by Tew, J. D.
Then from the window of a tiny yellow bungalow, another elderly man yelled, ‘Pipe down! You could wake the dead!’
How ironic that a man without a clue of his own demise would yell that from a porch in shocking baby blue golf shorts and a pastel pink polo shirt.
I just continued on, stomping my Dietonical feet upon the pavement, as Marvin gave up and headed back home. I whipped my arms from front to back, angered by the state of my body and my delivery into a realm that in my eyes was an Omnian prison.
When my life and blood were flowing from my body, after that gangly Dark King’s trident impaled me, my mind was registering all the recent events that had culminated in the termination of my fifteen-year span of life in the cosmos.
I welcomed death; I embraced it. The problem was that I spent fifteen years conditioning myself with an option of either heaven or hell. It was much more complicated than that.
I felt serene when this proposition of death gently tugged at my favoring eyelids. I thought, what is wrong with an eternity of black nothingness? Will there be a gate? Will I have to pay a toll to gain entry into Heaven’s utopia?
No. I was, and forever will be known by the Multiverse Council as the first human boy that died and went to Sephera. Was reincarnated by Zane into fifty-billion microscopic metal Dietons, and reunited with his already-dead mom version-two-point-oh. My God!
“I was strangled under the asphyxiating grip of a disturbing question: why did I kill myself for Ted? That is the end of it! Can you hear me guard? I am finished!”
I hear the guards’ steps outside of my cell, and reality returns to jolt me. My assessment is that this intergalactic jail is the origin of my physical imprisonment. However, the detainment of my metaphysical essence, registering into Dieton form on Sephera, is the beginning and the source of my anger.
“Prisoner eight-six-seven-six, stand against the wall, place your hands in the wall restraints, cross your feet and bend over until your head enters the wall vise.”
I do what they ask.
“Prisoner, do you have any final requests?”
“Yes. Tell Theodore I appreciate his efforts.”
“Warden. This is guard twenty-eight, requesting termination sequence for prisoner eight-six-seven-six. Awaiting confirmation.”
“Will he feel it?” the younger of the two guards asks.
The older guard returns quickly, and says, “He cannot feel. He isn’t alive.” I process the truth in his statement, and he is right. “Prisoner. The warden wants a verbal confirmation of your termination request. It is the Multiversal Council’s protocol.”
“I am ready.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. D. Tew is a freelance writer and poet, with a degree in applied science. He was born in Saint Paul, Minnesota, and grew up in Oakdale. He served in the United States Army as an infantryman and received four Army commendation medals with valor in Iraq. Justin's latest project is the second installment in the Theodore Crane series.