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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: St. Peter

Drumpf in the Garden

04 Saturday Dec 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

ethics, fiction, heaven, hell, myth, parable, purgatory, St. Peter, story, tale

Donny squinted. It wasn’t good enough. He shut his eyes. Still not enough. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could, but the light still penetrated. He clapped his hands over his tightly shut eyes. The light still penetrated. He clenched his teeth.

That’s when the music began. Beautiful. But much, much too loud. The booming bass voice vibrated his sternum like staccato fireworks. 

“Mr. Drumpf. Apologies. Our A/V department sometimes gets a bit carried away.” 

The overwhelming light and deafening sound dissolved into a melodic soaring theme. Gradually, he released his hands and then unscrunched his face. His breathing slowed and he cautiously opened his eyes a slit. All around him, the golden light of a setting sun — or was it a rising sun, he wondered. Anyway, the sun gilded a garden in gold. 

Danny Drumpf stared at the huge figure towering over him. Uncharacrteristically, his voice quavered as he asked, “Who are you?” 

The figure chuckled good-naturedly. “The real question, Mr. Drumpf, is who are you? After all, that’s what we’re here to find out.”

———————————-

Donny tried to remember how the hell he had gotten here. “Oh, crap!” He yelled aloud with the sudden revelation. He had just died. How though? He couldn’t remember. A sudden sharp pain ripped through his chest. Donny remembered. They had cracked his sternum, retracted his ribs and taken out his heart. Surely not, he thought. Some kind of bad dream. That’s what this is. And, he willed it to be a bad dream with all his missing heart. But try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself. No, he remembered. It was real. They had literally ripped out his heart. But why he asked himself. Why would anyone do something so cruel?

Another image flew into his mind, unbidden. They had shown him a preview. While he was bound, they had dragged him along a long series of stone carvings which depicted the tortures he was about to endure, ending in the extraction of his heart. He recalled that his knees and ankles had scraped along the stone pathway that led to the altar. He marveled at how painful that had felt before they began teaching him the true dimensions of pain — its colors and tastes. But why? Why had they done this to him.

He had screamed something aloud as they had done it. Yes. He screamed the same thing again now in remembrance. “I don’t belong here!” 

Photo by Alex Azabache on Pexels.com

—————-

Donny found himself shaking his head. He reminded himself that he wasn’t really Mayan at all. That had to have been a bad dream. Bad dreams. Bad luck. Bad times. It was all bad. 

Suddenly, he remembered. His real life, he recalled, had been as a con man. He was born rich and he made himself even richer. That was his real life. He recalled some of the moments so vividly that he completely forgot about the shimmering figure towering over him. He chuckled. In his real life, he was smart! Too smart to care about anyone but himself. After all, caring about others, just as Daddy had taught him, was the biggest con of all. He was a con man, all right and damned good at it. He repeated the mantra he had used almost constantly in his real life: “I am all that matters and I am always right. Give me everything you have because I’m bright!” He chuckled again. 

A shadow passed across those happy sunny memories. He had had an incredible string of bad luck. That’s what had led him to prison. That’s what put him out on death row. People were out to get him. They were probably jealous. That’s why so many wanted to destroy him. Donny didn’t have a religious bone in his body. Religion! Hah! What a con job that was! But for some inexplicable reason, just as his enemies came on him he had screamed to God: “Please! Dear God! Save me! Let me be anywhere else! Anywhere!” 

And, miraculously. It had worked! He had apparently been able to con God himself! He had been instantly whisked away from his 21st century enemies and had found himself in a pre-Columbian Mayan village. Using just his wits and the few 21st century possessions he still had with him, he had been able to con the Mayans as well. 

For a time. 

Eventually, they discovered his true nature and they killed him. 

So, he wondered where the hell he was now. He muttered, “How did I survive and end up in this sunlit garden?” Donny frowned. Then, a smile spread across his face. He remembered! He had again called upon God to spare him. He had probably made some ridiculous promises or something but it didn’t matter, because he had conned God again and now, here he was in heaven! That’s where I must be. He became aware once more of the bright shimmering presence before him. Donny smiled as he realized he had outsmarted God himself!



“Hey! Tell me if I’m wrong, but I’m in heaven right? And, you must be God, right? Thanks for saving me!” 

The towering presence shimmered a bit more brightly and smiled. “Oh, Mr. Drumpf. Goodness no. That’s quite amusing. My heavens, no. I am not God. That’s quaint. I am but a tiny shadow of God. I summoned you to paradise because I thought it might motivate you to do better next time. If there is a next time. I’ll check back on you in a few centuries. The carrot approach didn’t seem to work for you, Mr. Drumpf. Now, we’ll try something else.”

“Try what? What are you talking about? I don’t like your tone of voice, mister not-God.” Donny put on his imperious face: disdain, disgust, and cruelty swirled together. He had first learned to make that face while he was stealing lunch money from much younger kids back when he was a childhood bully. “Well?”

“Oh, surely, you can work it out. Mr. Drumpf. You’ll be going straight to hell. You’ll be there for quite a spell.”

Photo by Izaac Elms on Pexels.com

———————————-

Other Stories of Heaven’s Gate: 

As Gold as it Gets

Do Unto Others

I Can’t be Bothered

Tit for Tat

It Couldn’t Happen to a Nicer Guy

Organizing the Doltzville Library

Author Page on Amazon

Do Unto Others

29 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

afterlife, fantasy, fiction, heaven, hell, shortstory, St. Peter, story

“I’m not doing that while we’re driving, Adam! It’s too damned dangerous!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, Nikki, you do what the hell I say or … “

“LOOK OUT!”

Nikki lay on the cold marble floor. She thought she must have suffered the worst hangover in the history of humanity because she had no recollection of how she got here — or what ‘here’ even was. Somewhere nearby, lights — very bright lights — shone against the marble floor. She opened her eyes to behold a scene of opulence and hard-edged beauty.

But, if this really is a hangover, she asked herself, where’s the headache? Where’s the infernal dryness? On the other hand, she reasoned that she still had no recollection of how she got here. Was she “on assignment” as Adam called it. Or…she had been with Adam. He had asked her…they were in a car. She scowled and mumbled, “That bastard must have drugged me.” 

She got to all fours. Then, she stood, carefully splaying her arms out in case she lost her balance. To her amazement, she was not dizzy or off-balance in the slightest. Ahead of her, an empty hallway seemed to beckon her. She felt the answers to her many questions were at the end of it.



She walked gingerly at first, but soon gained confidence that somehow, there were no ill effects from whatever drug her pimp had slipped her. She looked ahead and whispered in a shaky voice, “Hello? Is anyone there?” 

“It is I,” boomed a voice. 

“Holy Mother of God, man! Don’t scare people like that! You’ll give someone a heart attack!” 

“Keep looking and you will see me. I am not, regrettably, the Mother of God. Just St. Peter. I’m pleased to meet you, Becky.”

“Becky? No-one’s called me that … for years. Not since….” Her voice trailed off. Who are you really?”

“Oh, I assure you Becky. I really am St. Peter, Becky. Do you mind if I call you that.” 

Silently, Becky shook her head. “I don’t mind. It’s just…I think there’s been a mistake.” 

St. Peter’s face had become clearer to her now and she could see the corner of his mouth curl up in a smile. “Mistake? Well, no, I don’t think so. We don’t really do the whole ‘mistake’ thing. You know?” 

“Well, if you’re the St. Peter who greets people coming to Heaven, then, I’m sure there’s been a mistake. I am a … or … I was a … you know … ‘working woman.’ I’ve known for a long time I was headed to Hell and … check your data base or your Excel Spreadsheet or whatever it is you people do and send me on my way. Let’s get it over with.” 

Becky, aka Nikki, watched St. Peter as he tilted his head this way and that as though to get a clearer, or deeper, look at her. She sighed. She didn’t mind when her ‘clients’ stared at her. She kind of enjoyed it in a way. She could relate to the pleasure that they were feeling because of her. But this felt different. Uncomfortable. Weird. As though he wasn’t staring at her body at all, but into her soul. No-one looked at her that way. Certainly not Adam. 

“Hey, St. Peter. What happened to Adam? Is he okay? Or is he dead too?” 

“Ah, well, yes Adam. Adam Smith. He is indeed dead. All taken care of. Was he your friend?”

“Friend?! Hardly! I mean, I thought he was for a time. He pretended to be….” Becky’s voice trailed off. “Look, is this like — are you free therapy or something? Can we just get going on the whole ‘Hell’ thing?” She paused. “Please.” 

“All right. Off you go then. Nice meeting you, Becky.” 

Suddenly, Becky found herself surrounded by deafening noise. Flashing lights. The smell of gunpowder. And burning flesh. She heard someone call her name.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com



“Becky! Give me a hand with this one! Hold this compress hard so he doesn’t bleed out. Simon! Timothy! Help me get him onto this stretcher!” 

Somehow, Becky knew what to do. Despite her best efforts, some of the man’s blood seeped onto her hand. It didn’t matter. She was damned well going to make sure he lived. “Come on, mister! Don’t go blank on me! What’s your name? What’s your name, soldier? Hey, Hey! Do not glaze your eyes over. Look at me! What’s your name?” 

The man locked his eyes on hers. “Tom.” 

“OK, Tom. Listen to me. We’ll have you back in the OR in no time. I know it looks bad and feels bad, but I’ve seen worse. Much worse. You’re going to make it. I have no doubt whatsoever. Here. Put your hand on mine. We’ll work together to keep you together.” 

Simon and Timothy held the wooden handles and picked their way over the broken ground. At last they came to the Red Cross Tent. On this day, like the others, she did her best to save lives, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing. It seemed as though she had been a triage nurse forever. 

Endless cold, endless danger, the stale food and the staler jokes. 

Becky could not imagine anything that would give her more pleasure or allow her to feel more fully alive. 

—————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Tree of Life

Good Morning!

The Isle of Right

Comes the Dawn

Listen! You can Hear the Echoes of your Actions. 

Roar, Ocean, Roar!

Ah, Wilderness!

Blood-Red Blood

Mother’s Day

Comes the Reign

Life is a Dance!

A Cat’s a Cat and That’s That!

Is a Dream?

The Sunless Sunday of Faith

Camelot is in your Heart

The Impossible

The Bubble People 

Race, Place, Space, Face

A Suddenly Springing Something

Author Page on Amazon

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