In every stage of my life, I pictured heaven differently. Originally, stairs made of clouds, gleaming gold gates, and GOD himself so large you couldn't see his face. Slowly with a slightly more tainted view of the world, that shifted, morphed into angelic cities. Because souls cursing in taxis and renting high rises really sounded like the definition of heaven right? Again and again my ideal heaven changed as I did.
Never once, did I imagine how it would smell though. Standing before the most tragic sight of my life , and I couldn't think of anything other then the stench from burning piles of wings. A vile smoke filled the air, and subsequently my nose and lungs. If despair had a smell this was it.
Truthfully the stench was a mixture of rotten flesh, mold, and sulphur. It burned and made every breath intolerable. Fortunate for me breathing wasn't a necessity. Not anymore, now that I was dead.
I did believe in my death that I wouldn't have any worries or pains any longer. It would be impossible not to worry that afterlife was decimated.
Much to my pessimistic surprise there were gates to heaven. They may have even been pearly at one point. Now they were a sad excuse for a gate, as I stepped through them proving how useless they were in keeping anything out. One half of the 20 foot tall gate was lain haphazardly in the pathway. The other hung on only by the bottom hinge, both doors rusted. Flecks of shimmery white where the only sign of the gates previous glory.
Another part of heaven I always imagined was a long line. People die every day all over the world. Minute after minute more people were passing on. And certainly if I made it to heaven, not everyone else was going to hell. It would be a lie to say, I had been god fearing my whole life. No one else was around despite the sound logic I had for it to be busier then Disney land.
While everything was still majority white, the devastation of whatever happened was painted in harsh strokes. Shades of black splashed wickedly over everything. As if every angel had been struck down with a bolt of lightening.
And maybe that was what happened. I appeared to be the only one here. In my life I had spent an embarrassing about of time watching detective shows both real and fiction. And yet those countless hours were for naught. Looking beyond me, I couldn't start to imagine what truly happened. Not without my imagination running rampant.
I realized I was too enamoured by the destruction I was still stood barely beyond the gate. The only way I would find out more was venturing further. I doubt there were such things as rescue teams here. No one was coming to save me, or to help me navigate my new state of being.
Maybe this was my own personal hell.
All my life waiting for answers.
Expecting a reason, an explanation. But nothing.
This was the rest of my forever.
