Psychopath

Chapter 2

Journal entry 35
   I don’t trust those who will go to hell. I trust those who have gone through hell and survived. I trust them because, they can give the advice to survive life as someone who will always be different. Those who are going to hell, can only guess.

                                                                                                *

   Yeah, I’m dead. I saw it happen. As I slowly rose from my body, I could clearly see my poisoned blood leak from the hole in my head, like sap from a tree tap. I looked at my killer, and saw him smile at my dead body. Then he disappeared into thin air, leaving behind a thin wisp of smoke. To be entirely honest, it didn’t blow my mind very much, well not as much as that bullet did. Don’t get me wrong, seeing a guy disappear into smoke was weird, but not as weird as me rising into the sky while watching my dead body below me.
  
   As I rise into the sky, it seems to get brighter, until it’s a piercing white light that shines through no matter how hard I close my eyes. And just as suddenly as the light was there, it was gone. I open my eyes, and didn’t see what I was expecting. I was expecting perhaps a big, fluffy cloud, or a more reasonable, fiery landscape. Hey, if anyone was going to go to hell, it would be the guy who enjoyed killing other people. But I didn’t see either of them.
  
   Instead I saw an office waiting room. Filled with bored looking people sitting down on a chair reading magazines. These were all clearly people who had died as well. A lot were just so old that their hearts had stopped. Others had less obvious ways of how they died, perhaps by illness or disease. There were a few kids sitting around, holding stuffed toys, and some teenagers who looked like they had expected this. Then there were the people with obvious deaths, some had organs hanging out, some had slit wrists, others had crushed body parts. There was one kid who looked to be about five years old, and was going around asking the somewhat normal looking adults if they knew where his mummy was. My guess is that he was hit by a car, because his entire left side looked like it was crushed, and his leg was snapped. Poor kid.
  
   I waited for what seemed like a few weeks. There weren’t any clocks around the room, and when I went to the front desk to ask how it had been, she just simply said with a creepy fake smile, “Time works differently where we are.” “And where are we?” “Someone will see you soon, go sit down,” What a way to avoid a question… Well since time was different here, I could have waited literal weeks. I tried talking to some people, but most didn’t want to talk to the teen who had the bullet hole in his head.

“Nathan Rathbone,” someone called out from the room. I pulled my head out of the medieval torture devices magazine I was reading, and looked towards whoever had called my name. She was pretty, blonde, subtle makeup, and wearing a standard uniform. “Nathan Rathbone? Is Nathan Rathbone here?” she called again.

“That’s me!” I called out, once I realized that I was Nathan Rathbone. I stood up, and walked towards the smiling woman, who was gesturing for me to follow her. She turned and started walking, but before I left the room, I turned back to face the other dead souls. “Later guys! Beryl, when I heard your story, about your twenty-nine cats, I wanted to die… again. Frankie, I love your hat man. And little Timmy, your mum will show up soon, I promise,” little Timmy was the kid who was going around asking for his mummy. And with that final message to my dead fellows, I turned and followed the woman.
 
   She led me down a long corridor with many doors on each side. Taxidermist, lost child service, dead population management, soul rehabilitation, pets, famous deaths, etc. Eventually we stopped at a door labeled “Special cases” I’m a special case huh? Guess they couldn’t decide what my immortal punishment should be. She opened the door, and I walked inside. It was a spacious room, with multiple paintings on the walls. There was a bookshelf filled with thick books, with a pretty flower vase on top. In the middle of the room there was a heavy looking oak desk, and a man in his early twenties sitting in an office chair.