I’m dead. Yet, I’m still alive. I am reincarnated into a tree.
I was human once, just like you. Okay, maybe not just like you, but human nonetheless. I died young, at least in my eyes, and well, let’s face it, I could’ve done better with my life. Damn, I need a drink. I prefer vodka, but a simple beer would do.
Vodka, the first choice of Class A Drunks. Clichéd, yes, but there’s a lot of reasons why vodka is top rate among the best drunks. It’s practically tasteless after you build a tolerance to it. It goes down like water and it’s easy to hide when going to work. You can mix it with just about any kind of juice and it simply magnifies the taste. My brand is Absolut, it’s cheap and a bottle can usually get me through a whole day. Twenty bucks and I’m good. If I’m going to add to my Absolut, it’s usually cranberry. Damn, I think I’m drooling. Nope, that’s fucking rain. Wonderful.
I bet you think that’s funny, huh? I ask for a drink and the sky brings me water. Well, I wasn’t referring to that type of drink. I want my vodka to wash the day away. To rid my memory of all the shitty things I had to endure before I got to my precious vodka. That beautiful clear liquid that warms my throat and my blood. The perfection of that 80 proof bottle calling my name at every meal. I can almost feel it flowing down my throat and into my veins. And now here I am, a damned tree with rain as my only form of intoxication.
Wishing to die was a constant reason to drink. Of course, my death was not on my account, but it was caused by my drinking. Again, I’m sure you think that’s hilarious or horrible, or that I may be some type of typical asshole who doesn’t know when to put the bottle down. And you’d be right. I don’t know when to stop. Jan, my ex-wife, left me because of my drinking. It caused arguments over having kids, money, and mostly my failure to stop drinking whenever I wanted. My drinking ended my marriage, my desire to not have kids and well, it also ended my life.
I remember my death. It was simple and pointless. A train crash, right into the side of my car. I thought I could make it over the tracks before the lighted bars dropped all the way. You know, the ones that tell you a train is coming? Yeah, those are the ones I tried to gun past and lost the draw. And now, I’m stuck here, wherever here is, with my branches weak and roots not completely planted into the earth. All this because I made a smartass comment when it came time for my judgment.
Let me take you back a second and elaborate just a bit on this judgment. Whatever you think “death” is and the transition into all things holy at the pearly gates is somewhat a crock. There are lights, sure, but I came to find out that those are souls, not gods. Shocker, right? Actual souls floating around like orbs in a vastness that can’t be explained. For each one of us, it’s different. I, for example, see things in a very open space. But I move slowly, probably because of my drunken stupor in life. Others have told me that the faster you can move about, the more your surroundings take shape.
So getting back to this judgment. Once inside this vastness of lit up souls, each soul that newly arrives has a guide. Mine was unrecognizable to me. Not sure why everyone seems to get some personalized guide that they looked up to in life or a previous family member, but hey, whatever, I went with it. My guide led me to the place of judgment, a panel of bluish orbs that stood behind an elaborate desk. Granted, when I mention actual physical objects, picture them how you like whether they are made of soft fluffy clouds or what have you. The deal is, that your afterlife will be as you see it comfortably. It’s the rules, it seems, that are the crock.
My guide leaves me with these bluish orbs hovering behind the desk. I’m then asked for my next assignment request. I chuckled. I was unaware that my soul would be sent back so to speak. That just seems ridiculous, even to me now. There are a lot of questions that go unanswered while in your afterlife, reincarnation seems to be one of them. Yet, everyone else seems to be on the same page about the topic, really. The hovering orbs of judges remain silent as they await an answer.
“Assignment? You mean, as in ‘go back’?” Silence.
“Hell, I don’t know. Make me a tree for all I care.”
And there you have it. My smartass remark to the great judges brought me here, as a tree, talking to you. I’m thirsty as hell, it’s raining and I have no one else to talk to. So here’s my story.
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