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Sex and Death at a Highrise

Does sex sell?

By Jack NanuqPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 9 min read
Sex and Death at a Highrise
Photo by Campbell Jensen on Unsplash

One day Saint Peter is sitting just outside the Pearly Gates Welcome Center, enjoying a moment of peace and solitude. On the other side of the wall, CHAOS and PANDEMONIUM reigned. 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.

He’d just sent out a directive that might help bring things back to some sort of normalcy. OPERATION ANNEX was designed to help the overcrowding situation. He was quite proud of his work.

Three men stumbled out of a cloud bank and startled him. The men, all wearing the gray gowns of a new arrivals. This was now standard issue garb. For centuries people would arrive wearing their “street” clothes, but in this day of PC it was felt the quality of a person's duds might affect the selection process. So, the newbies were dressed alike, almost like inmates of an asylum.

“No, no, no!” he thought. 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 confused group drifted his way. 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 Navy.”

“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 Bullet Head. 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 waiting area.”

“Whaaat?” the men asked in unison.

Why is Heaven full?

Bullet Head asked Saint Peter, “How can heaven be full? I kind of thought…I mean the Bible says, live your life right and all that…and we kind of get to chill out at Heaven. Was that all bullshit? I mean…sorry about that. It’s just that…”

Saint Peter looked him straight in the eye and said, “As a mater-of fact it is bullshit… If you remember your Bible, as you say. There was no room at the Inn for Jesus. I mean for Christ sake! If there no room for The Messiah, why should we cater to mere mortals? I ask you why?”

He let that tidbit do it’s damage and then said, “I just funning ya. Don’t look so down…But we do have a bit of a housing shortage at the moment.”

One of the three mumbled “huh.”

Sometimes God does things, simply because he can.

“You might say it’s due to COVID, but the blame really rests on God’s shoulders. The Big Guy got bored and sprang a 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! To use your words. I’ll let you in a little secret... Sometimes God does things simply because he can.” His aggravation was there for all to see.

“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 the 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, it’s another PC thing. Never mind…During the selection process, 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,” then turning to the last in line. “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 dead and all. I mean I’m glad I made it to Heaven and all…even if I’m only at the Gates. So, let’s start with this afternoon. Maybe I should start before then?"

He scratched his chin.

"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, hell I don’t know…this is 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, 'Come out you mother fucker.'

Meanwhile she’s screaming and pleading with me to calm down. I think she mentioned something about having a stroke or something. I’m sure my blood pressure was in the stratosphere.

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 of them 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!”

Bruce made a grunt and Saint Peter, holding up a hand said, “Wait your turn.”

“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 fucking, my wife. Or was fucking her, 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 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.”

Saint Peter, is now sitting with his hand on his chin, mimicking the Rodin's sculpture "The Thinker". Without looking up, he says, “Next.”

Bruce stomps forward up. Glaring at Curly and he says, “Now it’s my turn!”

“Okay,” says Saint Peter.

Bruce takes a moment to calm himself and begins tentatively, with “I really don’t know why I’m here, either. I really don't. I mean dead and all…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 the street side railing, of 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 he's the reason is why I’m here…”

“Continue,” is all Saint Peter says.

“Well, as you heard from him,” pointing defiantly at Curly. “He starts jumping on my fingers. He’s screaming. He’s screaming I was fucking his wife and I’m screaming back that I didn’t. I’m pleading with him. But he’s not hearing any of it.

His wife’s screaming she’s sorry. She naked as a jaybird and her tits are flapping around. 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.

Now...you know in those war movies where things slow down when it’s a matter of life and death. I had one of those moments. I look down and see some laundry hanging below. I do some rough calculations, it's my only hope.

I throw myself that way. I grab some of the ropes and it’s working. I’m still falling pretty fast but nowhere near terminal velocity. I can feel myself slowing down and then I bounce off the awning. I stick the landing like an Olympic gymnast. 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.”

As he looks at the third man, he notices his gown is sticking out about 12 inches. Some might refer to the gown as resembling a pup tent, but to Saint Peter it looks more like a teepee.

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

satire

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

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    Jack NanuqWritten by Jack Nanuq

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