Dead & Not Liking It

'Searching Network Providers...'

There was a momentary flicker on the screen of my mobile phone.

'Connecting...'

'Afterlife On Line. Connected.'

The screen told me I was getting an excellent signal. I immediately signed into Facebook and the news feed opened up instantly.

'Damn, that was fast!' It was my lucky day to find decent, free WiFi for a change.

'Look up,' suggested a guy standing near me. I did as he said and discovered that my news feed, photos and all, were projected in front of me, not only perfectly clearly, but in 3D, too.

'Bloody Hell! That's amazing.' A quiver of ecstasy rippled throughout me, like a whole-body orgasm.

'Would you expect anything less than perfection here?'

I was starting to get annoyed with the interruptions from this person. Some people are so rude, I thought. Can't they see that I'm busy? This guy looks way to shiny, too.

Sure enough, another interruption. 'And I'd watch your language around here. Particularly with your big interview coming up in a few minutes.'

'Yeah, whatever,' I fobbed the guy off. Did he have wings? Weirdo. Why can't he just flutter off to his fancy dress party and leave me alone?

I shuffled forward another step in the queue. I wasn't quite sure why I was waiting in this line, but I got the feeling they were giving away something free - a lot of people seemed quite excited by it.

The waiting wasn't so bad, though. Not when I was enjoying this superb Internet connection. Animated gif images appeared totally lifelike. No over-compressed, pixelated photos here. I almost had to blink back the tears of pure joy at such a sublime experience. In fact I became so immersed in it that my turn came around far too quickly.

'Your name, please?'

This new interruption could barely drag me away from my digital dreamworld.

'Craig Millar.'

'Craig...' repeated the receptionist as she typed.

'That's with "ar" at the end,' I quickly added, to preempt her next question.

'Ok.' A few more taps on the typewriter preceded the next question.

'Do you consider yourself a believer?'

'Huh?' My attention was on a friend's post, not on this stupid bureaucrat.

'I'm sorry to bother you, but there are just a couple of quick questions before you go in to see Our Lord.'

This was driving me nuts. 'Well can we hurry up with it, then?'

The receptionist hung onto a grim, customer service smile. 'So, are you a believer?'

'Believer in what?'

The woman behind the counter blinked a couple of times and stretched the smile tighter. 'Why, in God, of course.'

'You gotta be kidding me? My religion is made up of the four F-words: Football, Facebook, Fosters and Fu-'

'Ok, ok,' she blurted out nervously. 'I get the picture.' She looked down at her screen. 'Er, so the next question: when was the last time you went to Church...?' A look was enough for her to guess the answer. 'That's fine. It's not a prerequisite for entry, but we do like to know just for our records.' She waved a hand to a nearby door. 'You can go in, now. Our Lord is ready to see you.'

With my peripheral vision I headed in the direction she indicated. I had barely taken two steps when she called out to me. 'By the way, can I ask you to turn off your mobile phone before you enter, please?'

'Arrest me,' I muttered.

On the other side of the door was a room that broke with the endless white decor and instead radiated a soothing pink glow. In the centre sat a woman who my appraising eye instantly judged to be incredibly beautiful but not at all hot, in the way that you would never consider your sister to be hot. I also thought she had a certain know-it-all, holier-than-thou look.

I held up a hand to stop her. 'Just gimme a minute.'

Thankfully, she didn't give me a hard time, but sat there quietly and waited. In fact a moment later, I noticed out the corner of my eye that she had picked up her own mobile and was busy typing something.

Suddenly, my phone emitted a series of tones to indicate that I had received a message, which was great, since I was beginning to worry that my friends were ignoring me. I immediately opened it.

'TURN YOUR PHONE OFF! Please.'

I looked around to see if someone was playing tricks on me, but there was only the woman seated in front of me, with one eyebrow slightly arched.

'Sorry to bother you,' she began. 'I promise it won't take long.'

'Well get on with it then. What is it you're giving away?'

'Excuse me?'

I sighed. 'That's what this queue is for, isn't it? You're giving away freebies.'

The woman blinked. 'I suppose you could say we are giving away free entrance into Heaven, yes.'

'What d'ya mean, Heaven?'

A small crease of perplexion spoilt her otherwise perfect forehead. 'You died; you've come to Heaven.'

I paused, trying to make sense of this. 'Don't be ridiculous. If I were dead, I wouldn't be standing here, talking to you.'

The crease in her forehead deepened.

My patience was unravelling. 'Look, I've had enough of this. I want to speak to your boss.'

'I am The Boss. I'm God.'

I knew the super high-speed WiFi was too good to be true. Something had to mess up my day. 'You're a woman.'

'I realise that.'

'God is supposed to have a long, white beard.'

'Being a woman, that's not very likely, but I can assure you I am God.' A note of exasperation crept into her voice. 'Why is everyone so surprised that I'm a woman? I would have thought that it makes perfect sense for me to be female.'

I rubbed at the growing tension in my temples. 'I don't really care, actually, cos I don't believe in God anyway.'

Her look of serenity was showing signs of fading. 'You know, I'm a fairly forgiving kinda gal - it's part of my job description, but I'd appreciate it if you'd shut up for a couple of seconds and listen. For your information, you did die, strangely enough, by sending a text message while driving, when you should have been concentrating on the road. Now, I'm going to keep my personal opinion out of this and let's take a look at what other people have to say about you.' God waved a finger at my Facebook page that still hovered in the air. 'I wrote on your wall, saying that you had died and here,' she moved a finger and the page scrolled down, 'is the response.' She paused for effect. 'Likes: None. Comments: Zilch. Shares: Guess what? A big, fat zero.'

A feeling of horror gouged into my soul.

'Craig Millar,' God pronounced, 'your entry has been denied. You belong downstairs.'

A man who looked like a used car salesman, appeared at my side and ushered me towards the exit.

'By the way,' God called after me, 'the Internet connection down there is "hellishly" slow. To log into Facebook takes an eternity.'


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