Suicidal in Heaven – A Journey of Choices

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62

LXII

Different from hell, where I had to face a gigantic line and that seemed infinite (but at least was fun), the line in heaven was pretty short. It wasn’t boring, it was practically whimsy and inexistent. The line consisted in just two people, and since the number of counters seemed bigger than the number of people in line to get into hell, my wait was less than two seconds. At least that’s what it felt like, since here there’s no concept of time as well. I barely stopped behind the last person in line and I was called.

Not that it is surprising, but so far, heaven has been much better than hell.

Hi. – Says the pleasant angel.

I’ve already said this, but I think it’s important to repeat, I’m not sure THE angel is, in fact, him. I’m not sure it has a gender. I call it with a male pronoun ’cause my mother tongue is sexist. Anyway…

Hello. – I answer him, also with a smile on my face.

Name. – He asks, I answer. – Great. Welcome to Paradise. – He points to his right side and I see the golden gates opening.

I turn around and begin to walk, but I stop and go back.

Any problem, sir? – The angel asks.

Not a problem, at least I think there isn’t. Actually is just a doubt… - I let the phrase hang in the air.

And what would it be?

Did you see my “file”?

Yes, sir. – The angel begin to feel intrigued.

Then, you’ve seen how I died… - As soon as I say this, his expression changes, he understood where I’m getting at and smiled again.

It’s not up to me to answer that question. But don’t worry, be sure it will be answered. And who’s going to answer it is someone much more qualified and suited to the task than me.

The angel stops speaking and smiles. His honest and joyful smile assures me that all his words are true, and they’re enough to make me go back and walk towards the gates of heaven. Halfway, as I pass by other counters and people, a question comes to my mind, one that interrupts my imagination of how many other sinners like me are in heaven: who is more suited than an angel, with access to every information about me to tell me why I, a suicidal, was in heaven? There is an answer in my head, but it seems too impossible to be true.

Not that the impossible wasn’t the main word in my life (or death) since I had killed myself, but even so…

There were truly impossible things, weren’t there?

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