Cosmic Joke
by Phil Temples
Bob Butler
felt an intense pain in his temple, almost as
though someone had kicked him in the head. One
moment he was walking his German Shepard in the
park. The next moment, Butler’s world grayed
out; time lost all meaning. The pain in his head
was gone now. Butler felt like he was floating in
nothingness—not fully aware of what was
happening to his body, yet still conscious in
some sense of the word. A serene yellow-gold
shimmering glow surrounded what seemed to be.
For Susan
Sheraton, the last moment of her existence on
earth was a terrifying realization that the bus
in front of her was out of control and headed
right for her and her bicycle. The bus loomed
large in front of Sheraton. Time seemed to fold
in on itself like some cosmic accordion playing
her swan song. At some point there must have been
physical contact; she wasn’t sure. The panic
gave way to a peaceful sort of pinkish-white calm.
The bus no longer occupied Sheraton’s
thoughts. Instead, she felt herself carried along
at a gentle pace to—something.
Frank
Gartenhaus’ dream had been horrifying. He
had fallen out of an open window from a building
of great height. He remembered tumbling head over
heels. At one point the ground receded from view,
as though his fall would continue forever. He had
experienced this dream before. It almost always
ended in his waking up in a cold sweat. Instead,
however, the dream continued with his being
somewhere else. It was warm and wet here, a
subterranean space like a cavern, or the womb. He
felt some sort of gentle motion pulling him
towards some purpose. It was not altogether
unpleasant. Gartenhaus was in no hurry to wake up.
Three
conscious entities drifted along, only semi-aware
of their existence. Three former human beings—now
Spirit Entities—were about to experience the
first of many surprising revelations about the
afterlife. Their bibles, torahs, their belief
systems had never prepared them for this.
Up ahead
through the mist, through the gentle, swaying
current and eddies they perceived an odd monument:
a brightly-colored red-and-yellow MacDonald’s
restaurant sitting underneath two enormous golden
arches. The arches rose so high they disappeared
into the heavens.
Below it, a
sign flashed its message incessantly: “Over
60 Billion Sold”. The Spirits thought this a
strange greeting, indeed.
“Just
kidding,” the Universe said, via the sign.
“It’s really only 52 Billion.”
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