| "The Pearly Gates Are Plastic" (the eighteenth ACW monthly writing contest) |
Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "The Pearly Gates Are Plastic" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), February 15, 2003 |
| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by walshnyc@yahoo.com (Entry #14) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| Annie O’Reilly ascended the
stairs slowly, the bannister guiding her through the clouds in her eyes and the
dull ache in her head. "Hurry it up," Kevin beckoned from the floor below. "I’m already running late." She found her way to the last step, remaining on it so her face was parallel to her husband’s. "Why did you let me drink so much last night?" she asked, transferring her hand from the balustrade to his shoulder for support. "I figured it was part of the grieving process," he replied, resting his hands on her hips. "Besides, what would be the point of an Irish wake if you didn’t drink?" "Yeah, but you shouldn’t have let me get out of control." she burrowed her face into nook between his shoulder and his neck. She could feel the bumps of his freshly shaved skin, but couldn’t detect his cologne through the smell of her own stale breath. "You weren’t out of control. You had me looking out for you," he said, hugging her. They held the embrace for a few seconds, and then he pulled away. "I really need to get going, and you need to get the kids off to school." "Are they up?" "Yeah, they’re in the kitchen." I told them to stay away from the cake, but you might want to get in there before temptation makes them forget." "Cake? What cake?" "One of the guys from Robbie’s firehouse brought it last night. Nobody touched it, and they insisted that we take it home." "Oh, yeah, the cake..." she said, rolling her eyes and sighing. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. It’s just, well I haven’t told the kids about Robbie yet: I was really hoping I might get away with waiting until after school, but if they see the cake..." "Have you figured out what you’re going to say?" "Not really. I mean, I think I can handle the death part, but I’m worried about getting into all of the afterlife stuff if they start asking about it." "Maybe they’re ready to know..." "But I don’t think I’m ready to tell them," Annie sighed. "I’m not sure what I believe anymore. They need to feel safe and comfortable with whatever I tell them, and I don’t know if I can pull it off." "Hmm. This would have been a point where the church might have come in handy..." "No," she replied, her voice suddenly stronger. "The last thing I want is for the priest and the lot of them filling their heads with too much information about sin and penance and purgatory. Robbie and I were raised buying into all that, and look where it got him. He was a good man, a good catholic, but it doesn’t make him any less dead, does it?" "I know, I know. I wasn’t brought up catholic, but I’ve heard my share of stories. If you don’t feel up to telling the kids, then don’t. Tell them I’ll explain it when I get home." Kevin cradled her face as she nodded that it was a good idea. It felt good to be in his hands like this. "I made a pot of coffee," he said as he let his palms fall away from her skin; "You should go have some before you do anything else. And don’t forget to take a picture of the cake before the kids tear it up; the guys at the firehouse wanted a photo of it, but nobody had a camera last night." He kissed her as he guided her off the bottom step and steered her body in the direction she needed to go. They exchanged their ‘I love you’s and ‘good-bye’s’ and he was out the front door before she got to the kitchen. The kids were standing at the refrigerator, the door swung open all the way. Steven had his head literally inserted inside, poking it between the appliance’s ceiling and the white box that took up the entirety of the top shelf. Caitlin was tight beside him, standing on her toes trying unsuccessfully to see over the edge of the cake box. "What are the two of you up to then?" Annie said, startling them. "Mommy, we have a cake!" Caitlin announced. "I know we do," Annie responded, her spirits buoyed by the sight of her children’s faces. They both stepped away from the refrigerator as Steven closed the door carefully. They both climbed onto chairs at the table, settling in behind their respective bowls of cereal. "Is that cake from Uncle Robbie’s party?" Steven asked between slurps of milk and now crunch-less cereal. "Yes it is," Annie said as she made her way to the coffee maker and poured herself a cup. Her husband’s cheap point-and-shoot camera lay not-so-subtly nearby. She set aside her steaming coffee mug and picked it up. "What are you going to take a picture of mommy?" Caitlin asked. "The cake," she answered, pulling the refrigerator door open again. "Did Uncle Robbie like his party?" "Uncle Robbie wasn’t there, honey." She slid the large rectangular box onto the counter, pushing the coffee maker back against the wall in order to accommodate it. She raised the lid of the box, but found that the space between the counter and the cupboard above was not enough to open the box all the way. "Doesn’t he like parties?" "He was probably busy putting out a fire, right mom?" Steven half suggested, half wondered. Annie didn’t answer, but instead silently pondered the cake. After a moment, she turned back to her children. "Move your bowls over a bit," she said as she folded down the sides of the box and grabbed the edges of the cardboard platter that supported the cake. The children complied readily as she turned and placed the cake on the table in the space they had created for her. Both children inched forward, studying the cake with great interest. "Mommy, why are there angels on the cake?" Caitlin asked, studying the three dimensional scene displayed atop the white frosting landscape. "Why is there only one boy angel and three girls? Is that other boy an angel too? Where are his wings?" "This is supposed to be outside the gates of heaven," she explained, first emphasizing the tallest item, an iridescent arched gateway that seemed to be made of molded sugar, or meringue. "These are just some regular angels, but this boy angel is Saint Peter. He’s in charge of the ‘Pearly Gates’, letting people in if they’re meant to be there. They’re all lined up as if they want to keep this fellow out..." she finished, pointing out the last figure, the only one not adorned in white robes and wings. "Why are they trying to keep him out?" Caitlin was a year younger than her brother, but easily more thoughtful and inquisitive. Steven just stared intently at the figurines and listened. "It’s meant to be a bit of a joke," Annie explained, pointing to the emerald green script that ran along the borders of the cake. "You see these words? They say "May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows your dead..." Both children followed her finger over the words. "The wee fellow is wanting to get into the Pearly Gates, but from the look of Saint Peter, he might not be able to talk his way in quick enough." "Is the little man meant to be Uncle Robbie?" Steven finally spoke, his cutting to the heart of the matter chilling her for an instant. "Yes. The little man is meant to be Uncle Robbie." "Is he dead?" "Yes." "Oh." Steven continued to stare intently as she braced herself for the next question. He furrowed his brow, and leaned his head closer to the cake, and finally asked "What are these people made of?" Annie exhaled a sigh of relief. She bent her own face lower and looked at the tiny sculpted figurines. "I think they might be marzipan," she said after studying them. "What does that mean?" "It means you can eat them if you like. They’re sort of like candy." "Really? Everything on the top of the cake is eat-able?" "Edible. I think so," she concluded, drawing back. "But first I have to take some photos, okay?" She raised the camera to her eyes and positioned herself to get the best angle. "There are six pieces," he heard Steven tell Caitlin; "you can have the three girl angels, and I’ll have the boy angel, the little man, and the gates." He took advantage of her undeveloped sense of proportion to seize the biggest treat for himself, but Caitlin accepted the terms of the division of wealth without a word as Annie snapped four photos from different degrees of closeness. "Mommy, did a building fall on Uncle Robbie, like ones in New York?" Caitlin asked, her voice a pale monotone. Annie lowered the camera only to be met by her daughter’s moistening eyes. "No, dear; he was trapped in a building, and he was overcome by smoke. It’s like he just laid down and went to sleep." She knelt beside her chair. "Will he be coming to see us when he wakes up?" "No, angel, I’m afraid he won’t." "Will he be going to heaven?" "I don’t know, dear." "Does anybody know?" "I don’t know, honey. I really don’t know." She put her arms around her daughter and pulled her close. She hoped that she didn’t start crying because she knew it would be all it took to open the floodgates of her own tears that were already perilously close. She listened for the hint of sobs, but was instead distracted by the sound of Steven’s voice. "That’s not fair," he said, causing Annie to turn to see him without breaking her embrace of Caitlin. He was leaning over the cake, licking fingertips that held a trace of ivory colored icing. Annie followed his eyes to the source of disappointment. A chunk of the molded sugar had fallen away from his deceitfully gained prize, revealing an un-edible framework beneath. The Pearly Gates were plastic. |
| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by jturner4@charter.net (Entry #6) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| Brian stared at the big electronic
billboard. The pictorials displayed hundreds of images, mostly interesting,
mostly pleasant, but the sheer number boggled the mind. He enjoyed the
spectacle though, without the distraction, he’d be dismally bored.
The line moved forward an inch and he obediently took another step on the red carpet. People ahead and behind chatted with each other, and he felt decidedly left out. Perhaps if he’d not traveled alone, he might have enjoyed good conversation as well, but as a sole journeyer, he remained listless and uncomfortable. The velvet covered ropes, affixed to golden poles at regular intervals, kept him and the others from wandering away. Not as if there was much interest in the scenery beyond. The pristine cleanliness barred all but the pure from daring to traipse across the pure expanse. On tiptoe, he gazed over the heads of those in line before him and tried to get a glimpse of what lay ahead. Still too far away, he grumbled with boredom and returned to studying the massive, gaily colored board. Each picture contained a number and as he drew near, he could finally read the neon colored numerals. He was surprised, however, to discover that the pictures actually moved, like miniature movie sets, panning left and right of the central focus. Number forty-three caught his eye. The bright sunset sky in oranges, yellows, and reds, frosted the top of a mountain in a rainbow icing. A waterfall crashed down into the valley far below, the white mist reflecting the colors of the sky in delicate arcs. Lush greenery created the perfect tropical backdrop for the sandy beach and the empty, but very comfortable looking, cabana chair. All it needed was a long-necked bottle of Corona and a bikini-clad waitress to keep them coming. Brian grinned, lost in the daydream, until he recalled where he was and sobered. He glanced left and right to see if anyone had noticed–not as if the others could read his mind–but the fear was there just the same. No one had. The white haired ladies behind him still chatted about grandchildren they never got to see, how awful their children were, and how they hoped someone would remember to trim the roses. He thought they might be sisters, as they resembled each other and bore identical souvenirs of their travails. The group ahead of him was much younger. The teens, two boys and two girls, were dressed for the prom, complete with corsages and tuxedos. Their jabber consisted of what others would think when they didn’t show up to the dance and heated debates about who would be crowned king and queen. Brian felt decidedly on his own and sighed with regret. It would have been nice to have company as he waited. Again the line moved, more swiftly this time and when he stopped, the board hung directly in front of him. Other scenic vistas captured his interest, but so far, number forty-three was his choice. The blonde girl in front of him squealed with delight and pointed at a block of pictures showing a city-scape, complete with a mall and restaurants. "Oh my God!" She crowed, a grin lighting what once had been a pretty face. "It’s the Galleria! Joanie, we’ve got to choose that one." The dark-haired boy snickered. "Leave it to Robin to find a way to go shopping." "Check that out, dude." The other boy, more bland and stout than his taller friend, pointed at a scene with a winding dirt road in which a very powerful and brightly colored motorcycle stood parked at the center. "Number seventy-one. That’s it for me. You gotta pick that one Mark. Look at the engine on that sucker!" Brian glanced to Mark to see his reaction, but the boy didn’t look as excited as his friend. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Joanie and stared at a log cabin, recessed in a snow covered mountain. The couple didn’t speak, but Brian guessed that they would choose the same number. Now that the line had moved more, he could see the long, low counter stretched at the end of the red carpet. Young women and men, wearing crisp white and yellow uniforms catered to the new arrivals. The set-up reminded him of the time he’d visited Orlando and had spent a good hour in the hot sun waiting to buy tickets to Disney World. The lack of pomp and circumstance both upset him and put him at ease. His entire life had lead to this moment and he’d always thought that it would be a more somber experience, less Las Vegas flash and glitter. A gap with a revolving wheel to allow only one person entry beyond the counters separated the receiving booths into two. On one side two girls, both exceedingly young and beautiful, waited on the women, while at the other, two men, very handsome and athletic, helped the men. "Sorry for the delay, sir, but this time of year is always busy." Brian turned to the owner of the voice and was startled to find a man dressed in white robes. Here was the sort of thing Brian had expected. The man winked at him. "I know, it’s all very different than what most people expect on arrival. And yes, I’m Saint Peter." He raised a hand to stop Brian from speaking. "No need to introduce yourself, Brian, we know you very well. Otherwise, you’d not have made it this far." "Uh, well, that’s good to know, I guess." Brian struggled for more to say, a thousand questions flying through his head. He glanced around him, looking for a way to broach the subject of how very glitzy, how very different everything was. "Yes, I know," Saint Peter said with a heavy sigh. "We just remodeled about four years ago. But you’d be surprised how many people don’t even notice. I preferred the way it used to be." "Why the change then?" Brian asked, still trying not to fidget under the Saint’s gaze. How very surreal it was to be standing there, speaking with this man as if they were at the corner grocer and passing the time of day. "As you know, religion has sort of lost steam in your time." Peter waved at the long line behind Brian. "Most of the folks who make it this far are here only because the values of the church have been passed down through their parentage. It’s a wonder anyone makes it at all. "But I digress, sorry. It’s a bad habit. When you have all the time in the world, there doesn’t seem much point to getting to the point, if you know what I mean. Anyway. You wanted to know why the change. "Our Father doesn’t much care for competition and when it became obvious that more people spent time eating fast food, than in church, he became depressed. You should have seen the heavens then! We all thought he’d call for another forty days and nights of rain. "Well, eventually he decided that since he couldn’t beat the competition, it was better to join them. Before the change, people spent up to a week debating what they wanted. The line was backed up for months! Now, it’s only a matter of hours, usually. Sometimes we get an indecisive soul who can’t figure out what they want, but the board has helped speed things along immensely." "So that’s why they’re all numbered?" Brian asked. It made sense to facilitate the journey in this manner. "You got it." Peter grinned, his face luminescent with joy. "And now things roll along without a hitch." Brian moved with the line, the four ahead of him dispersed to the correct locations and he smiled as the tall boy and Joanie glanced at each other from across the space and ordered the log cabin scenery. A sign above the rotating wheel blinked on and off, "Over One Billion Served". He turned to back to Peter. "Do you get many disgruntled people? I mean, most of us are expecting angels, white clouds, the whole thing. Like a reward or something." Peter shrugged. "Occasionally, but who’s gonna argue with God? See, when we first made the change, we didn’t have the red carpet and poles. People meandered far off and got lost. I was tired of bringing them back. Then we put in the carpet and poles and people sort of liked the effect, and it made my job easier. They felt special, like they were going to some awards show. Hollywood’s a big deal up here to you know. We all watch to see who’s going to win. Not even God can predict who you human’s will honor with an award." Brian smiled at that. "How interesting." "Well, looks like it’s your turn. I’m gonna go further down the line, There’s a nice lady who’s all by herself." "Thanks for chatting with me, and answering my questions." Brian waved to Saint Peter as he strolled forward. One of the young men behind the counter waved to him. Little white wings sprouted from the man’s back and he stood in front of what looked like a cash register. Suddenly worried that he wouldn’t be able to pay, it was true, what they said, about not being able to take it with you, Brian hesitated, then stepped forward. "Don’t worry," the young man said, his lapel pin declared his name was Ralph. Ralph? Brian couldn’t help but grin. "The registers are mostly to put people at ease, you know, make it more familiar for them. Can I take your order?" Brian nodded. "Yes, number forty-three, please." "Would you like to super-size that?" Ralph asked as he pressed the keypad on the register. When Brian looked confused, he said, "There’s unlimited space here, some like their new homes to be cozy, while others like a larger area to explore." Ralph pointed to the board behind him and Brian scanned the information. On the bottom, in small letters, he could choose large, medium, small, and super-sized. "What the heck, let’s go with the super-sized." "Good choice," Ralph grinned, pushed another button, and a little paper printed out a receipt. He handed the paper to Brian and smiled. "Keep this handy, go through to the waiting room beyond, and you’re order will be right up." "Thanks." Brian tucked the paper into his shirt pocket and pushed through the metal bar. On the other side, he found himself in a comfortable area, much like a doctor’s waiting room. Dead center on the long expanse of white wall were too large yellow doors, arched at the top and framed in gold. It reminded him vaguely of another shape he’d seen often during his lunch breaks. The group of teens talked excitedly about their choices, the older women worried about adequate housing and whether or not there would be shuttle service to and from various places. Brain took out his receipt, studied his choice, and waited. The chair he sat in was very comfortable and his eyes grew heavy. In what seemed like mere seconds, someone took the receipt from his fingers, jarring him awake. "Sir, your numbers up." Brian rubbed his eyes and blinked at the haloed young man in front of him. "Excuse me?" "Your numbers up." The angel smiled and pointed. The golden arches had opened and Brian could hear the gentle pounding of a surf, and further off in the distance, the strumming of a ukelele. Paradise awaited. He smiled, and as he walked through the doorway, he noticed that they weren’t gold at all, but durable plastic. |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by EricLogDog (screen name) eaayers@hotmail.com |
#1 of 15 |
| 339 words | |
| As part of a field trip, the kindergarten class from
Emerson Elementary where touring the television station. It began on the set of
the locally-produced Sunday morning religious show starring Pastor Purdy.
The children were led through the set, and then shown what the crews jobs were. They learned about studio lighting, and about cameras. As they left the studio floor to go to the director’s booth, one child had become very quiet and seemed to be dropping farther and farther behind. One of the teachers noticed that this normally happy child was nearly in tears. She knew how excited he was when he found out they’d be touring the studio. She walked over to him, took his hand and led him to a side room, and to a sofa where they sat down. "Michael, I don’t think I have ever seen you this upset. Would you like to talk about it?" Mrs. Freeman asked. "Well, I don’t know if I should talk about it, Mrs. Freeman," he answered. "It’s really kind of p… p…" "Personal?" she offered. "Yeah! That’s it!" he looked up at her. "Personal!" "I promise you, Michael, if you don’t wish it, I won’t tell anyone." Mrs. Freeman was now growing concerned that something very wrong may have happened. "Okay." Michael paused, taking a deep breath. Mrs. Freeman could see that he was starting to sob. "It’s just that my mom watches Pastor Purdy every Sunday. He is always talking about how the gates of heaven are made of marble and gleam like pearls." His sobs were now breaking into a full-fledge cry. "Mom tells us that we will get to see the pearly gates only if we are very good." "There’s nothing wrong with that," Mrs. Freeman was perplexed. " The desire to do right is a noble trait, no matter why you want to be good." Michael looked at her his eyes wide. "But, Mrs. Freeman! We just saw them! The pearly gates are made of plastic! What will I tell my mom???" |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by tc_starving_artist@yahoo.com |
#2 of 15 |
| 1227 words | |
| THE PEARLY GATES ARE PLASTIC - screamed the headline
from The Heavenly Host, Heaven's only newspaper ( if you don't count the
underground rag put out by Cesar Chavez ). Most of the good people in Heaven
paid scant attention, content to do nothing as that was all there ever was to
do in Heaven anyway, but the movers and shakers took the paper, notice, and
umbrage. They gathered just inside the gates, stared up at the magnificent edifice that was once a lustruous pure pearl but was now unquestionably ersatz, and commenced a unified grumbling about the dull white gates. "It's an abomination in the eyes of the Lord." pontificated Reverend Martin Luther King. "We must march in protest." "No, we should sit at the foot of the throne for as long as it takes." spoke Gandhi plainly. "It's a mockery of a travesty of a mockery." quipped Groucho. Confucius say: "Gates of plastic rob one's soul." St. Peter just stood there sheepishly, pretending not to hear. "Yo St. Peter, I ain't down with this scene. I need my real pearl, cuz it all about me." rapped Tupak Shakur. "The boy's right." shot back Wyatt Earp menacingly. "We want real pearl, just like the handles on my revolvers." "I don't care what they're made of." said DiMaggio tearfully. "I still feel like the luckiest man in the world." But he was largely ignored. Socrates summed up all their feelings with a simple, "Why." "Er, it's like this." stammered St. Peter apologetically. "Maintenance was getting high. All the daily lightning strikes, people trying to chip off a souvenir or carve their initials in with a knife until we installed the metal detectors. Plus Hoffa unionized the repairmen so that they only work one hour a day." "But what is this ugly thing called plastic?" roared Attila the Hun. "It was mentioned in one of my books if you ever read anything." Jules Verne dryly rejoindered. "And it was in my 37th quatrain." foretold Nostradamus helpfully. "I wish I had had some for my inventions." DaVinci pined wistfully. "I wish I had some too." cooed Marilyn Monroe in a breathy tone. "My breasts could have been bigger and firmer." "They look just fine from where I stand." leered Casanova. "Friends, Romans, countrymen. We are getting off the subject." Marc Antony forcefully orated. "Yes, you simply must arrange for an audience with God," swished Liberace, "and I'll show him what real pearl looks like." "It's a mathematical certainty we will." murmured Einstein absently. "I could have some of my boys take care of this." muttered Nixon from somewhere in the rear, but no one paid him any attention. "You see God everywhere." Mother Teresa contributed contritely. "Sure, sister." Mickey Spillane sneered. "I know the Big Cheese is right here so what about it, Pete? We want to see the fat boy." "Oui, and we want to see him now." demanded Louis XIV cuttingly. "Very well" St. Peter capitulated in a tired voice. "I'll see what I can do." *********************************************** God was sitting on His throne, alternately giggling or wiping a tear from his eye as he watched Dawson's Creek, ( I always wondered why that show was never cancelled ) when St. Peter tiptoed in nervously. "Ahem." he coughed politely. "Not now!" God barked at him. "The show is almost over." St. Peter shuffled back a little twiddling his thumbs. "And Stop Fidgeting!" Requesting an audience for an anti-plastic lobby was going to be a little hypocritical for St. Peter, who had a plastic valve in his heart from the bypass surgery. A minute later the show ended, a commercial for Preparation H came on, which God hated, so he turned his attention to St. Peter with an audible sigh. "What is it this time?" He snapped impatiently. "Well it's like this." St. Peter began humbly. "People have just discovered that the Pearly Gates are made of plastic now because of an article that appeared in today's Heavenly Host." "That blasted Hearst!" God swore angrily. "The Avenging Angels will have to have a serious little chat with him." "Oh no, it couldn't have been Hearst." St. Peter hastily explained. "He's on the other side of Heaven, hobnobbing at the Celebrity Cafe. I think it must have been that shabby little printer, Gutenberg." "Whatever" God lamented. "It's done. And what's all that squawking I hear out there?" "It's the committee of People Against Plastic, P.A.P." St. Peter expounded. "They want you to change the gates back to pearl." "Couldn't Jesus handle this?" inquired God hopefully. "He's over at the Dean Martin Roast with Frank Sinatra, George Gobel, W.C. Fields, John Belushi, Ulysses Grant, and that whole bunch of lushes." St. Peter elucidated. "You know how he pulls pranks; changes the water into wine, toasts everyone, and when they raise their glasses to drink, changes the wine back into water." "Good one." God chuckled. "I should have thought of it myself. I really should have thought of plastic too. It's so useful. Very well, I'll give them 10 minutes, but then Friends is on." The churlish crowd clumped in, all jabbering at once. "Silence!" God bellowed. "One at a time." "Let me say this about that." inaugurated Jack Kennedy. "Ask not what pearl can do for you, ask..." "We've heard that a million times, Jack" interrupted his brother Bobby. "I see things that never were, and now somehow they are." "What we're trying to say," Audubon illustrated, "is that plastic is not found in Nature." "He's right." Eisenhower commanded. "Stay the course, we don't approve of change." "But we're running out of pearl." God bawled, exasperated. "Even I can't make that many oysters, especially with all those horny hedonists sucking them down. I created Viagra to try to stem the tide but that didn't work out." "Plastic is a false, man-made substance." Rachel Carson silently sprung. "Only God's natural wonders should be in Heaven." "Plastic is poison for the soul." intoned Kafka gloomily. "Watch yourself buddy." God warned. "Satan's been wanting your soul for years." "If you do not change it back," chorused Napoleon, Ghengis Khan, and Alexander the Great, "We will rally and conscript the masses, and then..." "All right, already." Reluctantly God surrendered to public opinion. "We want the pearl, and we want it now." droned Jim Morrison. "You think I can do it with just the wave of my hand?" God raged in exasperation. "I'm not such a young man anymore. I promise it will be changed back by tomorrow. Now get out of here, all of you!" "I'd like to thank you on behalf of ourselves and the band." Lennon wisecracked. "And I hope we pass the..." "OUT!" When they had left, God turned to St. Peter. "Schmucks, what do they know? Tell you what we'll do." He confided conspiritorially. "Have a quarter inch veneer of pearl put over the plastic gates tonight. That'll fool 'em. And have the newspaper print a story about save the whales or something. We need to keep those rabble rousers occupied with something harmless." "As you wish, my Lord." subserviently said St. Peter as he bowed out. God settled back onto his high throne with his comfy pillows, filled with wispy light clouds, encased in a thin soft plastic. "Good thing they don't know about the plastic waterbed." He secretly mused. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by Jackie Berry bluesparkling_angel@yahoo.ca |
#3 of 15 |
| 134 words | |
| The awaiting newbies would gasp this really just cannot be so others they would not mind as long as they are in the line Where is all the gold and silver? the shimmering welcome opening leading us into hope and peace everlasting love and more? Heaven's housekeeper explains the golden gates are no more the shining we all had other chores and complaints were neverending The command soon came down there was no more polishing to be done early Tuesday morning the gates were to be rehung. St. Peter said "it has been decreed" we changed them to plastic for the welcoming line was ever expanding causing dirty fingerprints galore. No more elbow grease and scrubbing for hours on end just a quick wipe with a damp cloth and the pearly gates are done. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by Glen lee10@host365.com |
#4 of 15 |
| 1986 words | |
| I'm dying and some fool's letting off a party popper!
Vernon McReidy's last thought faded
... ****************************************** Vernon took a third glass of whisky from the drinks' table and turned back to the conversation. "Of course we should bring back hanging," he said. "Only a moron would disagree with that." The three other people in the group looked uneasy. A young woman dressed in a black sheath dress protested, "but it's not really as simple as that, Mr.McReidy. I think..." "What you think, madam," Vernon interrupted, "is wishy-washy liberal dogma and of little value in the modern world. The woman's face flushed a deep pink but before she could argue further, the tinkling of a knife-edge against cut glass stopped all conversation. "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served, if you would kindly make your way to the dining room." Everyone's eyes were on the hostess, who indicated towards double doors that were being opened by two waiters. Vernon disliked his hostess intensely. Tonight, she was wearing a white dress with fringing around the bottom. The collar and the cuffs of the long sleeves were pale yellow. Like a self-opinionated duck, Vernon thought. Still, a free meal was a free meal. Most of the guests queued politely into the dining room, where place settings for twenty people were laid out. Subtle wall lighting was low, but lit candelabra splashed light onto shining silver, delicate porcelain and Christmas crackers. Vernon pushed past the other guests and claimed the chair at one end of the long table, as far away from his hostess as he could sit, but where he could see everything that was going on. "Need this seat," he told those whom he'd elbowed aside. "Stiff knee. Need room to stick my leg out." The headwaiter looked at his closest colleague and lifted an eyebrow an expressive half-inch. He received a slight nod in return. Vernon was marked down as the guest most likely to cause them trouble that evening. Over the melon course, Vernon tried to make conversation with the woman on his left, but she had already been insulted by him once that evening so turned a bare shoulder, leaving him to contemplate the back of her black dress. Vernon shrugged and smiled at the woman on his right instead, an older woman whose mousy hair and pale makeup did nothing to improve her plain features. "Hi, I'm Vernon McReidy. And you are?" "Good evening, Mr.McReidy. I'm Vera Duckett and that," she pointed to the man on her right," is my husband, the Reverend Arthur Duckett." Vernon nodded to the Reverend. "Evening," he said and turned his attention back to Vera. He was in no mood to speak to a man wearing a dog collar. He was bound to be another limp liberal. He was stuck, it seemed, with the wife of a vicar. This was going to be a very dull evening's entertainment. The remains of the melon course were removed and the fish course arrived. Once the waiter was out of the way, Vernon nodded towards Vera's wine. "Not teetotal then, I see... " "No," Vera smiled. "We are Church of England, not Baptist. A little, in moderation, is quite allowable." "Seems to me you churchy people want your cake and have it to eat at the same time," Vernon declared. Faces turned to see where the loud voice was coming from. Those who knew Vernon shuddered and hurriedly went back to concentrating on their meals or their conversations. "I'm sorry?" Vera was sure she had misheard. Vernon attacked again, through a mouthful of fish. "You moralise at us ordinary folk because we have vices, then you go out and do the same thing. Isn't that so?" "No. No, of course not," Vera stammered. "We are not like that at all. We try to help not to judge. After all, we are as flawed as anybody." "What's this rubbish I'm eating?" Vernon stabbed a hard, beige-coloured object with his fork. "It ... it's a cashew nut." "With fish?" Vernon growled. "Anyway," he pushed another forkful into his mouth, "I think your church is as phoney as you people are." "I say," the Reverend broke in, trying to defend his wife who was on the point of crying. "This is not the place for that kind of talk, you know." Vernon chewed and pointed his fork at the vicar. "It is JUST the kind of place for that kind of talk. Chit-chat about the weather or football is boring. I much prefer a topic I can get my teeth into. Isn't that what dinner parties are all about?" Before Reverend Duckett could respond, Vernon continued. "How can you gabble on about something you can't see, can't touch?" "Faith, it's ..." "Faith, my eye. That's just another way of pushing the responsibility for your own behaviour onto somebody else; onto somebody who doesn't even exist." Many of the guests at Vernon's end of the table were listening while pretending not to be doing so. This was Vernon at his most obnoxious. It was dreadful behaviour but hypnotic. Vernon continued his tirade. "The whole thing was made up to keep the peasants quiet. Thank goodness some of us can see through the charade. Your church is merely a veneer that the rich spread over society. A thin, cheap, tawdry covering to hide the faults of the monied classes. And I'm glad to say it's wearing thin. We can all see the falseness of religion. Your god doesn't exist. Your construct of heaven is a false one and what's more, if they did exist, the pearly gates would be plastic and would be stamped, 'Made in Hong Kong.' Vernon grabbed his glass of wine and took a long drink. He began to speak again but his intake of breath was cut short when an unmasticated cashew nut clamped itself firmly over the entrance to his windpipe. He dropped his glass. Its contents puddled across the glossy wooden table. Other guests gasped and began to mop up the wine while Vernon began to choke. He grasped the side of the table. His chest heaved. His lungs received no air. His face turned purple. He tried to cry for help but managed only to croak like a stricken frog. As he gurgled, two waiters ran to his side. The headwaiter dragged Vernon to his feet. The second waiter thumped Vernon hard in the back. Someone muttered about the "Heimlich manoeuvre" but the waiter was too busy hitting Vernon to pay attention. Vernon drooped in the waiter's arms and was lowered back onto his seat. His eyes glazed over. He stopped breathing. Frantically, the waiter hit him once more. Vernon toppled from the chair and lay on the floor, unmoving. There was a bang. I'm dying and some fool's letting off a party popper! Vernon McReidy's last thought faded... ******************************************* Vernon coughed. The cashew nut flew from his mouth. He started to breathe again. "Do sit up at the table properly, Vernon. How many times must I tell you?" Vernon was lying on his side. He turned over and struggled to his feet. His mother was sitting at the table. She frowned at him. "Sit down Vernon." He hesitated. "Now!" Vernon sat opposite his mother. He was disorientated and wondered where the other guests had gone. The hubbub made by twenty people eating had vanished. The room was quiet. "Hello, Vernon. Long time, no see." Vernon's younger brother, Kenneth, dropped into the adjacent chair. "Not long to wait, don't worry." "But, but, you're ..." "Deceased? Popped off? Fallen off my perch? That's true but don't let it bother you." "But ..." "Hang on, Vernon. I can hear him coming." "Who? Who's coming?" Vernon's brother turned to him and smiled, "Well, it sure as hell ain't Santa Claus!" The double doors into the dining room crashed open. God always preferred the grand entrance. He crossed the room and leant on the back of his chair. "Welcome, Vernon McReidy. At last I have the dubious honour of making your acquaintance." "Oh he's not that bad. Just a little wayward." His mother stuck up for him. "Hmmm." God pulled out his chair and sat down at the end of the table. He looked for a long time at Vernon, then nodded. "We will start, I think, with Mr.Charles Scratchwood. Vernon's old Head Teacher appeared, standing next to God. "Tell me, Mr.Scratchwood. I believe young Mr.Vernon was expelled from your school. Why was that?" Old Matchwood coughed and cleared his throat before speaking, in the irritating manner he had always had. "Vernon was caught cheating, sir. Not once but on many occasions." His Adam's apple danced up and down. "Finally we found him with the answers to the geography questions written on his shirtcuff during an examination. We had no choice but to expel him. I believe he was fifteen years of age at the time." "I assume Vernon McReidy there were no extenuating reasons for your behaviour?" Vernon remained quiet. "No. I thought not. We will continue." Vernon jumped as Old Matchwood disappeared. In his place stood the round figure of Ernie Hawkins, Vernon's boss at Hawkins Plastics. "Thank you for coming, Mr.Hawkins," God said politely. "Pleased to be here, Sir, " Hawkins replied. "You had dealings with Vernon McReidy, didn't you, Mr.Hawkins?" "Regretfully I did, Sir." "Would you care to tell us about them," prompted God. "It was last year, about six months before my accident, when he was caught with his hand in the till, as it were." "His hand in the till, Mr.Hawkins?" "Yes, Sir. Embezzling the company's funds, he was." "And what happened to him, Mr.Hawkins?" "Well, he was clever and we didn't have enough evidence to prosecute, so we gave him the sack. Never saw him again, nor wanted too." "Thank you." Air rushed in to fill the gap in the room suddenly vacated by Mr.Hawkins. "No comment, Vernon McReidy." "No." "No, Sir!" "No, Sir." "As you appear to be ready to speak on your son's behalf, I will turn to you, Mrs.McReidy. Will you tell me that your son is not a thief? Did he not steal money from your purse?" Vernon's mother squirmed in her chair. "Well, Mrs. McReidy." "Yes. He did, but he was very young at the time." "How young, Mrs.McReidy?" "Twenty-three," she replied miserably. "Thank you Mrs.McReidy. You may go." She left the room. Vernon felt abandoned, more so than at the time of her death when he was twenty-four. God spoke. "Who shall we ask next, Vernon McReidy?" "I ... I don't know." Vernon's voice was almost inaudible, but God had good ears. He waited. "Sir," Vernon added hurriedly. "Your brother. I think I will ask Kenneth McReidy to speak for you next." "Kenneth McReidy. Do you have anything to say on your brother's behalf?" God paused. "No? Let me help you. What was it that your brother stole from you that caused you to commit suicide when you were only twenty-one years of age?" "Stella." "Speak up Mr. McReidy. What was that?" "Stella. My fiancé." "Just so, Mr.McReidy. Your brother stole your fiancé." "I protest," Vernon shouted. "She wanted me as much as I wanted her. It wasn't all my fault." "Do not shout at me, Vernon McReidy." "I'm sorry." Vernon quietened down. "Sir." "Just so." God stood. Vernon felt his chair begin to slide away from the table. It gathered speed. Soon he was hurtling backwards down a long, dark tunnel. His sweaty hands clung desperately to the arms of the chair. God was a bright ball of light that was growing smaller and dimmer as Vernon sped away. He heard from the distance, "And what was that about my Pearly Gates being plastic, Mr.Vernon McReidy?" There was a bang and a whiff of sulphur. I'm dying and some fool's let off a party popper. Vernon McReidy's last thought faded... |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by Jeannie Cruden jeannie@ravensgarage.com |
#5 of 15 |
| 724 words | |
| Year 2027 The loudspeaker blared. "Welcome to the New Natural Processing of Evolution. We like to call it Heaven! Please step into the cubicles provided. Women please use the red cubicles, gentlemen please use blue cubicles." The cubical slammed shut behind each one of the subjects as they stepped forward onto the metal transport mechanism. "Ladies if you are pregnant please press the button to take you to the first floor where we will take you to your appropriate area. If you are not pregnant and are able to choose your method of birth control, please press the second button to take you to the second floor. If you can not read the choices or do not wish to choose your method of birth control please press the third button and you will be taken to the third floor for further processing." "Gentlemen if you have blond hair please press the button for the forth floor. If you have red hair please press the button to take you to the fifth floor. All others please press the button to take you to the six floor." First Floor: "Ladies please remove all your clothes, climb onto an examination table. There is a glass of water beside your table please drink it so that an ultrasound can be done and will see how far along you are. Place the paper sheet over your middle section and place your feet in the stirrups. We will be with you momentarily" Second Floor: "Ladies please remove all your clothes, climb onto an examination table. We need to make sure that your choice of birth control is appropriate for you body type. Please drink the glass of water beside your table so that if we need to do an ultrasound you will have a full bladder. We will be with you momentarily." Third Floor: "Ladies we are sorry you could not make an educated decision so we will examine you and help you to make an appropriate decision. Please climb onto the examination tables provided. Please drink the water placed beside your table so that we can do an ultrasound. Remove your clothes and cover up with the paper sheet provided, we will be with you momentarily." Fourth Floor: "Welcome Gentlemen, please remove your clothing. Please climb onto the examination tables. There is a patch on each table, please remove the plastic from the back of the patch provided and place it on either arm. This is an immunization shot. We will be with you momentarily." Fifth Floor: "Welcome Gentlemen, please remove your clothing. Please climb onto the examination tables. There is a patch on each table, please remove the plastic from the back of the patch provided and place it on either arm. This is an immunization shot. We will be with you momentarily." Six Floor: "Welcome Gentlemen, please remove your clothing. Please climb onto the examination tables. There is a patch on each table, please remove the plastic from the back of the patch provided and place it on either arm. This is an immunization shot. We will be with you momentarily." SEVEN FLOOR: "Has the abortions and the sterilizations started yet?" Dr. Foote asked. "They are just climbing onto the tables now, they have all taken the sleeping medications and most are asleep. The Doctors are entering the lower levels right now." She answered and cast her eyes down. "You mustn’t feel badly about this Nexa, they must be processed, anyone without an IQ of at least one hundred must be sterilized. You know this is needed to control the higher level of civilization, we will be better off as a population." "But." "No, Nexa, there are no buts. Unless we halt or reverse the trend of us evolving to become a less intelligent population our civilization will invariably decline." "But how can we play God? How can we not tell them? It feels like a ruse" "We are not playing God Nexa you know that intelligence is hereditary therefore if we do not let these people reproduce then within one generation we are going to have a dramatic decrease in all social problems, crime, welfare, illegitimacy, and unemployment." "I guess the Pearly Gates Are Plastic then." Nexa murmured. "Pardon me?" "Nothing." "Just remember a little thinning is a good thing," answered as he closed the door. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by jturner4@charter.net |
#6 of 15 Runner up |
| 1944 words | |
| Brian stared at the big electronic billboard. The
pictorials displayed hundreds of images, mostly interesting, mostly pleasant,
but the sheer number boggled the mind. He enjoyed the spectacle though, without
the distraction, he’d be dismally bored. The line moved forward an inch and he obediently took another step on the red carpet. People ahead and behind chatted with each other, and he felt decidedly left out. Perhaps if he’d not traveled alone, he might have enjoyed good conversation as well, but as a sole journeyer, he remained listless and uncomfortable. The velvet covered ropes, affixed to golden poles at regular intervals, kept him and the others from wandering away. Not as if there was much interest in the scenery beyond. The pristine cleanliness barred all but the pure from daring to traipse across the pure expanse. On tiptoe, he gazed over the heads of those in line before him and tried to get a glimpse of what lay ahead. Still too far away, he grumbled with boredom and returned to studying the massive, gaily colored board. Each picture contained a number and as he drew near, he could finally read the neon colored numerals. He was surprised, however, to discover that the pictures actually moved, like miniature movie sets, panning left and right of the central focus. Number forty-three caught his eye. The bright sunset sky in oranges, yellows, and reds, frosted the top of a mountain in a rainbow icing. A waterfall crashed down into the valley far below, the white mist reflecting the colors of the sky in delicate arcs. Lush greenery created the perfect tropical backdrop for the sandy beach and the empty, but very comfortable looking, cabana chair. All it needed was a long-necked bottle of Corona and a bikini-clad waitress to keep them coming. Brian grinned, lost in the daydream, until he recalled where he was and sobered. He glanced left and right to see if anyone had noticed–not as if the others could read his mind–but the fear was there just the same. No one had. The white haired ladies behind him still chatted about grandchildren they never got to see, how awful their children were, and how they hoped someone would remember to trim the roses. He thought they might be sisters, as they resembled each other and bore identical souvenirs of their travails. The group ahead of him was much younger. The teens, two boys and two girls, were dressed for the prom, complete with corsages and tuxedos. Their jabber consisted of what others would think when they didn’t show up to the dance and heated debates about who would be crowned king and queen. Brian felt decidedly on his own and sighed with regret. It would have been nice to have company as he waited. Again the line moved, more swiftly this time and when he stopped, the board hung directly in front of him. Other scenic vistas captured his interest, but so far, number forty-three was his choice. The blonde girl in front of him squealed with delight and pointed at a block of pictures showing a city-scape, complete with a mall and restaurants. "Oh my God!" She crowed, a grin lighting what once had been a pretty face. "It’s the Galleria! Joanie, we’ve got to choose that one." The dark-haired boy snickered. "Leave it to Robin to find a way to go shopping." "Check that out, dude." The other boy, more bland and stout than his taller friend, pointed at a scene with a winding dirt road in which a very powerful and brightly colored motorcycle stood parked at the center. "Number seventy-one. That’s it for me. You gotta pick that one Mark. Look at the engine on that sucker!" Brian glanced to Mark to see his reaction, but the boy didn’t look as excited as his friend. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Joanie and stared at a log cabin, recessed in a snow covered mountain. The couple didn’t speak, but Brian guessed that they would choose the same number. Now that the line had moved more, he could see the long, low counter stretched at the end of the red carpet. Young women and men, wearing crisp white and yellow uniforms catered to the new arrivals. The set-up reminded him of the time he’d visited Orlando and had spent a good hour in the hot sun waiting to buy tickets to Disney World. The lack of pomp and circumstance both upset him and put him at ease. His entire life had lead to this moment and he’d always thought that it would be a more somber experience, less Las Vegas flash and glitter. A gap with a revolving wheel to allow only one person entry beyond the counters separated the receiving booths into two. On one side two girls, both exceedingly young and beautiful, waited on the women, while at the other, two men, very handsome and athletic, helped the men. "Sorry for the delay, sir, but this time of year is always busy." Brian turned to the owner of the voice and was startled to find a man dressed in white robes. Here was the sort of thing Brian had expected. The man winked at him. "I know, it’s all very different than what most people expect on arrival. And yes, I’m Saint Peter." He raised a hand to stop Brian from speaking. "No need to introduce yourself, Brian, we know you very well. Otherwise, you’d not have made it this far." "Uh, well, that’s good to know, I guess." Brian struggled for more to say, a thousand questions flying through his head. He glanced around him, looking for a way to broach the subject of how very glitzy, how very different everything was. "Yes, I know," Saint Peter said with a heavy sigh. "We just remodeled about four years ago. But you’d be surprised how many people don’t even notice. I preferred the way it used to be." "Why the change then?" Brian asked, still trying not to fidget under the Saint’s gaze. How very surreal it was to be standing there, speaking with this man as if they were at the corner grocer and passing the time of day. "As you know, religion has sort of lost steam in your time." Peter waved at the long line behind Brian. "Most of the folks who make it this far are here only because the values of the church have been passed down through their parentage. It’s a wonder anyone makes it at all. "But I digress, sorry. It’s a bad habit. When you have all the time in the world, there doesn’t seem much point to getting to the point, if you know what I mean. Anyway. You wanted to know why the change. "Our Father doesn’t much care for competition and when it became obvious that more people spent time eating fast food, than in church, he became depressed. You should have seen the heavens then! We all thought he’d call for another forty days and nights of rain. "Well, eventually he decided that since he couldn’t beat the competition, it was better to join them. Before the change, people spent up to a week debating what they wanted. The line was backed up for months! Now, it’s only a matter of hours, usually. Sometimes we get an indecisive soul who can’t figure out what they want, but the board has helped speed things along immensely." "So that’s why they’re all numbered?" Brian asked. It made sense to facilitate the journey in this manner. "You got it." Peter grinned, his face luminescent with joy. "And now things roll along without a hitch." Brian moved with the line, the four ahead of him dispersed to the correct locations and he smiled as the tall boy and Joanie glanced at each other from across the space and ordered the log cabin scenery. A sign above the rotating wheel blinked on and off, "Over One Billion Served". He turned to back to Peter. "Do you get many disgruntled people? I mean, most of us are expecting angels, white clouds, the whole thing. Like a reward or something." Peter shrugged. "Occasionally, but who’s gonna argue with God? See, when we first made the change, we didn’t have the red carpet and poles. People meandered far off and got lost. I was tired of bringing them back. Then we put in the carpet and poles and people sort of liked the effect, and it made my job easier. They felt special, like they were going to some awards show. Hollywood’s a big deal up here to you know. We all watch to see who’s going to win. Not even God can predict who you human’s will honor with an award." Brian smiled at that. "How interesting." "Well, looks like it’s your turn. I’m gonna go further down the line, There’s a nice lady who’s all by herself." "Thanks for chatting with me, and answering my questions." Brian waved to Saint Peter as he strolled forward. One of the young men behind the counter waved to him. Little white wings sprouted from the man’s back and he stood in front of what looked like a cash register. Suddenly worried that he wouldn’t be able to pay, it was true, what they said, about not being able to take it with you, Brian hesitated, then stepped forward. "Don’t worry," the young man said, his lapel pin declared his name was Ralph. Ralph? Brian couldn’t help but grin. "The registers are mostly to put people at ease, you know, make it more familiar for them. Can I take your order?" Brian nodded. "Yes, number forty-three, please." "Would you like to super-size that?" Ralph asked as he pressed the keypad on the register. When Brian looked confused, he said, "There’s unlimited space here, some like their new homes to be cozy, while others like a larger area to explore." Ralph pointed to the board behind him and Brian scanned the information. On the bottom, in small letters, he could choose large, medium, small, and super-sized. "What the heck, let’s go with the super-sized." "Good choice," Ralph grinned, pushed another button, and a little paper printed out a receipt. He handed the paper to Brian and smiled. "Keep this handy, go through to the waiting room beyond, and you’re order will be right up." "Thanks." Brian tucked the paper into his shirt pocket and pushed through the metal bar. On the other side, he found himself in a comfortable area, much like a doctor’s waiting room. Dead center on the long expanse of white wall were too large yellow doors, arched at the top and framed in gold. It reminded him vaguely of another shape he’d seen often during his lunch breaks. The group of teens talked excitedly about their choices, the older women worried about adequate housing and whether or not there would be shuttle service to and from various places. Brain took out his receipt, studied his choice, and waited. The chair he sat in was very comfortable and his eyes grew heavy. In what seemed like mere seconds, someone took the receipt from his fingers, jarring him awake. "Sir, your numbers up." Brian rubbed his eyes and blinked at the haloed young man in front of him. "Excuse me?" "Your numbers up." The angel smiled and pointed. The golden arches had opened and Brian could hear the gentle pounding of a surf, and further off in the distance, the strumming of a ukelele. Paradise awaited. He smiled, and as he walked through the doorway, he noticed that they weren’t gold at all, but durable plastic. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by Scott Greene nightmare4241@comcast.net |
#7 of 15 |
| 795 words | |
| I knew as soon as I opened my eyes that I was dead. I
could still feel the impact of the bullet that Big Eddie used after he caught
me cheating in the poker game. I had always suspected that he could have a
temper. I also knew that I was in Heaven, because hell was hot and dry, like
the middle of day in Vegas where I had just left. Here, the temperature was
actually pleasant, and comfortably moist. If any further confirmation of my
location was needed, the 3 white robed figures that appeared to be attractive
blondes from a distance approaching me provided it. The only error I had made
was the assessment that these women were beautiful, as they were not. I stood
up to meet them, no sense delaying my escort to The Almighty. The blonde in the
middle, the youngest by my sight, muttered something that sounded like "Oh
Jesus Christ!, not another one," but stopped upon hearing a low rumble of
thunder. Upon hearing this, the one on the right scolded her, and smacked her
on the back of the hand with a ruler. A cold chill ran up my spine when I saw
this, remembering my own youth at the "Mother Hellspawn’s Home for Screwed
Up Children." I realized very quickly that even though this was the Land of
Eternal Rest, no measure of shenanigans would be tolerated. Without further
adieu, I followed the three away. Our first stop must have been my family tree, or at least the rotten branch of the briar patch that bred me. The first thing I saw was some man, he worked hard all day doing grunge work for some rich fat-cat. Every time he would finish a job, fat-cat would come over and act like he didn’t do nothing right. Later, I saw the same poor old guy snap and kill fat-cat, and then run off. Some poor, young girl was standing to the side, holding a baby. I realized that the baby was me, so the man and young girl was my parents? One of the three blondes muttered something about "bad breeding," and Mother Superior angel slapped her hand again. Over and over, scenes from throughout my life played, up to and including Big Eddie shooting me beneath the table. Lousy cheat, he didn’t have the guts to even show the piece. When all was seen, I noticed the three angels, writing in a notebook. Finally, Mother Superior turned and looked straight at me."We’ll see what we can do." She motioned me to follow, and walked away. We walked for what seemed to be 15 minutes or so. Strange, seems like eternity shouldn’t feel like anything. Finally, we came to a wall, and to the right, what looked like a toll booth in front of two large gates. "The Pearly Gates?" I thought, apparently out loud, because younger of the three turned, and started to sat something, but apparently thought better of it. A man in white robes and a long beard came over, and took me and the notes over to the booth, we another man, Saint Peter,? sat patiently. He took the notes and getting comfortable in his chair, reached into his robes and took out a pair of reading specs. He glanced over the notes, then glanced at me. Finally, he took off his glasses, cleared his throat and straightened himself. "Well now," seems to me that your life didn’t do much for you, did it?" I suddenly felt a little nervous, because God knows that I haven’t really been all that holy. "Seems to me that you made enough, but you gambled and squandered it all away, but there are other mitigating circumstances, so I believe you might be worth the risk. Tell me now, just how do you expect to pay the fee?" It took a couple of minutes to understand that one. "What fee?" St. Peter scratched his head, and crossed his hands in front of him. "Why, the admission fee of course. These streets are lined with gold, that costs a pretty penny. There are quite a few that can’t pay who wander the earth for eternity, but in your case, because you have certain mitigating circumstances, I think that you might be worth the risk, so I’ll tell you what, I’ll offer you the credit, but mind you now, the interest might be a little high. Now think long and hard, because this is a one time offer." Well, dead or alive, I was in no hurry to meet Big Eddie again, so I accepted, and now, here I am, working hard in Heaven, paying off my earthly debts, and I realized that the Pearly Gates are plastic. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by meranda Blue bluesmeranda@cox.net |
#8 of 15 |
| 350 words | |
| "Heaven sure ain't what it's cracked up to
be." "Whatever do you mean Mrs. Parker?" asked St. Peter. "Looks more like a cheap Las Vegas production then a utopian society. Why even the pearly gates are plastic." "Well, that's so none of our eternal souls will have to repaint the old ones. After all, work would hardly be considered a reward, now would it?" "My granny always told me hard work was it's own reward," replied Mrs.Parker, stubbornly. "Apparently she was right, too. I worked hard all my life to get here, and now, I wish I'd been a bit lackadaisical." "Well, Ms. Parker, what can we do to make your stay here more enjoyable?" "Bring back sex for one. Been separated from my beloved husband, Earl for thirty years, and here we are together again, and can't even make love." St Peter blanched, as she went on. "The people in hell have sex. With anyone they want, too," she continued."Any damned time they want, too!" "Well, we have excellent food. Have you seen the banquet table? I'm sure you will find everything to your liking." "Humph," she sniffed, "Do I look like I need to eat more? I been eatin better-then-sex-cake for thirty years now, it ain't!" "It isn't what, Mrs. Parker?" St. Peter asked, praying he wouldn't get the answer he was afraid of. "It ain't better then sex. At least sex will bring my figure back." "Well, perhaps you would like to go and listen to the choir?" "Heck no," she said, "If that's a joyful noise, I know God's tone death by now." "Perhaps the Heavenly Hosts will be better able to help you then I," he said, desperately wishing she would go away. "You call them hosts? This is the lamest party I've ever been to!" "Well, God Damn it, Mrs. Park.!" St. Peter said, at the end of his rope. He never got to end his sentence though, seems there's one other thing about heaven Mrs. Parker never got around to discovering. When you ask God to damn someone - he does. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by Xun Ruishu rcsha@att.net |
#9 of 15 |
| 791 words | |
| "It’s not safe for a kid to be playing on the
sidewalk with a soccer ball," I pointed, "He could get hurt." "Leave him alone," Said my friend, "It’s not your problem." As though I had tempted fate, the ball rolled into the street. I looked down the street and saw a car fast approaching. "No…" Was all my friend could say, as he saw it too. "Kid!" I yelled, "Get out of the street!" I leapt to push the kid out of the way…but only one of us made it. When I awoke I was laying down in a long hallway. A man approached me wearing a long dark cape and cowl, his face was partially hidden and I could only see the shining of his eyes. He motioned for me to follow him. "Who are you?" I asked. "My name is Charion," His voice echoed in the hall, "Welcome to The River." "The River?" I didn’t understand what he meant. "Yes, we call this hallway The River, technically it’s the Styx Hall." "The River…Styx?" I asked, as I felt this feeling of unfelt doom. Man, does doom make me redundant. But my mind was on other things…like whether or not I was dead. "Yes, but we prefer to be more politically correct, it makes the mental burden less…stressful." That was more info, but not a pretty thought. "I see…so I’m dead?" My voice tremble. Death was not what I had planned for the day…I was going to see a movie. "I won’t lie to you, you are dead." His voice was so kind and gentle, it was hard to believe he was the Grim Reaper, Death, The Boatman…whatever you wanted to call him. This had to be a dream. But wouldn’t a dream make more sense? I’ve always seen the movie version of this man. A skeletal figure with a crescent bladed poleaxe, an old man in a scary boat, or a twin sabre-wielding swordsman. Not a kind, gentlemanly, young man. "Very well," Now that I knew the truth, there was no use hiding it…I had to show some backbone, "What now?" "Well," He was slow to speak, but it made him sound very intellectual, "Standing up would be a good idea." "Oh, right…" Well, so much for the valiant scene. I stood up and blushed a bit in embarrassment. Wait, I blushed? Dead people can do that? "Now we go to see Lord Pluto…" He turned and began leading me down the long hallway. "Lord Pluto?" Makes sense…Charion was the Roman boatman to Pluto. "Don’t tell him I called him that," He mused, "He prefers Peter…" At the end of the hallway, stood a very refined man about eight feet tall. He had short blonde hair and bifocals, powerful looking shoulders and wore a business suit. "You’re Saint Peter?" I asked, thinking I had everything planned out. "Peter…I’m actually a Cardinal’s fan" Well that made a jackass out of me…now even the Grim Reaper was laughing at me. "Right, Peter…" I shook my head, giving up on figuring this place out, "What’s going to happen to me?" "Well," He mused, smiling, "You may have done a good deed, but you broke several sins in your life." "Such as, if I might ask?" "Thou shalt remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy." Well that’s it; I was screwed if that’s what they opened up with. "Okay," I sighed, "What does all this mean?" "Ever heard of hell?" Peter was beginning to get on my nerves. "Naturally," I said, "What of it?" "Well," Peter laughed; Charion was started to get annoyed too, "That’s where you’re going." "He has the right to defend himself," Charion’s voice was changing, becoming a little louder and more brazen. "I don’t care…he’s not getting through that gate!" Peter was getting a little menacing, himself. "I’ll take him through it!" Charion moved to grab my arm, but Peter was faster and he threw me against the pearly gates that were positioned at the end of the hallway. "Ouch!" It felt like needles! I saw something odd made up the gate, "Plastic syringes?" Charion rushed to my aid and picked me up. He brought his face close to mine and pressed against my chest, "He’s fading…" "What? Who’s fading?" Suddenly Charion leaned forward and kissed me…I leaped half way out of my skin and yelled, "I’m not gay, Charion!" I opened my eyes to find myself in a hospital room with a nurse at my side holing a syringe and a young doctor giving me CPR. The odd looks only lasted a few seconds. My family rushed to my bedside happy I was still alive. Well except my father…who stood watching the football game on the TV. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by derelyct@hotmail.com |
#10 of 15 |
| 2230 words | |
| The box she gives me is filled with sex toys and I look
through them not knowing what to keep my eyes on and what to avoid. Her back is
toward me, and I think she handed me the wrong thing. This can’t be right.
She didn’t have Lock Jaw, the He-Man action figure I’ve been looking
for, for what seems like forever. The one that’s worth $45 on eBay and
completes my collection. I look for it underneath her rubber dildos, fuzzy
handcuffs and over-sized wind-up sperm. "Don’t mind any of the stuff there," Julie Lee says not taking her eyes off the monitor. "It’s mostly gag stuff. I only use half of it." She types on her computer. Her jet black hair, hangs straight and over the back of her chair. For the past couple of minutes, she’s been typing to her boyfriend who is heading to the movie theater parking lot as we speak ready to pick her up. They instant message each other. Julie’s using her computer and her boyfriend, David, I assume, is using some sort of cell phone. It’s been this way for months. "Hurry up and get it already. You’ve got to drive me to see him in an hour," she says, looking back at me. I stare at her thinking this is going to be the last time I’ll see her. She’s wearing a dress, a muumuu looking thing that she sewed herself in home ec. It was the easiest pattern she could find, she said, but even still, she did a bad job at it and now the sleeves are too short, the skirt too big. It bulges in the middle. I say she looks like a mom and she says that’s how she wants to look. "Today’s the big day, John" Julie says to me for the thousandth time and I try to ignore it. There’s a thrill in her voice. "Yeah." I want to say more, but …I keep my mouth shut. I feel like I’m invisible to her as she double checks and then triple checks her things and all I can think about is the last fight we had about David. It was at Shakespeare’s, right after school. We were talking about our chemistry final and eating pizza. The radio was playing a Beatles song, "Ticket to Ride." Somehow I got around to mentioning it and I saw her ears perk up as I talked about them, those funny Internet romances. It had been bugging me for weeks. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It drove me nuts and so I had to, I had to convince her that she was making a mistake running off with a man she hardly knew. "The fact is you don’t know the first thing about David," I said. Being stubborn Julie wouldn’t hear any off it. She told me to lay off and that I was starting to sound like her dad. I thought this was important so I pushed her. "You know he could even be a child molester, a rapist, a murderer." I said all this, and I wasn’t getting through to her. She gave me a look as if she knew it all. She was humoring me. Julie continued to shake her head and said I was being a hypochondriac. She gave me an explanation, trying to will me to understand and between bites of my greasy pizza, I tried to, but after a while, I turned away from her. I told her she didn’t know what she was talking about. It was then she got combative and told me how she knew things about him and that the chances of being raped and murdered on an Internet date are like one in a million. The only reason they sound so bad, she said, is because of the overblown stories about that one rapist killing that poor, defenseless child. Millions of people date online, she went on, and "besides," she gave me a wink and a smile, "I’m 17. I’m legal. Well, in his state anyways." I covered my ears. Listening to her rattle off the pros of cyber dating was like hearing smoking statistics from a cigarette company. Desperate to prove me wrong, Julie informed me that David was in fact a fantastic guy who had the best credentials —he was a mechanic and owned his own business and talked to his mother at least once a week. "He probably lives with his mother," I said. Apparently, this remark finally pissed her off and she didn’t talk to me for days. Can you believe her? She’s going to live with a man who has a hard on for his mother. *** Julie stands next to me now with her candy red suitcase. She taps her suede Doc Martins on the wood floor. "I’m waiting." She’s impatient. "Why did you put the thing here with all this crap," I say, still rifling through her stuff. "It’s a toy box. I play with it like the rest of my toys." "I didn’t want to know that." I complain and continue sifting through her stuff — broken key chains, a vibrator, a small Winnie the Pooh doll, which she grabs out of my hand and puts it in her purse. "I’ve been looking for that," she says. I turn away and get up. Ah screw it. I look down on her then. I’m short guy but she’s even shorter. Julie punches me and tells me to quit staring. I know she gets uncomfortable when I do that but sometimes I can’t help it. I head out the door with her as she tells me where we’re going. *** Her luggage barely fits in the trunk of my car. She gets near the door and gives one last look at her house. She’s not sentimental about these things, I know. She’s just wondering if she left anything important inside there. My eyes follow her as she paces back and forth along its façade along her white picket fence and pearly gate. She grew up in this house. It’s all she’s known since she was four and our parents put us together while they had martinis on the patio. That’s how we got to know each other, became best friends, dated, broke up and now, we’re separating. She gets in the car and sighs a heavy sigh, which brings up a question in my mind and I’m about to ask it when she beats me to the punch. "Am I doing the right thing?" Julie turns; her eyes light on me. "You know, that your parents are going to kill you if you don’t go to college, and we all know there’s no way you can make it there," I say this, knowing it’s what she wants to hear. "You’re right. Let’s go, David’s waiting." I speed off down the road, and we’re both looking in my mirrors to see the house on top of the hill fade into the shadows of trees and then disappear completely. The major thing about her leaving is that she can get away from her father, Win Lee. He hasn’t treated her right ever since she was born. I’d hear them — I think everybody heard them — yelling at each other at all hours of the day. There’d be concerned phone calls but her mother answered and said the TV was on too loud. After their epic fights, which always revolved around her not doing anything at school, she’d sneak over to my house, and we’d share cigarettes as she talked about him in my back yard. "Sometimes, he wishes I was never born and that I’m a big disappointment to him. He wanted a boy to carry on the family name." She blew a puff of smoke and it wafted out in the breeze before going away. "You know what he said to me? Guess what he said." "I want you dead, you dirty whore?" I’ve heard him say that plenty of times before. It’s just a shot in the dark."No, he said, ‘Your mother should have gotten the abortion I wanted.’ Imagine, I wouldn’t even be here right now talking to you. I was that close. Sometimes I have dreams about that. Dead babies." I realize in a different dimension, in a different time, I could just as easily be talking to a ghost or some stranger or out there alone. I squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her that things, they eventually get better. "I wish my family could be like yours," she said and let the idea hang in the air until I walked her back home and into her room to make sure her parents didn’t catch her and that she was safe. I wonder when she staring in front of those gates at her parents windows if she left a note, explaining everything about her going away, or had she just meant to disappear without a trace like he wanted her to. *** I pull into the parking lot, and Julie walks out and I grab her bag for her. She constantly checks her watch as if she’s going to see a show. We see David sitting on a bench and Julie just runs to him. He looks exactly like his picture. He’s a greasy slimeball, used-car salesman looking guy. He has shiny slicked hair and he’s going bald and he tries to hide it with a comb-over. He looks 35 when he’s only supposed to be 24. Despite all this, Julie sees this guy, and she loves him. I have the biggest urge to slug him in the stomach. I know. I just know in the way he looks at her that he’s evil. But I can’t do anything. I hang in the background as they look each other over and the she turns to me and tells him who I am. "David, this is John Ray." I shake his hand and tell him that it’s "nice to meet him." He returns the remark and gives me a warm smile. "So are you ready to go sugar pie," he asks. "Oh don’t call me that in public. Julie’s good enough. I’ll see you in the car. I’m just going to say goodbye." David loafs off to get his car to bring down to her. Julie watches him leave until he disappears into a crowd. She looks at me then. I tell her that I’m scared for her and that if she leaves with him, she is going to be one of those statistics she was talking about. I want her to stay so badly. "Oh Johnny," she says, "don’t look so sad. I’ll only be two hours away." "You might as well be all the way across the country," I say. "Please understand, I love him." "He’s not right for you. He’s a child molester. You go with him and you’re going to die." "Johnny." She says my name softly and in the childish voice that’s only known to us. It’s the one we grow up with. The one we use with each other when we’re alone. "You’ll always be my Johnny." Now, she does something she’s only done twice before, one time at my mom’s funeral and another time when we broke up. She reaches out and touches my face with her soft hands and lets it roll off my cheek. It’s an affectionate gesture. Her way of saying good bye. The way she means it, stuns me. She makes off as if she’s going to leave and suddenly remembers something. She runs back to me and reaches into her purse and pulls out Lock-Jaw. That bitch, she had it all the time. It is purple and blue and beat up over time. She gives me one more smile as David, the child molester, honks his horn. I know I can’t do anything and even if she is murdered, I’m going to regret it either way. I suck it up and wave to her as they drive off. In the car, I’m unconsolable as I head home. I’m going to keep my promise and keep my mouth shut. Eventually, I know Julie will talk to her parents. When I hit a stoplight, I get out Lock-Jaw and look him over. When we played as kids, she borrowed it from me and never returned it and over the years she forgot what it was until I asked her about it the other day. Ever since she told me about her leaving, I’ve become a bit nostalgic and started collecting my old action figures, and this one was the hardest to find. I’m glad she had it. I stare at the forgotten toy now and try to see it with fresh eyes the way she must have seen it, digging it out of her toy box and finding it a few days ago. I strip away everything: its meaning, its function until it is what it is, a mold of plastic. I keep on staring at it and ultimately I see her in that thing. A girl made of flesh and blood like I am made of flesh and blood. Suddenly, I have an idea about the world now and the whole thing feels like I’m coming out of life’s pearly gates realizing that it's only plastic. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by mrwrleft@yahoo.com |
#11 of 15 |
| 909 words | |
| I met Chloe in a single's club and felt we belonged
together. We talked and laughed and danced and danced and danced. She looked absolutely gorgeous for her age! Those shiny eyes that looked at me with a tiny bit of coquetry, blond curls, the light walk and the smile. That waterfall of character, friendliness and vitality as if painted on the rose petals of her lips. All this was too much for my poor, many times wounded, heart. I gave it all to her. We met the next day and the day after that and again in three days after she returned from a business trip. And every time, I could find something new and different in her, something that made me think and wonder and dream. I wanted her, perhaps, but the more I was falling in love, the more she become bodiless, ephemeral for me and the more I wanted to postpone the moment of physical closeness until that day when she invited me in for coffee. Her place was what I imagined it would be, little but sparkling clean, elegant, charming and cozy. I couldn't pinpoint the components that made this impression. Perhaps one thing - she made superb coffee. Despite my soul floating at the heights of euphoria I felt that Chloe was surprised if not slightly disappointed by my abstinence. This invitation for coffee was her way to tell me that my physical presence was welcome as well as my spiritual one. So, imagine this paradox, I made myself to attempt closeness even against my own readiness for it. Everything happened very naturally once the decision was made. Our bodies, that were long waiting for the pretext to join, as if finally received it from our minds. Slowly, gently and somewhat hesitantly, we freed ourselves from our apparel and entered into the possession of each other. Gradually I was finding out more about my bounty - her hills and valleys, groves and coves until finally I entered the gates of pleasure. The shining pearly gate that enveloped me with the symphony of cool and moist sensations and the gate of softness and ecstasy that opened up for me as a rare flower and accepted me as a long awaited lover. From this wonderful night on, Chloe was no longer an unreachable ideal, an unattainable dream, but a kind friend and the best and gentlest of lovers. I was afraid that the feeling that emerged so quickly and developed so passionately would disintegrate just as quickly like kerosene flame on a Barbecue grill. But the days went by and I was still in love. Seemingly she was very open and frank. We talked about everything in the world. She was so much in peace with herself that part of it spilled onto me. I enjoyed every minute, indulging my soul in the warmth of her inner happiness. And yet there was something that I couldn't understand about her as if she was hiding this something from me. Even our lovemaking has always happened at night or during the dense dusk. Never was I able to see her in her entirety under the scruttiny of bright light - neither her body nor soul. And so this air of mystery about her that ignited and maintained my love for Chloe turned out gruesome. The more I was falling in love, the more jealous I became - even to her past. It was something I couldn't defeat or accept. I wanted to be everything for her. I wanted to have her all the time and just for me. She refused very softly but very decisively. She explained to me that she was busy with her business, she had her own travel agency, and although she loved me, she couldn't make such a rushed decision, that we had known each other too short of a time for such a commitment. My spirit felt desiccated? Anguish of nightmares made its frantic pantomime in my mind. I started suspecting her. At night I drove to her condo complex and looked in her windows waiting to see if any man would go in or out. On weekends I followed her around when she went to the mall or beauty shops. She seemed to be oblivious or forgiving to my clumsy investigation attempts and still treated me with love, but I felt she was holding something from me and that made me mad. I suspected something horrible, heartbreaking. This Sunday I came to her very early in the morning. As she opened the door and saw me she closed her mouth in a gesture of fear. `That's it' I thought. 'I caught you.' I quickly went around her small apartment. I looked under the couch and in the closets. Her eyes full of fear. Then I went to her bathroom and wanted to open it. "Please Richard", Chloe jumped in front of me closing the bathroom door with her body. "Who is there?" I screamed. "It's not what you think, darling, please!" "I am not going to be fooled!" I shoved her to the side and went in. *** No, there wasn't a man in the bathroom. A glass, filled with water, stood on the counter top and inside the glass there was… I understood why she was covering her mouth… What a disappointment… How horribly banal and un-comprehensively prosaic life is… The Pearly Gates turned out to be made from plastic. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by Sophia Barkat quietpoly@yahoo.com |
#12 of 15 |
| 1399 words | |
| It was raining. Ma was hurrying through her suitcase to
find that golden sari Grandma had given her for her wedding. It was made of
Taat, a material made famous by the weavers of Jessore, the western region of
Bangladesh. You could go to the villages there and walk away with a good Taat
Sari for less than four hundred takas, though the boutiques in Dhaka charged a
good two thousand. 'Are you going to be long?' Father yelled from inside the bathroom, brushing his teeth and getting ready for a quick shower. He had just returned from work and were it not that the Raihan's were close friends, attending a wedding reception on a Thursday night would have been out of the question. Of course he was hoping to spend as little time as possible there and calling it a night. 'Don't hurry me,' Ma yelled back yanking the sari out of the old suitcase. There was dust all over the lid, that Laksmi had just dusted with her broom, and she was trying to open the suitcase as cautiously as possible to avoid any of it from touching the expensive contents. 'What are you going to wear, Madhu?' Laksmi, the servant, wiped off her hands on her cotton sari as she reached for the little girl's hands. 'Hmm...don't care,' Madhu replied, head buried in the pillow. She had just woken from her afternoon siesta, thanks to the racquet Ma and Laksmi had just created in their attempt to extricate an old heirloom from the dark and gloomy storeroom. 'Maybe that blue dress again,' she said, hugging her blanket closer. 'You're not wearing that old dress again,' Priya pushed her over and sat down. She had brought with her an assortment of dresses for her five-year-old sister, tired of seeing her in those same old dresses. If it wasn't the yellow it was the pink. If it wasn't the pink it was the blue. And surprisingly enough, Ma, who spent tones of money on herself never remembered to buy anything for this little girl just because Madhu had favorites. 'I didn't go shopping today for nothing,' she held up something in front of Madhu, as if urging her to try it on. 'What's this?' Priya tugged on the hem of the new dress that looked about her size. It was not bad for a white dress, she thought. She had seen worse before. At least it had an interesting pattern of pink lace-work even if there were no fancy butterflies or pictures. 'You like it?' Priya looked surprised. 'Not really,' Madhu threw herself back on the pillow, as Priya's heart sank. 'Okay. Don't wear it then,' her sister frowned visibly, pushing Madhu's hands off her own. 'If you want to look like a poor little destitute in your old clothes do just that!' she yelled, surprised her effort came to no avail. Laksmi too did not look sympathetic. 'Give it to me. I know a poor kid down the street who has no clothes. I'm sure she will not mind wearing it,' she reached for the dress, waiting for Madhu's protest. 'Good. Give it,' came the defiant reply, and then the sobs. Priya was about to hand it over too, when Ma stepped right in. 'White is what you're wearing,' she picked up her younger daughter and carried her off to the mirror. Madhu did not fight. She sat quietly, taking in the humiliation hands down, her heart sinking with disappointment. 'Can I have my white shoes,' she whimpered tearfully, searching for Priya's forgiving eyes. Perhaps, Priya would come over and save her from Ma's tight grip, though it did not seem like a possibility. She was lying in bed now, tired perhaps from her day of dress hunting. 'The golden earrings that your father gave me, they are on the dressing table,' Ma called out, frowning at Priya who had now taken up Madhu's place in the bed. 'I saw them,' Priya replied, her head on the pillow. It was raining outside like it always did in the middle of summer. The coconut trees were swaying this way and that, the windowpanes battered by the downpour. Of all nights this was not the night to be outside. 'You father will come out of the shower and scream at me if he sees you lying around,' Ma yelled. 'Why can't you and Father go?' Priya mumbled but got no reply, wrapping the blanket over herself. 'I said, get out of bed already,' Ma screamed in indignation, as she tied Madhu's hair into a ponytail. Reluctantly, Priya obliged and reached for the golden sari. 'It's your fault if I get another marriage proposal,' she rolled her eyes and walked out the door, recalling the last time they had gone to a wedding and some Auntie had accosted her parents with a proposal. Next thing you know the woman was introducing her to the other guests as her future daughter-in-law. 'How embarrassing!' she rolled her eyes, though her defiance faded to fear as she heard her father turn off the shower in her parent's bathroom. 'Eat something before you go,' Ma yelled back. 'Going to a wedding looking tired and unfed. As though we starve you at home!' she heard the lady yell, as she shut the door to her own room. Madhu and Laksmi were already there, running in and out of the bathroom, alternately hogging the mirrors. 'I look pregnant,' Priya almost cried seeing herself for the first time, once there was a clearing. The stiff Taat sari in her hands was hopeless, the pleats at the bottom refusing to settle as they usually did with other saris. 'Why can't you just wear a silk sari and through this curtain back into the suitcase?' Laksmi sat down instinctively at Priya's foot to help her sort out the mess. 'Don't ask,' Priya mumbled, kicking the pleats with her feet. 'If I don't wear it the lady will be barking up my tree,' she turned right and left stepping on the hem. 'It's six. You should do your make-up,' Laksmi looked up and smiled. She was not going to the wedding herself, though every time the household went it almost felt like she was. 'Nothing's been going my way! Nothing!' Priya hurried over to the mirror and gasped. There was a pimple on her face she had not seen earlier that clearly required some foundation. 'I'll see you in the car in five minutes,' Ma announced, poking her head into the room. 'Your dad is ready and he took just five minutes,' she looked at Priya, whose sari looked like a hot air-balloon. 'It's not my fault your sari is impossible to manage,' Priya snapped, looking up from the floor where Laksmi was still pressing on the handmade pleats with all her might. What was obviously needed was a machine press on this damned material, though even she knew it was out of the question. The muslin embroidery would most certainly melt in the heat. 'Just leave it as it is and come,' she heard her Ma say as she hurried to put the jewelry on. There was a roar in the next room as Father tried to find a pen to sign the Wedding Card they had bought for the couple. 'Coming, coming,' Ma yelled, rushing out of the room like a hurricane. 'You two. In five minutes!' she returned gift-wrap in hand, balancing on her stilettos. 'Help me pack this,' she asked Laksmi to her feet, as Priya tied her hair into a neat bun, putting on the golden hairpin that went with the rest of the jewelry. 'Don't forget your toys,' Ma turned to Madhu, noticing that the red bag was still empty. There was a book in Madhu's hand that she quickly packed, lest she get bored at the wedding or on the way in the car. 'What's that you are drawing?' her sister leaned over in the car as they sped out the driveway in their car. 'It's Goldilocks and the Three Bears,' Madhu pointed to the picture, filling in a girl's hair with her yellow crayon. 'And what's this?' Priya pointed surprised to find that the door colored in beige. 'It's plastic,' Madhu replied, putting another coating of yellow on Goldilock's hair. 'The pearly gates are plastic,' she giggled, amused by her own imagination. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by Julie Fonda julie_fonda2000@yahoo.com |
#13 of 15 |
| 1557 words | |
| Jeremiah and Lacy were married in a rundown, old
wedding chapel that had "past its prime" written all over it in huge invisible
letters. The paint was chipped, and shards of old stucco and plaster had fallen
into the overgrown grass surrounding the building. Tenacious blades of
crabgrass had defiantly forced themselves through the aging asphalt in the
parking lot and through the cracks in the cement path that led up to the
entrance. Outside, abutting the sidewalk and running parallel with the street, stood a tall white wrought-iron fence, chipped and rusting where its paint was peeling away. A gate was attached in the middle of the fence with script letters running across the top of it in the same wrought iron material that read, "The Pearly Gates Wedding Chapel." Jeremiah was the first to arrive. "I hope she doesn’t change her mind." the groom nervously said under his breath, as he stood leaning against the fence. He held up his pinky finger and eyed the thin gold band that he was wearing on the tip of his finger. Jeremiah brought it up to his mouth, cupped his hands around it and breathed on it, the warm vapor in his breath forming a foggy layer over the metal. As he took another deep drag on his cigarette, Jeremiah’s other hand polished the ring on his jeans. Where was she? He decided to go inside. When Jeremiah pulled opened the heavy, wooden door, the light was so bright that he stepped back involuntarily. In reaction to the sudden onslaught of light, Jeremiah held his hand up, as if to shield his eyes from a few of the fifty thousand watts brightly burning in the lobby. "Ah. . . Hello? Can I help you, dear? Welcome to the Pearly Gates!" The woman said as she rushed down the hall towards him. What’s the hurry? Jeremiah wondered. "Are you the groom?" She didn’t wait for Jeremiah to answer. "Do you want an organist? And the bride, where is she?" The woman paused to take a breath before she launched into more rapid-fire questions. "She’s on her way," Jeremiah answered. "She’ll be here in a minute." "Well, good --" the woman said, as if to finalize Jeremiah’s statement. "Come and see the sanctuary. You’re going to love it. Does she want a bouquet? We have a huge selection. . ." Jeremiah followed Chatty-Patty down the hall, as she led him to the wedding chapel, and when they got there, Jeremiah wished for the second time that evening that he had brought his dark shades with him. The chapel was even brighter and more overwhelming than the lobby, if that was possible. "Is this woman afraid of the dark?" Jeremiah said under his breath, as he looked around the room. It was filled to overflowing with white artificial flowers – so many that a person prone to seizures would probably be at risk of having a Grand Mal from exposure to so much white confusion. "Wow." Jeremiah said. "Isn’t it lovely? I did it all myself. All this!" The woman waved her arm in an expansive, proprietary gesture, as if she was a tour guide at the Taj Mahal. "Oh, they’re here!" Jeremiah spoke while he had the chance. He heard them come in the front door and left the chapel to go out and meet them. "There you are, what took you so long?" Jeremiah had been worried that something had happened to them. "Thank God that we’re here!" Lacy’s mom, Carmen, said breathlessly. "We were leaving and the dishwasher was running, and all of a sudden, there was water all over the place! It was like the great flood, but without all the animals! I didn’t even know where the water was coming from!" Lacy’s mother was babbling. She looked nervous. "Hi, Hon – " Lacy kissed Jeremiah and handed C.J., their one-year-old son to his daddy. The baby’s name was "C" for Christopher, his grandfather, and "J" for Jeremiah, his father. Lacy’s dad, Chris came through the door, and had the same flinching reaction to the garish light. Chatty Patty ushered everyone into a tiny room that held a desk and a chair, and had walls covered with white bouquets of artificial flowers with plastic handles – for the bride, Jeremiah guessed. "More of the same," Jeremiah said under his breath as he looked around the room. "What?" Chris said. The groom leaned over next to his soon-to-be father-in-law and whispered, "Look at this place, will you? The Pearly Gates are Plastic!" Jeremiah said. "I don’t get it." Chris answered. "What Pearly Gates?" "The ones that you walk through to get into the chapel. Those Pearly Gates are made of Plastic!" Both men laughed silently, their shoulders shaking as they tried to control themselves and look serious. All of them were very nervous. "Now. . . PA-pers!" Chatty said. The bride and groom signed, and Chatty stapled and stamped. Then she pushed some more papers across her desk to the bride and groom that also needed signing, and then there was more stamping and stapling. Chatty took all of the signed papers and arranged them in three neat little piles on her desk as everyone in the tiny room watched her, looking intensely interested in what she was doing. Then she got up, herded everyone out of the tiny office and led the little wedding party through the plastic Pearly Gates that marked the entrance of the wedding chapel. The agglomeration of dusty white artificial flowers and the bright lighting was giving everyone in the bridal party a pounding headache. What was the decorator thinking when she put this place together? The bride’s mother inquired about the whereabouts of the minister who would performing the marriage ceremony, and Chatty mumbled something that sounded like, ". . . will be right here." Then she ushered the bride and groom up to the podium in the front of the chapel, and instructed them to face each other and join hands. The groom’s thoughts -- at that moment -- were many, and he was as nervous as he would have been standing in front of 5,000 guests. The bride appeared stoic on the outside, but of course, she wasn’t on the inside. She was just unemotional about it. These were modern times, though, and if the bride and groom had decided to switch traditional wedding emotions on their special day, with the groom crying buckets of tears, and the bride mopping them up, it still would have been politically correct. Chatty then stood behind the podium and launched into performing the wedding ceremony. "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to join. . ." Suddenly, everyone realized that Chatty wore multiple hats. Now she was the Justice of the Peace. Everyone kept an open mind, though, about Chatty’s one-woman show – and it turned out that she wore the officiate hat quite aptly. The parents and the bride and groom listened intently as Chatty, the Justice, spoke on the seriousness of marriage and the commitment that the bride and groom were making to one another. Tears rolled down everyone’s cheeks, but the bride’s, and she seemed to be emotionally keeping the groom on his feet, even though he was a foot-and-a-half taller than her. Vows were exchanged, and then the rings. A sweet kiss. And it was over. There were hugs and tears, and everyone acted as though Chatty Patty was their best friend, as they hugged her and babbled profusely. Then Grandpa picked up the baby (who was impervious as to what had just taken place) and told the newlyweds to go out and celebrate. And as Chris and Carmen walked out of the wedding chapel, Chris opened the gate and said, "Honey! The Pearly Gates are plastic!" "What?" said Carmen. "Plastic! Look at ‘em!" Chris insisted as he pointed to the plastic Pearly Gates. Carmen laughed and said, "Well, as we just observed, love is all you need to get married." "What do you mean – love is all you need?" Chris asked. "You don’t need a $5,000. wedding package to join two loving hearts," Carmen said as she put her arm around her husband. "No, Babe, no you don’t," Chris affirmed as he kissed his wife lightly on her forehead. To the bride and groom and all of their witnesses, it didn’t matter if the Pearly Gates had been made of plastic or from precious, rare metal. Or, whether they had gotten married in the Sistine Chapel or in this funky little place. Nothing could have added to or taken away from the significance of what they had just done. Two lives had become one – were joined spiritually – which is a mystery – in a union that they would be perfecting for the rest of their lives. Now they were a family and had formed their own inner circle of love and validation, accessible to only the bride, the groom and their children. They would laugh and they would cry and they would hold each other up when times got hard. And while the rest of their stressed-out friends were either paying off or planning for big, expensive, nerve-frazzling weddings, Jeremiah and Lacy were happily at home concentrating on the business of being husband and wife. |
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| The Pearly Gates Are Plastic by walshnyc@yahoo.com |
#14 of 15 Winner |
| 1690 words | |
| Annie O’Reilly ascended the stairs slowly, the
bannister guiding her through the clouds in her eyes and the dull ache in her
head. "Hurry it up," Kevin beckoned from the floor below. "I’m already running late." She found her way to the last step, remaining on it so her face was parallel to her husband’s. "Why did you let me drink so much last night?" she asked, transferring her hand from the balustrade to his shoulder for support. "I figured it was part of the grieving process," he replied, resting his hands on her hips. "Besides, what would be the point of an Irish wake if you didn’t drink?" "Yeah, but you shouldn’t have let me get out of control." she burrowed her face into nook between his shoulder and his neck. She could feel the bumps of his freshly shaved skin, but couldn’t detect his cologne through the smell of her own stale breath. "You weren’t out of control. You had me looking out for you," he said, hugging her. They held the embrace for a few seconds, and then he pulled away. "I really need to get going, and you need to get the kids off to school." "Are they up?" "Yeah, they’re in the kitchen." I told them to stay away from the cake, but you might want to get in there before temptation makes them forget." "Cake? What cake?" "One of the guys from Robbie’s firehouse brought it last night. Nobody touched it, and they insisted that we take it home." "Oh, yeah, the cake..." she said, rolling her eyes and sighing. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. It’s just, well I haven’t told the kids about Robbie yet: I was really hoping I might get away with waiting until after school, but if they see the cake..." "Have you figured out what you’re going to say?" "Not really. I mean, I think I can handle the death part, but I’m worried about getting into all of the afterlife stuff if they start asking about it." "Maybe they’re ready to know..." "But I don’t think I’m ready to tell them," Annie sighed. "I’m not sure what I believe anymore. They need to feel safe and comfortable with whatever I tell them, and I don’t know if I can pull it off." "Hmm. This would have been a point where the church might have come in handy..." "No," she replied, her voice suddenly stronger. "The last thing I want is for the priest and the lot of them filling their heads with too much information about sin and penance and purgatory. Robbie and I were raised buying into all that, and look where it got him. He was a good man, a good catholic, but it doesn’t make him any less dead, does it?" "I know, I know. I wasn’t brought up catholic, but I’ve heard my share of stories. If you don’t feel up to telling the kids, then don’t. Tell them I’ll explain it when I get home." Kevin cradled her face as she nodded that it was a good idea. It felt good to be in his hands like this. "I made a pot of coffee," he said as he let his palms fall away from her skin; "You should go have some before you do anything else. And don’t forget to take a picture of the cake before the kids tear it up; the guys at the firehouse wanted a photo of it, but nobody had a camera last night." He kissed her as he guided her off the bottom step and steered her body in the direction she needed to go. They exchanged their ‘I love you’s and ‘good-bye’s’ and he was out the front door before she got to the kitchen. The kids were standing at the refrigerator, the door swung open all the way. Steven had his head literally inserted inside, poking it between the appliance’s ceiling and the white box that took up the entirety of the top shelf. Caitlin was tight beside him, standing on her toes trying unsuccessfully to see over the edge of the cake box. "What are the two of you up to then?" Annie said, startling them. "Mommy, we have a cake!" Caitlin announced. "I know we do," Annie responded, her spirits buoyed by the sight of her children’s faces. They both stepped away from the refrigerator as Steven closed the door carefully. They both climbed onto chairs at the table, settling in behind their respective bowls of cereal. "Is that cake from Uncle Robbie’s party?" Steven asked between slurps of milk and now crunch-less cereal. "Yes it is," Annie said as she made her way to the coffee maker and poured herself a cup. Her husband’s cheap point-and-shoot camera lay not-so-subtly nearby. She set aside her steaming coffee mug and picked it up. "What are you going to take a picture of mommy?" Caitlin asked. "The cake," she answered, pulling the refrigerator door open again. "Did Uncle Robbie like his party?" "Uncle Robbie wasn’t there, honey." She slid the large rectangular box onto the counter, pushing the coffee maker back against the wall in order to accommodate it. She raised the lid of the box, but found that the space between the counter and the cupboard above was not enough to open the box all the way. "Doesn’t he like parties?" "He was probably busy putting out a fire, right mom?" Steven half suggested, half wondered. Annie didn’t answer, but instead silently pondered the cake. After a moment, she turned back to her children. "Move your bowls over a bit," she said as she folded down the sides of the box and grabbed the edges of the cardboard platter that supported the cake. The children complied readily as she turned and placed the cake on the table in the space they had created for her. Both children inched forward, studying the cake with great interest. "Mommy, why are there angels on the cake?" Caitlin asked, studying the three dimensional scene displayed atop the white frosting landscape. "Why is there only one boy angel and three girls? Is that other boy an angel too? Where are his wings?" "This is supposed to be outside the gates of heaven," she explained, first emphasizing the tallest item, an iridescent arched gateway that seemed to be made of molded sugar, or meringue. "These are just some regular angels, but this boy angel is Saint Peter. He’s in charge of the ‘Pearly Gates’, letting people in if they’re meant to be there. They’re all lined up as if they want to keep this fellow out..." she finished, pointing out the last figure, the only one not adorned in white robes and wings. "Why are they trying to keep him out?" Caitlin was a year younger than her brother, but easily more thoughtful and inquisitive. Steven just stared intently at the figurines and listened. "It’s meant to be a bit of a joke," Annie explained, pointing to the emerald green script that ran along the borders of the cake. "You see these words? They say "May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows your dead..." Both children followed her finger over the words. "The wee fellow is wanting to get into the Pearly Gates, but from the look of Saint Peter, he might not be able to talk his way in quick enough." "Is the little man meant to be Uncle Robbie?" Steven finally spoke, his cutting to the heart of the matter chilling her for an instant. "Yes. The little man is meant to be Uncle Robbie." "Is he dead?" "Yes." "Oh." Steven continued to stare intently as she braced herself for the next question. He furrowed his brow, and leaned his head closer to the cake, and finally asked "What are these people made of?" Annie exhaled a sigh of relief. She bent her own face lower and looked at the tiny sculpted figurines. "I think they might be marzipan," she said after studying them. "What does that mean?" "It means you can eat them if you like. They’re sort of like candy." "Really? Everything on the top of the cake is eat-able?" "Edible. I think so," she concluded, drawing back. "But first I have to take some photos, okay?" She raised the camera to her eyes and positioned herself to get the best angle. "There are six pieces," he heard Steven tell Caitlin; "you can have the three girl angels, a | |