‘Hold on. I can’t find my glasses.’
I was blind without them.
‘You’re dead. You don’t need them.’
He had a point. But I was so used to wearing them. Felt naked without them.
‘You’re already naked.’
He could read my thoughts. That was discomforting. But he was the Grim Reaper, the transporter of souls.
‘You’re going to Hell. We’re late.’
Did he say Hell? What the hell? I didn’t deserve that.
‘That’s not possible! You’re mistaken!’
‘Oh really. And why’s that?’
He sounded irritated. His face was a dark hole covered with a black cloak. The faceless messenger of death.
‘I’m not a bad man. A few faults, but nothing worth going to Hell.’
‘Is your name Sandy Puri?’
‘Died of pancreatic cancer?’
‘Murdered your wife? Drowned her two dogs? Made it look like an accident.’
‘What?! No – no – NO!’
‘That’s what the list says. You’re going to Hell. Come on.’
Was he kidding? I didn’t have a wife. I never married. And I was allergic to dogs.
‘You’ve got the wrong guy!’
Did I have to say more? I knew he could read my thoughts. But something told me, he didn’t agree.
‘Stop wasting my time.’
If I wasn’t already dead, I would’ve died again. The shock would’ve stopped my heart. I had to convince him.
‘Can I see the list? My name? Please.’
He couldn’t refuse a dead man’s last request.
‘I can refuse. But this’ll never end.’
He showed me a name. I wanted to kiss him.
‘I spell my name S-A-N-D-I-E. Not S-A-N-D-Y. This is someone else.’
He flipped the pages and finally found me.
He’d taken the wrong Sandy to heaven. I was left with two choices. Hell or here.
Now, I’m a ghost, floating around, literally bored to death.