by Joni Abilene


First all the people said he won’t make it to Heaven. And I agreed. Yes, yes, I nodded, he won’t make it to Heaven. Then all the people said she won’t make it to Heaven. Again I agreed. Yes, yes, she won’t make it to Heaven. Then all the people said they won’t make it to Heaven. Blindly, I agreed once again. Yes, yes, they won’t make it to Heaven. Then out of nowhere all the people began pointing at me and said you won’t make it to Heaven.

Scared, I asked, “Why?”

No one had a good answer. I wandered out on my own.

For the remainder of my days I walked with head held low and thoughts to myself. Why? Why? I questioned.

Then one day I died.

I was up on a mount, looking down, and I could see all the people pointing at each other saying him, her, they . . .

I turned to a set of gates. The sign said: “The Moon.” It looked marvelous beyond, but I couldn’t get over the fact that all the people had been correct: I hadn’t made it to Heaven.

A man came to unlock the gate. “Why so glum?” he asked.

“Because I didn’t make it,” I replied.

“Like hell you didn’t.” He pointed to another set of gates further on down the cloud and laughed. A sign said Heaven in wonderful gold letters, though the space beyond the entryway was dark and morose. “That’s what they want, and they can have it. But this is the real place right here.”

I was tentative. “So you mean, I made it? To the eternal paradise? And everyone was wrong?”

“Yep. I was sick to death of them folks coming up here, telling me who I could and couldn’t let inside. Him, her, they . . . All them people was gonna ruin it! So, I made an extra spot—the kind they kept talking about—and they can spend forever fighting over who gets in.” He rubbed his hands together with a flourish.

“Oh,” I said, relieved. “The Moon” really did look like a much better place to spend an eternity in than Heaven.

Then we went in and had hot fudge sundaes and watched the entire first season of Monty Python.

The End.