What Happens Next

Written from prison during the Covid era

"Is anyone there?" A young man shouted in complete darkness. Nobody responded.

"I have the most amazing story," he continued. "So if anyone can hear me, just let me talk." He paused. There was a beautiful sensation coursing through every molecule of his being. It was the happiest and most confident he ever felt, despite being in complete darkness and silence. Truthfully, he did not care if anyone actually could hear him. There is power in telling a story, and this moment could not be wasted.

"I will be gone soon, I can feel it," the storyteller resumed with a breath. "I don't know how, but I know as sure as I'm speaking these words that I'm on my way to something better." He took one more pause to enjoy the perfect silence.

"While it's still fresh in my mind, I'll start with the first thing I remember."

An overwhelming sense of confusion and shock suddenly woke me up, if it makes sense to even call it an awakening. I found myself standing before a large desk with a tall, well-dressed old man sitting behind it, eyeing me impatiently.

"Sir," he glared at me, "if you could be so kind as to give me your full attention." The man stared down at a large book. There was an awkward pause that filled itself with the dull roar of unknown people behind me talking amongst themselves. I caught a glimpse of a nameplate on the desk. As I read the name, the words involuntarily came out of my mouth.

"Saint Peter."

"Here we go," the old saint continued, holding his finger over some tiny point on the page. He met my gaze over the rim of his glasses. "It's a no." With that brief utterance I was quickly escorted down a hall and into an elevator. The door closed behind me and I was alone inside a dimly lit space. Immediately I turned around to bang on the door.

The door opened into a completely new room. In a space about the size of a franchise restaurant were maybe twenty people engaged in trivial chit-chat. There were a few playing a strange game with pieces of trash on the floor. All the furniture was old and dingy, and consistent with depressed theme there was a noticeable soft buzzing noise coming from nowhere in particular. As I continued to familiarize myself, a short man limped over to me and offered an outstretched greasy hand. I reflexively shook it while holding back a shudder at its clammy texture.

"Hey new guy, I-I'm Frog," he said. "B-before you get settled in it is m-my job to tell you a few things."

The unkempt greeter produced a yellowish packet of paper. "If you want to appeal your judgment, write your c-c-case on this. It's g-gonna seem like a long time while you wait. T-time is not the same here, and you will f-find that out. Get busy doing something and d-don't be st-stupid. Bad things happen to the troublemakers."

"My case?" I asked, once again completely lost. "Where am I? What's going on?" Frog stared back at me cross-eyed as he clearly didn't want to break the news.

"I'm afraid you're st-stuck in Hell. Let th-that sink in—"

"Why?" I interrupted.

"I-I don't know. I don't know your life. There are ways to find out b-but I can't talk about it. My j-job is done now so b-be on your way." The little guy hunched over sheepishly and shuffled away.

"Poor thing," I muttered to myself. I took a seat at the nearest chair, which felt a little damp. The packet in my hand was just blank paper with no instructions. There was a ballpoint pen cartridge on the floor, but I had no idea what to write.

"This is bizarre," I thought to myself. "What am I right now?" I can think and I have a language, but I don't know how I got to that point. To say I have no memories wouldn't be quite accurate. I know what a phone is and I can picture what it looks like, but I have no memory of ever using one. It's as if the entire transcript of my life had been heavily redacted to exclude any identifying details.

I looked around at the other people sitting around me. There were two men having a loud argument across the room from me. They both seemed so determined to make their point, yet neither one was willing to concede. I wanted them to reach a conclusion, yet as I stared at them longer I began to tune out their words and simply watched them. They kept smiling. This was their entertainment.

I thought about sailing. The image of a vast ocean paired with sounds of seagulls and crashing waves filled me with a feeling of hopeful wonder that my actual environment could not provide. Setting sail and taking those breaths of salty air must be such a rush, I thought, and as I continued the fantasy I realized the voyage must have a destination. Somewhere was a distant land with something new, full of people to meet. Then, of course, the sailor must return to the sea. I took delight in picturing this man's journeys. It felt like the perfect meaning of the word adventure. I considered that perhaps I had the same thing in this afterlife, if only I could find a way to see it.

Before I even began writing, someone tapped me on the shoulder. A thin, unshaven man with wide-open eyes leaned in towards me.

"Ay yo playboy, watchu workin' on?" he asked me

"I want to write an appeal to get to Heaven instead, but I don't know anything about my life."

"Yeah, that's a problem now innit," the guy said with an annoying smirk. "First you gots to axe permission."

He reached into his back pocket and produced a greasy crumpled paper. "Fill this puppy out and drop it down yonder hallway in da mailbox."

"Thanks for the tip," I said. "And you are?"

"They calls me Zero, like as in Zero Drama."

"And how long until I get permission?" I asked.

"Didn't nobody tell you not to ask about time? You so obvious that you're still fresh. Ain't no day or night or outside world, bro. We all just wait 'cuz that's all there is to do, so what difference do it make?" With that, Zero turned away and stared off into the distance.

I opened my packet and found a space to be alone. I swept up all the dirt and trash with a wad of paper and I picked up something like a ping-pong ball. For what seemed like hours I bounced it against the wall. When I couldn't possibly throw it anymore, I sat down and really took in the space of the room. My head was spinning over this whole appeal process. I had dropped off the permission request on the walk over to this room, and I couldn't wait to get a response. No matter what I did, I just couldn't forget it and relax. The soft buzzing noise was still there. I wanted to paint something big on the wall. Something like a huge face screaming in rage. Alas, I had no paint. I laid on my back wishing I could sleep.

Sleep never came. The closest I could get was a meditative state that separated me from the concept of time. This went back and forth: I bounced the ball then laid back down back and forth so many times I knew a response had to be coming soon. I kept waiting and waiting until finally a neatly folded paper blew into the room with a hot breeze.

I picked it up and read it:

"You may file an appeal."

---

At the edge of the beach there was a refreshment stand called the Sand Dollar. It was the kind of place that made a beach day complete. On Tuesdays, Kyle liked to go there after surfing and have a pineapple juice with some fries. It was one of those perfect Tuesdays when Kyle, blissed out from catching waves and a sugar high, decided to drop a quarter into his favorite arcade game, Pac-Man.

To Kyle, Pac-Man was more than just a game. From the many hours he spent playing, Kyle believed that the essential truths of the universe could be distilled in the mastery of this pastime. The unique thing about this mastery, as he saw it, is that most of the skill is developed in the subconscious mind. By running through the same maze over and over, your instincts tell you where to go and how the ghosts will try to catch you. On the other hand, though, focusing on a high score too much will cause failure. Kyle saw the beauty in this balance and enjoyed walking that line for as many levels as he could. When the game was finally over, it always reminded him of Sisyphus pushing the boulder up a hill for eternity, never concluding, always forced back to level one. With a smirk to himself, Kyle wondered if Sisyphus had a high score.

After staring at the game-over screen for a minute, Kyle fumbled in his pocket for another quarter. Just as he wrapped his fingers around one, his attention diverted to a ruckus behind him. Some girl in her late teens or early twenties was yelling at a guy while stepping backward. Kyle turned around to watch this scene. She looked pretty worked up. There were a couple shimmering lines beneath her eyes from where tears ran down her face. Her full attention was fixed on the guy she was yelling at, some bald dude with a bunch of piercings standing by the road with a skateboard. She was really letting him have it too. Curses flew out of her mouth as she went on listing her favorite pet peeves about this guy and her low opinion of the other woman in his life.

All the while she vented across the length of a football field, this girl continued to aimlessly step backward until she tripped and landed on Kyle's surfboard. With a loud crack, the board snapped in half.

The young woman's face turned pale white as she looked down to see what she did. Kyle shared her feeling of shock as he stared back at her in silence. The sound of screeching tires cut through the air as the skateboarder pulled off in a Jeep.

"He seems like a real winner," Kyle chimed in sarcastically.

"Oh my god, dude, I'm so sorry I just broke your surfboard!"

"You gotta watch where you're going."

"Dude, you can totally hit me if you want. I deserve it."

"Calm down. Take a breath," Kyle spoke slowly, hoping this girl wouldn't start yelling again. "Who are you?"

"I'm Melissa. I live literally two minutes away from here, and like, you just caught me in the middle of some stupid fight. I swear I'm not some crazy girl who goes around like this all the time."

"All right, if you say so." Kyle smirked a little because he was entertained. "We can worry about my surfboard later."

"Honest to god, I will get you a new one."

"Later," Kyle cut her off, partly because he didn't want Melissa feeling worse than she already did, but mostly because he didn't want another person trying to sell him a dream. He started walking toward the road and motioned for his new friend to follow.

---

I could not stand to be in that room any longer. Now that I could begin my appeal, my energy became entirely focused on getting it done. I left the empty room and began walking through hallways, all the while searching for another pen in the thin layer of garbage that coated the floor.

Once I had what I needed to begin writing, I sat down on a chair in a noisy room, which instead of being damp was a tad bit sticky. The guy in the chair next to me acknowledged me slightly, so I gave him a slight nod of my head in return.

"What's up, man," I said, hoping this denizen would be relatively normal. He sat there, hunchbacked, wearing a pair of broken glasses, but he had an innocent look about him that invited optimism.

My optimism faded though, because this man seemed to be lost in his own mind. He looked up and spoke, and I assumed it was to me.

"Not yet," he said.

"Not what yet?" I replied. "Are you talking to me?"

"Details. You need the details from upstairs before you start. How do you defend yourself when you don't know who you are?" The man turned toward me and squinted.

"How do I get that?" I asked, deciding not to pry any further.

"Another request." He produced another folded paper and handed it to me.

"Yeah, that's wonderful," I said. "And the waiting continues. How do you deal with it? Do you do anything for fun?"

"Nothing to do. I sit with myself. All I have." With that comment, the broken glasses guy reached over and touched my forehead with his thumb. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm sharing my books."

Before I could ask what he was talking about, I could feel my mind filling up with something. At first, it felt like déjà vu, but then I could sense new memories. Unfortunately, they weren't my life's memories. They were memories of books.

"Next time you get bored, visit the library of mind." The guy smiled weirdly and pushed his glasses into place.

"Cool," I said skeptically. "Let me go drop off this request then." I got up and went to the mailbox.

As I returned to a seat, I began probing at these troves of memory. The more I concentrated, the more details I could recall about different stories. It kept me at peace for a while. Even though these memories were irrelevant to me, they were something. And of course, something is better than nothing. I came into this place lost and confused and now I had these stories to hold me down like an anchor.

I remained in my chair while other inhabitants of the realm came and went. Easily I tuned them out as a never-ending train of thought carried me along what was once a wasteland. I was, for the moment, not worried about time. Then I felt an envelope in my hand.

---

The next Tuesday, Kyle sat in the driver's seat of an old pickup truck outside the Sand Dollar. Without a surfboard he felt like a bum killing time by the shore. Instead of getting something to eat, he decided to sulk in the car, listening to an old cassette tape. He didn't deserve pineapple juice or fries for just driving around. Kyle snapped out of his reverie as someone popped up outside the passenger window and knocked on the glass. To his surprise, it was Melissa holding a new surfboard. Kyle rolled the window down.

"You know I gave you my number so you could call, not scare me half to death," Kyle shouted over the stereo as Melissa smiled back. "Put the board in the trunk and hop in." Melissa closed the door behind her as she sat down.

"I broke my phone after I met you last week, so I lost your number."

"So you've been hanging around the Sand Dollar with a surfboard in case I came back?"

"Oh my god, you're such a nerd! No, Jerry said you come here every Tuesday by yourself," Melissa replied, laughing.

"What would we do without Jerry... I'll be sure to put a twenty in the tip jar next time," Kyle reached over to fast-forward past "Need You Tonight" on the cassette.

"Is that seriously a cassette tape?" Melissa asked in a mocking tone.

"I bought it at a thrift shop for a quarter. It's the album Kick by INXS. I skip this song though. It's on the radio too much."

"Oh, and I guess you're too cool for that?"

"Hey, it's too embedded in pop culture. It feels like a manufactured experience. I want it to be about sitting in the car chilling, not some corporate playlist."

Melissa stared back at Kyle, unsure what to think about his musical opinion.

"You know what else I think every time I listen to this tape?" Kyle went on, ignoring the judgmental gaze. "There's a song called 'A New Sensation,' and it sounds like he's saying 'noose sensation.' The guy actually died from autoerotic asphyxiation later on, so I wonder if it was intentional."

"Auto... what?" Melissa asked, looking even more puzzled.

"He liked to choke himself while... you know."

"Oh wow, gross." Melissa reached out and ejected the tape from the dashboard. "I'm confiscating this. You've listened to it enough."

Kyle couldn't think of anything to say in response. He just gave Melissa a look that quickly turned into a smile. She was funny, and he just realized he liked her.

"Do you like art?" Kyle asked, brushing aside the incident of petty theft.

"Like, what kind of art?"

"Paintings, photography, sculpture... you know, the stuff everyone thinks of when they hear art."

"I guess. Why?"

"I'm going to an art show tomorrow with a few of my paintings. You should come."

Melissa's eyes looked back as if they were laughing.

---

As I turned my attention to the envelope I slowly got a feel for how much paper was inside. The stack of off-white documents was covered in tiny cryptic notes, and each note cited a day and time in my life. They went from day to time to violation number. The number of different violations was at least in the tens of thousands.

I sat and stared at the mountain of evidence against my soul and began to lose focus. The project was just so overwhelming, especially since I didn't have any memory of creating the evidence. Just as my mind started seriously drifting, there was someone standing behind me with huge eyes wide open.

"Oh, looks like we got a good one here," the man interjected. "Prob'ly look like a whole mess o' nonsense to ya, don't it?"

I turned around cautiously to get a look at this guy. He looked either aged or severely weathered, with a leathery bald head and a jittery posture. In one hand he held a black wooden cane covered with scratch marks.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I like to call me Dojo. It's a lil' something I made up so people know what time it is when they deal with me." As he made his introduction, his hands continued to shake and randomly scratch at his neck.

"Now I'm 'bout to tell ya somethin' I guarantee you ain't thought of," he continued. "I saw you come in and ain't nobody took no time to show you round and give the basic needs for nothin'. You bring that up on paper, then you got 'em fixed."

This Dojo character had piqued my interest. Immediately, I thought there might be a way to discover who I am without all the red tape. I leaned in closer to ask if this was possible. However, as I leaned, Dojo became suspicious and grew hostile.

"Hold up now, boy," he called out in defense. "You a spy, ain't ya?"

"No, I'm trying to listen," I replied.

"They sendin' all kind o' spies to watch me," he rambled under his breath. Dojo's eyes darted around as he became completely paranoid.

Before I could speak another word, the stranger who had appeared so suddenly began to hobble away, ranting and raving to himself. Just after he turned a corner beyond my line of sight, I heard him let out a blood-curdling scream that chilled me to the bone. I got up to see what happened, but there was nothing around the corner.

While I was gathering my papers from where I dropped them, I noticed a large, heavyset man in the other corner of the room. I didn't see him before because he was slumped against a wall hiding beneath a dark shadow. I felt a jolt as I became aware of his presence.

The man in the shadow made no indication that he could see me approaching. If he was asleep, I wanted to find out how he was doing. I missed sleep so badly. I waved in his face, but he didn't even budge.

"Hey, man! You awake?" I yelled out the question in hopes that I could learn something, but at the same time I feared he might be another weirdo.

“I crouched down to get a better look at him. From this angle I could see the man’s eyes were open very slightly. I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or not.

‘Who told you to bring that GARBAGE over to me?’ The man spoke emphatically, then paused to take a deep breath of the stale air.

‘I just noticed you here. I didn’t come to bring you anything.’ My voice sounded quiet in response. I still didn’t know what to expect.

‘Well don’t. I told you those papers are GARBAGE like everything else in here. If you were thinkin’ about analyzing it, you can’t. They put an end to that long before you were even born.’

‘So then what do I write on my appeal?’

‘FORGET the appeal. The appeal is a JOKE!’ Now the man’s eyes were fully open, and he stared at me without any pretense of bedside manner. ‘You are DEAD and there is nothing to answer for. Play their crooked game if you wish, or follow me to the truth.’

I watched in awe as the man got up and walked up to the adjacent wall. He pounded on it with his fist and revealed a giant hole. ‘I’m a troublemaker. I’m going here one way or another. If you want my HELP, I suggest you follow me.’

With that ominous invitation, he stepped into the dark passageway. I felt cold air coming from the direction of the opening. As he walked through, I felt nervous. On the one hand, I wanted answers, but I feared the other side of the wall. Not wanting to miss my chance, I stepped across the threshold.

---

Kyle sat in his living room lost in thought. A buzzing noise from the coffee table snapped him out of his reverie. His cell phone lit up to display that the venue was calling, presumably to talk about the art show.

“Hello,” Kyle answered, not quite sure why the call was coming in.

“Hey Kyle, it’s Wendy with the gallery,” the voice from the other end began. “So we have a change of plans tonight, and the show is going another direction with your exhibit.”

“Another direction?” Kyle already knew what that meant; the question was just a knee-jerk reaction.

“We had some new submissions at the last minute that we felt are a better match for tonight’s theme,” Wendy politely explained. “You can come by any time next week to pick up your art, and please stay in touch—we might use you for the next one.”

“Okay, Wendy. I’ll call you back.” As Kyle wilted back in frustration, there was a knock at the door. Melissa had arrived, of course.

“Come in, Melissa, it’s open!”

“Hey you,” Melissa said as she popped in through the doorway, revealing her bright pink hair.

“I hope you didn’t dye your hair just for the art show,” Kyle said in a gloomy tone.

“Oh yeah? Why not? I think it’s kinda cool for an art scene,” she said with a quizzical smile.

“No, it would have been great. Except we’re not going. They just bumped me from the venue.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Melissa chimed in, sounding genuinely concerned. “I got a better idea. Spray paint.”

“What?”

“I keep spray paint in my car. I know a good spot we can do some street art. It can be like a way for you to create something fresh, and a ton of people are gonna walk by and see it. The best part is you won’t have to deal with those art snobs.”

Instead of laughing, Kyle took a moment to entertain this zany proposal. His grumpy mood washed away as a smile was reborn across his face.

“Yeah, what the hell,” Kyle replied. “Let’s go.”

---

The other side of the wall was pitch black. After taking two steps, I could feel myself falling into an abyss. Had I not already been dead, it would have been enough to kill me before I hit the ground. There was no ground, though, and the fall ended abruptly as I felt myself sitting on a flat stone surface. A moment later, there was a snapping noise, and I could see where I was. The dull buzzing noise resumed. The room was brightly lit with almost nothing to look at. Against one side of the wall was a rusty metal bench, the only furniture in the small enclosure. The bench was a tiny scratched mirror. Immediately, a feeling of dread overwhelmed me. I had no idea what to do or if I would ever get out. The man who led me through the wall was gone. I paced around the room as a feeling of defeat began to sink in. I stopped at my distorted image in the mirror, imagining the reflection to be another room next to mine. Eventually, I gave up and sat down on the floor.

Sitting with my eyes closed, I heard a faint tapping. My thoughts became focused as I tuned in to this sound. Somehow I knew it was Morse Code. Perhaps I remembered it from the books placed inside my mind. My spirit was instantly lifted as I deciphered the message.

“Tap back if you understand. Tap back if you understand. Tap back if you understand.” Finally understanding, I tapped back a message of my own.

“Who are you?” I asked the messenger. For a moment there was silence, until finally there was a reply.

“Most people call me Island. We met before you followed me into this hole. I’m surprised you came.”

“I’m losing my mind. What is this place?” I tapped back.

“If you were lucky, you never would have found out. MISERABLE place down here. But it does teach you to live with your own thoughts. And I can tell you what you need to know.”

“My stack of worthless papers are gone, if that matters at all.”

“I TOLD you already, their game can’t be won.” Island tapped louder to emphasize his point. “Work smarter, not harder.”

“Yeah, and how do I do that?”

“Slow down. I’ve been here since the beginning, which means I know some history. Going to Heaven ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. The difference between here and there is simple. Here, you have the end result of immortality. You’re bored and miserable. There, you have eternal bliss. It’s amazing at first, but then your spirit just dissolves. A life of meaning requires action! There is nothing without the rising and falling of everything within nature. Two thousand years ago, the living world threw that away for a dream that we know is a nightmare.”

“What happened to everyone’s soul before that?” I asked, hopeful there may be an alternative.

“They were free,” Island paused, and I waited. “Souls find their own way. They still can.”

I had what I needed right there. I knew who I was, even if I couldn’t remember my most recent life. Without delay, I rose to my feet and walked through the wall. Before I checked out, I wanted to say goodbye to Saint Peter.

---

It was a perfect day for surfing. The crystal water formed one giant curl after another. Kyle found himself lost in this rhythm. For a short thrilling moment, every wave that carried him became a shimmering tunnel. That joy was Kyle’s connection to the ocean, for in surfing he could feel his heart rise in sync with the waves. That day, Kyle came to put the rest of the world on hold. He left his phone at home, wore no watch, and made no plans whatsoever. The ocean would speak to him, and they talked all day.

By the time the sun began to set, Kyle’s mind was quiet. His thoughts were done getting tossed around by the surf. Just as he had hoped, the day ended in a Zen calm. As the red-orange sky spilled over every drop of the sea, Kyle was brought back to his own surface. He looked up to admire all those colors before they faded into night.

---

Saint Peter did not look amused. He stared at me with an expression of anger and exasperation. Then, without looking down, he slammed his open palm on his desk, creating a very loud slap. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead before he spoke.

“Since you are here,” the saint began slowly, “you know I cannot stop you.” I stared back at him, showing no reaction to his speech. “However, I must caution you, this realm exists for a purpose. It may not be natural, but you may choose to see it as salvation. Do you really want to float back and forth forever?”

“Yeah, Pete, I think I’ll be all right.” I smiled and gave a wave goodbye. “If you don’t mind, I’m in need of some sleep that is long overdue.”

I closed my eyes with complete confidence that I would open them somewhere else. I felt myself surrendering to the flow of my spirit. It was eager to move on. Quickly, I felt something I missed so dearly. Sleep.

---

As the story came to an end, the man telling it felt renewed in the quiet darkness that surrounded him. The long moment that followed was painless. In the distance, he saw a speck of light, and it grew until its warmth surrounded him. He jumped in to catch another wave.