I have always viewed heaven as having plush lawns with beautiful flowers, sparkling water flowing out of rocks, and honey made by bees that do not sting flowing from everywhere. Oh! It’s the most beautiful imaginable sight. The people in heaven are all dressed in white and always smiling and there is always joy on their faces.
But hell is dissimilar for my mind's eye. Satan, the emperor of hell has a gigantic metal fork and there are several people in a fire basin, roasting as if they were barbecue meat. That fire basin is hotter than the furnace at Hwange Thermal Power Station, which can liquefy even steel. Surprisingly, the people inside seem to burn for eternity. Howling and wailing is the order of the day.
With these imaginations, I dreaded my demise because primarily, I did not know where I belonged – the frying saucepan or the flourishing lawns.
I lie in the sanatorium thinking of what will become of me in the dreaded event that I kiss mother earth goodbye. At one time I cough incessantly and a gulp of air for my breath becomes negligible.
“Oh, this could be the end of my earthly sojourn,” I sigh to myself.
Suddenly I hear a clutter of heels towards my direction, a troop of nurses rush into the ward. Some have tablets in hand and bottles of water while others have syringes and drips. They come to my aid and I regain my breath.
The touch of their hands is what the doctor ordered. I last had such a soothing touch quiet some time ago because the one I had called my wife had forsaken me when my health deteriorated. She was confident that I was only waiting for doomsday. So because of the touch, I feel my loins tighten and my bottom power livening.
“Had I a chance to live again, I would throw a nurse into my kitchen and her amazing touch would be an everyday meal,” I think to myself.
But my skeletal vestiges can hardly move and I am now reduced to a zombie. I am no longer an energetic midfield magician that I used to be during my days. The knowledge that I was once a versatile sportsperson makes me want to leap from the hospital bed but I feel I have no bone marrow left in me. My limbs are rubbery.
The dosage of pills and medical concoction that the nurses have administered to me after that insistent coughing bout has done the trick on me. I now feel groggy and I battle to keep my eyelids open. Soon, I retire to the illustration of death.
I am in another world where I have united with my friends. Itai was one of them. I remember weeping uncontrollably when I heard the news of his departure.
“Ah, welcome Simba. It has been long since we last met. But Simba, you touched my heart with the way you cried when I left you on earth. I thought you would not depart,” my friend Itai said.
“Itai, what are you saying and what is it you are doing here? What’s this place called anyway?” I ask inquisitively.
“My dear, this is not Gokwe or Ganyungu. It is the waiting room?
Waiting room! What are we waiting for?
“To go to heaven.”
Heaven. Ahh, that sounds even better than the amazing touch of my nurse in the sanatorium.
“Or hell. Come; peep through.”
I am summoned to a small window, which Itai said led to the reception to hell. It was immaculate and I see her - Petty my estranged wife. She is among a bevy of beauties. I also recognize others; Cheryl and Beauty my former schoolmates, they are more beautiful and attractive now. Another former lover of mine is there, Tarry. The only heartbreak I had in my life was because of this one and I still do not know why she ditched me.
I remember the first day we had met. A sports function held in a farming town about 80 kilos from Harare. It was love at first sight and the rest is history. I am tempted to call out her name.
“Ta…” I almost shout her name to draw her attention.
Itai nudges at me and I am abruptly silenced.
If you call her, you will be dragged to Satan’s den. These are only meant to attract those who have not decided their destiny like me.
Further in the expansive reception, sin is the order. There are many other people, male and female, some half-dressed. At one corner, a pair is having sex and the man is groaning with satisfaction. At another corner lesbians are pleasuring one another seriously while another lady is doing a blowjob on a man.
There is also a corner where drunkards are having fun. From somewhere, music of all kinds is blaring – Rumba, Soul, Reggae, Sungura, and R&B. My favourite Lion lager is also there.
Itai, having seen my amazement, explains to me that the activities in that auditorium are not limited.
“In there, you do whatever you want but – as I have already warned you – it is the gateway to hell.”
Despite Itai’s explanations, Tarry’s presence there keeps me wanting to see her and mend my once broken heart. Besides the events in that room are irresistible.
But the determination by Itai to keep me away from that window cannot be overstressed. He quickly shoves me to another opening where he said was the opening to Heaven but things there are not as bright as that of Satan’s reception.
It is seemingly boring and there is no much activity. There are only a handful of people all looking poor and sad. The music there is serene and sorrowful. It reminds one of death.
“That is not my place,” I break free from Itai and scuttle back to the hive of activity.
Itai’s pleas to make me return to him hit a brick wall. I am determined to go and see Tarry again and down my favourite lager at least for the last time.
I break into a trot and violently push into the huge auditorium where I am welcomed with cheers and ululation. The other friends of mine quickly haul me to an abacus and purchase for me some beers.
I draw pleasure from my beers until I am merry. I hunt for Tarry amid the revelers and there she was with another hunk tucking his hands on her bosom and crotch. I am stung by jealous and I hurl an empty bottle at the hunk leaving him clutching his face in agony.
I grab Tarry by the neck into a dark corner and tear open her brassiere leaving two mounds of fleshy tissue bare. I salivate. My manhood slowly awakens from hibernation. I feel that adolescent bravado within me as I reach for her revealing kilt. Tarry has already given in to what is about to transpire and she follows the deluge.
At the crescendo of getting into our birthday suits, a clap of hands – as if someone has been watching a bravura display of talent – is heard and a voice accompanies it.
“Showtime is over. Listen up, everybody. I am now in charge.” I turn around to lock my eyes onto Satan. Grim-looking as if he has never been jolly in his lifetime. He is wielding that gigantic metallic fork in hand. My hair stands at his sight.
“Welcome to hell. I will call your names one by one. Once your name is called, I want you here in double time,” commands Satan.
Having known what double-time means from my days at the police training school I am like a reed in a stream. I feel rivulets of sweat running down my agitated face.
My name was called first.
“But I have just come in,” I protested.
A slap on my face sent me reeling on the ground.
“I said I am now in charge here. Who are you to challenge my decision,” asked Satan?
I am pushed into a huge crater of fire where there is a ball of fire and people down there are wailing from the melting temperatures in it. I can hear Satan laughing scornfully at me as I descend into the ditch.
It is damn hot. I scream, scream and scream.
People dressed all in white are around me; all in quietness. One of them is wiping off sweat from my temple. I am soaked to the borne.
“He is awake,” a voice breaks the silence.
I am equally amazed. I am not dead, neither am I in hell. But I am still on my hospital bed and still under the weather.
“That was close,” I think to myself.
I remember a biblical verse, which my pastor used to preach about.
“Enter ye through the narrow gate; for the wide and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and many enter through this gate.”
Author’s note: I am not being blasphemous please, it’s a pure work of creativity immersed in imaginations but also a lesson to those who love things of the flesh. In life, we get an opportunity to repent but we always opt for the partying lot. Where do you fit the reader?
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