Max walked into the room. It was totally white. It was about 60ft-by-55ft. You know, pretty decent-sized. There were large windows — two-thirds of a wall-sized — but all you could see out of them was blinding light.
“Where am I?” Max said out loud.
“I cannot say,” came the disembodied voice in the room’s reply.
“Am I, like, dead?”
“Not as such. Or at all, really.”
“Funny, ‘cos it really feels like I’m dead and that this is death. And this room is heaven and, like—”
“Be calm.”
“Gotta be honest, your voice sounds kinda spooky like what god might sound like, if I, you know, believed in god or whatever. Which I don’t.”
“Please be calm.”
“I’m an atheist and I know this is all bollocks becau — ”
“Chill out, mate.”
Silence.
“I get that you don’t know where you are but we’re most certainly not on your dorm-room floor, are you? There’s no guitars here. So, please, do me a favour, be calm.”
“I mean, not gonna do that, am I, when I’m almost certainly dead.”
“Well, imagine if you are dead — which you aren’t, again, just by the way. Why would you be panicking? It’s done. You’re done. Dunzo. Deadzo. Might as well just go with — ”
“The flow? You kidding me? If I’m dead, I’m taking everyone else with me.”
“What? I’m not sure you know how this works, man. If you’re dead — and you are not, honestly — you can’t just pop up back home like, ‘Alright lads, am well dead, me, gonna take you lot off to heaven with me, like, if that’s cool? Yeah. Nice one, mate. Nice one.’ It doesn’t work like that… I mean, I’d assume.”
“Who was that supposed to be?”
“What?”
“That impression. Is that what you think I’m really like? You don’t even know me.”
“Mate, you think I’m god. Do you think if I’m god and I’ve been watching you for twenty-nine years, all day, every day, weekends and bank holidays, that I wouldn’t be able to do an incredibly good impression of you? Do you just think you’re one of them special snowflake sorts with your oh-so-subtle tics and traits and inimitable charm and nuance and all that soft-head bollocks?”
There is an awkward pause in the white room.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“Are you kidding?” the disembodied voice that rang around this brilliant, ice-white room went on, “is that how you apologise? Who taught you to apologise?”
“This is ridiculous.”
“You just apologised and now you’re being like this?”
“Like what?”
“Max, don’t try it with — ”
“‘Max’? You know my name?”
“Don’t change the subject. You’ve been a cunt just now.”
“Is this a joke? Is that Terry? Terry — is this a joke?”
“I’m not Terry. Who is Terry?”
“So you’re not god, then, if you don’t even know who Terry is. This is a joke.”
“If I was god — and, can I just say, I’m not god — you might have to narrow it down a bit, a bit past ‘Terry’. ‘Terry the Deity’ is he? Some sort of saint, is he, this Terry? I can’t just know exactly what Terry you’re talking about. There isn’t just one Terry in the whole world, you know.”
“I know that. I just thought — ”
“You should probably think less because you’re doing a bit too much of that right now. You’re in this lovely white room and we’re just chilling out and that, and you’re being like this.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s heaven, obviously. Obviously this is heaven. Look how white everything is. You prick.”
Max laughs out loud.
“So I am dead! I knew it.”
“Don’t be smug, mate.”
“I fucking knew it.”
“Don’t be like that. Don’t do that.”
“Why did you keep telling me I wasn’t dead?”
“This is exhausting.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I just thought I would do something nice for you, Max. You just died by getting hit by a bus outside Euston station — sorry that I thought you could do with a bit of a pick-me-up.”
“I wasn’t. Nobody hit me. I was just walking into the house and — ”
“Pffft — Nah, we made you think that. Your last memory can’t be of something bad. Less harrowing this way. Can’t have you moping around on the sofas all day, moaning about how rubbish it is to get run over.”
Max grits his teeth.
“How the fuck was this supposed a pick-me — ”
“Well it’s obviously not now, is it? It’s ruined now. I was going to lead you on this big journey of acceptance and self-discovery and maybe turn this room all Tron-like with colours and cars and that. Music. But you had to ruin it by being a total cunt.”
“You swear a lot for someone who’s in charge of heaven.”
The disembodied voice who rang around this great, big white room laughed.
“What, because I’m god I must be in charge of the day-to-day in heaven? I’m literally the boss. I only dipped into this one because I was bored. Max, I made everything that’s ever happened. I made the sun and the moon and the stars and the seas and the mountains and the beaches and deserts and football and tennis and trees and frogs and cats and mice and all that. You think someone who has that much shit on, that’s done all that, still has to look after the fucking stupid cloud hotel that you mugs all stay in? Do you know how mad that sounds? I don’t even live in heaven. I’ve got my own place. I don’t eat dinner with you lot. Don’t be silly. Imagine me queueing.”
“So… You’re really god?”
“Jesus Christ — Yes, mate. Yeah. That’s me.”
“Why weren’t you just like, ‘Yeah, I’m god. How’s it going?’”
“I’m not just going to be all, “Hey, I’m god — wasssaaap?’ to everyone like some kind of flash dickhead as soon as they get here. Have you ever thrown a party? You know how annoying it is to host everyone? To meet everyone at the door? Imagine doing that for the souls of billions of people. It’d drive me mad. I did it for a bit. Drove me mad. I hated it. Freaks people out, too. They need a cross-fade into heaven. You can’t be like, immediately introduced to god.”
Max looked at the floor.
“You could’ve just said it, though. I could handle it.”
“Clearly you can’t handle anything, mate. You don’t belong up here.”
Max looks up, his eyes wide.
“No — No, I don’t mean like… Don’t do that. Don’t be silly, god, mate. Don’t be like that.”
“We’re not mates, Max. I’m god. You’re some geezer who got knocked over by a 205 bus heading to King’s Cross. You’re done, here. Goodbye.”
“No, you can’t do this.”
“I’m god. Listen to yourself.”
Max drops to his knees.
“No, no, no please. I can change. I’m sorry. I repent! I repent. I’ll do whatever is needed. I can repent, can’t I? I didn’t go to church as a kid, my parents didn’t believe in it, but I always had a feeling, actually, there was something more and that I should be doing something with my life… Something… I didn’t want to die but now I’m dead I can finally dedicate my life in your honour, god, in your righteous way, like, please. All that. Love and obedience and clarity. Not obedience, that’s like a dog, but like… Learning. I can do all the bible sessions and learn the guitar and write songs of your love and glory and mercy. Please… Please, god. Please let me into the kingdom.”
Max howls and sobs and his entire body shakes uncontrollably. He drops his to the floor and takes a deep breath and into the floorboards he shouts —
“PLEASE, LORD. TAKE ME INTO YOUR GIANT ARMS AND GIVE ME YOUR MERCY, PLEASE. THIS IS WHERE I BELONG.”
Max claws at the whitewashed floorboards and smashes his fists into them until blood drips from his hands. His screams were harrowing. He howls. He tears at his hair.
“DON’T. DON’T LET ME GO. I NEED YOU, O LORD.”
“Max…”
Wailing. Sobbing.
“Max…”
Then silence.
“It was Terry! Your mate Terry Mitchum! Oh, man. He got you! Hahaha!Got you bad.”
It took a lot of work but he got him good. Hired the actor, bought the emulsion, bright lights, one of them fancy speaker systems. Nearly a fortnight all this took.
Max had to admit, it was classic Terry.
