The Department of the Apocalypse
was bustling with bureaucracy as horned and winged clerks hustled behind giant
stone service counters. The room flickered in an out of shadow cast by the
torches placed along the red brick walls. Cal tugged at his dirty shirt collar
and looked at his next in line number. 1,322,641
read his small ticket. He looked up at the next number to be called sign
overhead which read, 3.
Cal looked through the extensive paperwork in his hands as he waited in
line. He had his license, social security card, birth certificate, a photo ID, and
a cable bill from his apartment, as well as all the forms he had spent completing
at the “Comprehensive Customer Care” counter.
He made sure the papers were organized just as the large overhead sign
directed those waiting in line to do. He
looked at the long line ahead of him. He’d been in line for three days.
Cal moved his documents from his
right side to his left and pushed the flap of skin from his scalp back to cover
the part of his skull that was exposed. He could vaguely remember a large chunk
of his apartment building falling toward him and then he was just in line, in
this place, following the other herds of mangled people. The
woman in front of him in line was having a hard time with her documents and
papers due to her missing fingers on both her hands. He had tried to offer help but one of the “customer
care techs” poked him with a giant pitchfork when he opened his mouth. It stung
Cal in the ribs and he nearly collapsed, but he managed to hold onto his
paperwork. He looked back at the green
faced “customer care tech” who motioned for silence with a bony finger to its
lips.
The fingerless woman didn’t turn
around to see what was happening behind her. No one around Cal seemed to know
what to do except make sure nothing happened to their paperwork. Cal wondered
how this place had so many of his personal documents on file. When he seemed to
arrive he was shuffled quickly to a giant filing room replete with rows of ten
story filing cabinets. A zombie muttered at Cal and plopped the contents of Cal’s
life in front of him and then pointed to the large sign overhead indicating all
the documents needed to be put in chronological order from earliest to last,
and to move to the left once that was done, and brains. It took Cal a whole day
to put his life in order. Although he wasn’t even sure if it had been a day
since there were no clocks and his iPhone was totally not working.
His files were very thorough and
included every moment of his sins. It had the first time he ogled a bare breast
to the 4 million times he masturbated. He thought that number seemed a little
high, but then he never really kept count. His file had everything in it and
Cal was stunned by how accurate the information was. He found it hard to
believe that the afterlife was so meticulous. If this was the afterlife.
Cal shifted his weight and
looked at his next in line number again, then looked up at the next number to
be called sign, which still showed “3”.
He looked to his right and saw Julia Roberts holding her own head under
the crook of her left arm while her right held onto her paperwork. Cal was a
little star struck. He loved Julia Roberts and thought she was such a wonderful
person. He couldn’t believe she was waiting in line so close to him. He wanted
to say something to her but then thought that she probably didn’t want to be
bothered. Plus he didn’t want to get poked again.
A scratching noise emanated from
a P.A. System speaker along the cavernous ceiling and the crackling of a record
started. Cal ducked instinctively to shield himself from the noise. Patsy Cline’s, “I Fall to Pieces”, started
playing over the speakers. The song was mildly muffled but still recognizable.
A subtle but audible groan moved through the long lines of people. The green
faced customer care tech seemed to smile, but it was hard to tell due to their misshapen
faces.
Cal was glad there was some
other sort of background noise instead of the freight train sounds he had grown
accustomed to. He almost started tapping his toes to the beat but then realized
that his toes seemed to be gone. He hadn’t actually noticed until that moment
that the front edges of his shoes were sheered off along with his toes. Didn’t
hurt a bit, he thought.
Patsy’s song stopped. There was
a pause. The needle scratched along the record and then she started singing
again, the same song. Cal realized that the song would never end. She’d be
falling to pieces for all eternity. Just like all of them in these lines.
“Ding!” went the overhead number
counter and the number 4 appeared. Cal looked back at his number, 1,322,641. He
sighed. Julia Roberts’ head rolled in front of him and he looked to his right
and saw her headless body fumbling around in the wavering shadows. He carefully shoved her head with his toe-less
foot back toward her flailing body. She didn’t even say thanks. Cal sighed again.
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