Judgment - Kayla Lynch

I was pretty sure I was dead. I vaguely remembered a car crashing into me. The good thing is there was no pain to speak of...but there wasn't any feeling. At all. Just a conscious bag of air, floating about in this empty, white space. Was I facing the ceiling, or was I facing the floor? The walls maybe? Was it even a room? I couldn't tell. I couldn't seem to tell if I was still, or if I was spinning either. All that existed was a loosely based me, and the white space.

Then, there was a light above my head, and the scene changed completely. It was like a doctor's office waiting room. It was packed with waiting patients, who were every age that was humanly possible to be. From young infants to the maximum reach of elderly. All of these people – who were nearly translucent - had what looked like neon lights on top of their heads, glowing and then flickering like a heart beat. Some of the lights formed a cross, some formed a star, some formed a crescent moon, some were yin-yang signs and there were others that do not firmly come to memory at the present time.

Every few minutes, the wooden-like doors opened, releasing an odd being. It dressed as a nurse, and always had the same smooth, cool voice, but every time it looked different. The first time I saw it, it was a beautiful woman, with long brunet hair. The last time she went through the doors before it was my turn, it looked almost demonic, with long claws and fangs that poked out of overly large mouth. What was going on, only it could say, but decided to keep us all as confused as it could. One of the old men with a star over his head hobbled over to me.

“Excuse me,” he said in a thick German accent. “Do you know vhat ist happening here?” I shrugged,

“I'm sorry, but no. Are...are you dead?” I expected him to whack me with his equally translucent cane, but he thought about the question for a moment.

“I t'ink I am...but no vone answers quvestions, or no vone knows. Tis like vhen Nazis tak over all over again. Dankeschön. (Thank you.)” He hobbled back to his seat. I wish I could have put it another way, but it was the best description there was. The sort of confusion that causes a nearsighted panic of the imagination. I asked a few people if they had any idea what was going on. One with a crescent glared at me until I walked away, one with a hammer above their head gave me the same answer I gave to the old man, and the third, who had a cross like I did, ignored me completely. Finally, the nurse came out as a blond-haired angel, and called out,

“Mathias Mathew Boskirk, age 25, please come with me.” I felt as if I were magnetically drawn to the nurse. Now that it had called me, I was bound to those wooden-like doors and anything behind them. I was bound to whatever lay ahead and could not retreat.

The hall was similar to the first space I had been in. All the walls were white and glossy, as if they had just been cleaned. The difference was that I knew where the ceiling was, I knew I was moving, and there were another pair of doors at the end of the hall. This gave me little comfort, however, considering I still had no idea what I was getting into. I knew it was useless to turn and run, but every molecule of air that I was made of wanted me to do so.

The door opened on its own, only helping my suspicions grow and my instinct to runaway stronger. Yet, I controlled my growing fear, and walked in to face what was making my hair stand on end.

“The Docjud will be with you in a moment.”

“The what will be with - ?” Before I could finish my question, the doors shut and I was left on my own. The room was large, but that isn't what made it weird. Half the room looked like a pristine operating room. There was the bed, and next to it, the tray with cruel looking tools to cut a person open with, and the big light so the surgeon could see what he or she was doing. The other half of the room looked like half of a courtroom. There was only the judge's desk, the gavel at the ready, and the area where the jury would sit to pass judgment. What one had to do with the other, I was not completely sure.

Suddenly, I was strapped to the bed. I didn't remember getting strapped. I didn't remember being knocked out, and I sure as hell did not remember the thing in front of me. It was a two headed humanoid, that was dressed and formed like the room. The left half was a male dressed in half a judges gown, was dark skinned – the darkest skin I had ever seen – with black eyes and black hair close cut to his head. The right half was a female dressed in a surgeon's uniform, with the palest skin I had ever seen as well as eyes that seemed to look unseeingly, without an iris, though it did have a pupil, and messy white hair.

The humanoid leaned forward with white gloved fingers wrapped around a scalpel, about to penetrate my airy self.

“Mathias Matthew Boskirk,” they said in unison, “you shalt now be judged.” The scalpel penetrated the middle of my being, where about my heart should be. Suddenly feeling returned to my body and I let loose a cry of pure agony. In front of my eyes, memories reeled quickly, barely making sense even to me – whose memories they belonged to.

Flashes of times with my mother, my father – the warmth and safety of their presence. Our arguments – usually over something stupid, or even more often, over something I did that was stupid. The night I came home to find them on the floor...their lives ceased due to a robber. I remembered the chase that nearly ended my own life, but ended with the murderous dog behind bars. I saw myself in the hospital after he was put in prison for the rest of his days – a bitterly pleased orphan. Then my first date, and my college days where I studied to become a detective. My first job was at a Burger King on the other end of town, and I saw my comical boss' round head and rounder gullet. I saw that I had been on my way to an interview with the New York City Police Department, when the car had slammed into me, scattering my papers – and my blood, though that wasn't as important at this point - all over the street.

This was only the first layer. It cut deeper into my chest, and the pain became even more excruciating.

My memories went through again, but this time they were all in a single color. I soon got the gist of the color scheme, and the reason for it. If the scene was red, I was furious. If it was green I was envious. If it was blue I was depressed, and if it was yellow I was joyous. Emotions at the moment, the mixture of emotions at times – especially during my teenage years and during the time I was hunting down the robber who had killed my parents.

The next layer was even more painful, but had nothing to do with memory. Seemingly random words that I did not understand popped into my head, in my own voice or in others.

“Fortis, sensatus, firmus, certus, humanus. (Brave, intelligent, loyal, determined, kind). Iracundia, tenax, celsus. (Temper, stubborn, proud.)”

I think I passed out at this point. Can a dead man pass out? I don't know. What I do know is it was black for a moment before my sight came back into focus. The humanoid's heads were speaking in hushed tones in a language I couldn't understand – probably the same tongue that had come into my head earlier.

Both heads nodded after about a minute of discussion, and then the gavel magically appeared in its left hand.

“After seeing all of the evidence within the layers of this man's soul, I deem him fit. You may go up the stairs.” He slammed his gavel onto my forehead, but nothing seemed to take place.

The humanoid disappeared then, and I was standing in a new hallway. This one was golden and ornate, with hand carved figures or angels in the walls and on the ceiling. In front of me was a staircase, which I proceeded to climb. It seemed to continue without an end, each stair I climbed was simply replaced by another at the top, if there was a top to be had. Yet, after what felt like hours, I finally got to a an arch of gold. What was behind it was invisible to me, but a cool breeze whispered sweet words of home into my ear. Two angels stood at the arch, dressed in the finest armor. These guards shifted sideways to let me in.

“Welcome, Matthias Boskirk,” the one on my left said, “to your new life.”