I.am_nah on Unsplash

Saint Peter is sitting in the kiosk at The Pearly Gates Welcome Center, enjoying a moment of peace and solitude.

A common misconception is that life inside Heaven is ALL peace and tranquility. In normal times you’d be correct, but these days Heaven is nearing capacity. things behind the wall are noisy and chaotic. He had just sent out a directive that might help bring things back to some sort of normalcy.

He was surprised to see three men stumble out of a cloud bank. The men, all wearing the gray gowns of a new arrivals. This is standard issue garb, given to all, at the PCP. For centuries people would arrive wearing their “street” clothes, but someone complained that the quality of a person's duds might affect the selection process. So now all new arrivals were dressed alike, almost like inmates of an asylum.

He wasn’t expecting any new arrivals; he was gonna have to have a chat with the folks at Intake. Did they not get the memo? This was going to be a problem.

The men all look confused and did not appear to know each other. The largest of the men stood a full shaved head above the others. Bullet Head approached Saint Peter and asked tentatively. “Can you help me?” One of the others coughed and he added, “Can you help us?”

“Maybe,” Peter responded. “I don’t have any new arrivals scheduled for today.”

“Where am I…I mean us…I mean we…Where are we? Some grumpy guy gave us these robes and pointed his finger and said, ‘That way’. I…I mean we all tried to ask him questions, but he wasn’t. He well, he…wasn’t what you’d call a…”

“A people person,” said the wiry man standing slightly behind Bullet Head. And added “I felt like I was back in the Army.”

“Was he a short fat guy, with a funny accent?” Saint Peter asked, knowing the answer.

The men all nodded their heads.

“That’s Brother Aurelius, he never reads his emails. You were at EPNO, also known as Entry Point Number One. You should have been routed to PCP, Purgatory Control Point. But no…” The saint stretched out the word no and his exasperation was apparent.

“You are now at HRC, Heaven Reception Center…also known as the Pearly Gates. I am Saint Peter, of Biblical fame. But as I said I don’t have any new arrivals scheduled for a while.”

“So, I’m dead?” said Baldy. Another cough and he again included the others. “We’re dead?”

“Most certainly,” Saint Peter said authoritatively.

“Then can you help us?”

“As I said before, maybe. I have room for one of you. You other two will have to go to The Annex.”

“Whaaat?” the men asked in unison.

Why is Heaven full?

Curly asked Saint Peter, “How can heaven be full?”

“You might say it’s due to COVID, but the blame really rests on God’s shoulders. The Big Guy got bored and sprang the pandemic on the world, without first discussing it with Admin. You Earthlings all think God’s got a plan. I hear it all the time; ‘God’s got a plan; God’s got a plan…bullshit! I’ll let you in a little secret. Sometimes God does things simply because he can.” His aggravation was clearly visible.

“It kind of puts us in a bind. We’re in the process of expanding Heaven right now but things are moving slowly. The new facilities won’t be ready for a millennium or two. The unions here are always squabbling over who does what. It’s amazing anything gets done. But I digress.”

“How does that help us?” One of the other men asked tentatively. This man had the athletic body of a martial artist.

Saint Peter looked at this man and said, “Well Bruce, since I only have room for one of you, we are going to do things differently.”

“My name’s not Bruce,” said the man indignantly.

“I know, I know, but we don’t use real names during the selection process so I’m gonna call you Bruce, as in Bruce Lee. Think of it as a compliment. And you,” pointing to the bald man, “you’re Curly, and you,” pointing to the third man. “I’ll just call Number Three. Or…maybe you guys, don’t want into Heaven? What’s it gonna be?” His tone made it clear there was no room for discussion.

All three men nodded their heads in acknowledgement.

Each of you will tell me your story

In a calmer voice Saint Peter continued. “Since we are near capacity. Each of you will tell me your story. The story of your death, that is. The one with the best story gets to go through these gates and the other two wait in Purgatory until…until there’s room for you. Who wants to go first?”

Curly stepped forward and to within a couple of feet of Saint Peter. “I’d like to…,” not looking behind him, as if ignoring the others.

“To be quite honest…I’m not sure why I’m here, I mean the dead and all. I mean I’m glad I made it to Heaven and all…I mean even if I’m only at the Gates. So, let’s start with this afternoon. Maybe I should start before then…

My wife and I have been going through a rough patch lately. I thought I’d surprise her and come home early. Maybe take her out for a nice dinner. You know, show her how special she is, I mean was. Maybe still is, I don’t know…it’s all a bit confusing.”

“Get on with it,” Saint Peter interjected.

“Sure, sure…where was I? Yeah, I remember, I came home early. I find my wife in bed, naked, and the room smells like sex. She’s all nervous and acting like she was waiting for me, but I know better. Did I mention the room smelled like sex? I immediately fly into a rage, I’m like a different person. I’m so angry I want to kill someone. I know I shouldn’t say that just outside of Heaven but it’s the truth and I’m being honest.

I know her lover is somewhere in our apartment. I know it with my entire soul. I’m possessed and all I can see is red. I race throughout our home, checking every closet, every cupboard. Under the beds, and then under the beds again, in case I missed something. Every nook and cranny. I’m screaming at him, wherever he is. Meanwhile she’s screaming and pleading with me to calm down. I think she mentioned something about me having a stroke or something. I’m sure my blood pressure was in the stratosphere.

I find him!!

After about 20 minutes of tearing our apart our condo I race out to the balcony. And…and I find him!” Turning toward Bruce and pointing. “I find him! He’s hanging from the balcony and I’m homicidal. I look down at the street, some 400 feet below. I want this guy dead; I want him dead more than anything I’ve ever wanted.

I start stomping on his fingers. And it’s insane, I’m insane. I’m screaming, he’s screaming, she’s screaming. Both are screaming he didn’t do anything, but I know better. Why else would he be there? I’m mean why else? I ask ya.

Eventually I get my wish, at least I thought I did. This guy let’s go and I watch as he falls almost 40 stories. As I watch I’m happy, I’m happy that the guy who’s stooping my wife, is about to die. Not my finest moment I know, but I was out of my mind.

A few seconds before he hits the pavement he grabs some clothes lines, slows his fall, and then bounces off an awning. I watch in astonishment as he lands on his feet unhurt. This sends me over the edge. I want this guy dead in the worst way, and he has just cheated me out of that pleasure. I race into the kitchen for something to throw at him. The only thing that I think will get the job done is the refrigerator. I pick up the fridge, race back to the balcony and throw it at the guy, now standing on the sidewalk. That’s the last thing I remember. I must have had a heart attack.”

Photo provided by Pinterest

Saint Peter, is now sitting with his hand on his chin, mimicking the “Thinking Man” statue. Without looking up, he says, “Next.”

Bruce steps up and glaring at Curly and says, “I guess it’s my turn.”

“Okay,” says Saint Peter.

Bruce starts tentatively, with “I really don’t know why I’m here. I really don't. I’ve lived my life in the best possible way. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I eat well and work out daily. I don't fool around.

I did not have sex with this man’s wife. I repeat I did not have sex with her. I’m not wired that way. I’m not even straight, after all…” he paused.

“Is that all?” Saint Peter asked.

I don’t know his wife, not in the Biblical sense.

“No…no, I’m just trying to give you some perspective…and get my composure. It’s true, I was hanging off his balcony. We live in the same building. I’ve seen this guy around, but don’t know him. And I definitely don’t know his wife. Not in the Biblical sense, at least.”

Saint Peter sighed and rolled his hands as if to say, “wrap this up.”

“Maybe I should go back before then. Bear with me. I’m an acrobat for Cirque de Soleil. Earlier today, I was practicing my tai chi exercises. I was on my railing, on my balcony. But it had rained earlier in the day and the railing was slippery. I missed judged something and the next thing I know I slip off the rail. When I look back on it. I think I was startled by all the screaming in the apartment below me.

As I’m falling, I instinctively grab for the edge his balcony. And I come to an abrupt stop. About the time I can gather my wits and realize I haven’t plummeted to my death this asshole… I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t swear but this guy is why I’m here…”

“Continue,” is all Saint Peter says.

“Well, as you heard from him,” pointing directly at Curly. “He starts jumping on my fingers. He’s screaming. He’s so worked up I can barely understand what he’s saying. But then I figure it out, and I’m pleading with him. But he’s not hearing any of it. His wife’s even there saying she’s sorry. I don’t know if she’s talking to me or him, it doesn’t matter. I feel the bones in my fingers breaking and I’m certain I’m gonna fall to my death.

I look down and see some laundry hanging outside. It’s my only chance at survival. I throw myself that way. I grab some of the ropes and it’s like something from a movie. I can feel myself slowing down and then I bounce off the awning. I stick the landing like an Olympian. I thank God, I’ve survived. Really, I did, just ask Him.

And then I look up. And I see a refrigerator coming right at me. That’s the last thing I remember. I must have died when it hit me.”

When it was clear Bruce was done, Saint Peter said, “Interesting story. Now I want to hear from Number Three.”

The third man stepped forward sheepishly and says, “Saint Pete, picture this…I’m naked and hiding in a refrigerator…”

Humor

About the Creator

Jack Nanuq

Mr. Nanuq makes his living as a Private Investigator, hence the avatar and pen name.

Author of “Parabellum; When you Live in Peace, prepare for War”

JackNanuq.com

Writes, just for the hell of it.

Enjoys walks in the woods, with a chainsaw

Enjoyed the story?
Support the Creator.

Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.

Subscribe For Free

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

    Jack NanuqWritten by Jack Nanuq

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.