Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (Jalex)

Eight - Dead and Gone

I’d never been sure what I believed about the afterlife. Both my parents were born and raised Christians, yet the only times I’d ever visited a church in my life were every year’s Christmas Eve; children’s service, we sang a shit load of carols and donated presents. I was pretty sure that wasn’t what went on a normal mass, not that I’d actually know.

Due to not being raised religious, I’d been left to develop my own views on God and what the fuck happens after you die. Something that I’d spectacularly failed at.

My beliefs about God were undetermined, obscure, and elusive, even to me. I’d never taken to the idea that there was some all-mighty Holy Spirit above pulling the world’s puppet strings and presiding over every entities actions. That theory raised the typical, over-asked question; why would God condemn bad things unto good people? It didn’t make any sense, and I guess that I was a non-believer.

Still, the suggestion that the world was governed by random chaos and designless anarchy was disconcerting, but it was factual and material and something I could put my faith in. Over thinking the argument always left me with more questions than answers, so I’d dropped trying to figure out where my beliefs lay long ago.

Since I’d never worshiped God and devoted all of my undiluted love to Jesus, as far as I knew, according to most religions, I was on the highway to hell. Speaking of, I found the idea that declining to regularly visit Church each Sunday and pray every passing second had you damned straight to hell absurd. If there was a God, I liked to think he was decent enough to determine people’s final destinations based on how they lived their lives, and not what religion they followed.

If you asked the Buddhists – or Muslims, maybe – I’d probably get reincarnated as a weak fruit fly with a lifespan of two point five days and achieve enlightenment about the same time the sun exploded. None of the religions favored my life style or existence, so I hoped they were wrong.

On the contrary, I knew exactly what I wished would happen after I died.

Heaven never sounded particularly appealing to me. Sure, it’s the supposed land of plenty where all your darkest desires and innermost dreams come true. My perfect world would probably include endless  burritos and CDs, private daily Blink shows where Green Day and Fall Out Boy opened, every guitar I’d ever lusted after in my possession, and half naked male strippers at my disposable. Which, if I thought about it, would also get me shoved into Hell. 

But what would you do for all of eternity in a flawless wonderland? To be honest, Heaven just sounded downright boring.

I’d rather die and be done. Just drop dead, life and energy fusing back into the atmosphere, igniting new stars and shocking new worlds to life. I wanted death to be the end. No afterlife. Blackness. Nothing.

I was unable to even see what other people found comforting about Heaven and Hell or reincarnation. Maybe they needed to trust that the evil in our world would be punished, and the good would be rewarded. But shouldn’t just knowing that you’re a decent person and making others happy be enough of an incentive?

Or, perhaps they took stole peace in the so called fact that everything had a higher purpose. That God had his master plan for everybody, everything you did had this profound effect, everything was precisely planned and perfected to lead you to your destiny. Then you die, and get judged on whether or not you did your shit correctly, and are sent off to exhaust forever above or below.

I took most of that to be true. Of course the decisions and actions you make matter – they are what make up your life and determine your tomorrow. But at the same time, I, a collection of cells and chromosomes and an anatomical decision declaring brain, was the one proclaiming that I was having Cookie Crisp for lunch and putting off my studying for my History test. Not some holy entity.