The final breath escapes his body and his heart slows and stops. Feeling an odd tearing sensation, his soul leaves his body and he slowly floats to the ceiling. Looking down on himself he wonders, “Is that all? Is it finished? Is that all the time I get?” As he watched, the flesh that once comprised his body shriveled, deteriorated and turned to dust. Staring down as he floats higher, time races forward, the stone and timber of his once grand home crumples, disintegrates, and returns to the earth. Watching his life’s work disappear in the blink of an eye, he wonders “What is it all for?”
Suddenly a gray fog rolled, in shrouding him in its eerie stillness before he had time to react. Frantically looking around in the endless sea of gray, he began to hear noises, sounds that seemed both distorted and distant in the soupy air. The man was able to recognize the impatient shuffle of numerous feet, the rustle of countless pages of paper, and the rhythmic clink of two items repeatedly striking together. The man was trying to determine the source of the noises in the clouds, when a surrounding voice called, “Next.” Instantly the fog dissipated slightly and he could see others standing ahead of him, forming an endless line. Every few moments another mystical voice called, “Next” and the line would move forward slightly. With every step he took, the fog thinned and the man was able to see more of the room around him.
He and hundreds of others were standing single file down the middle of a large white room. Behind them was the large fog wall which served as their entrance into the room. Along the other three walls were tall counters with beings hovering behind them, a variety of delicate scales and weight sets displayed at even intervals along the countertop. As he watched, the man thought the beings resembled tellers at a bank and he noticed that just prior to a ‘teller’ calling, “Next,” one of the others, who had previously been waiting in line, disappeared from where they were standing facing the counter.
Before he realized it, he is at the front of the line. “Next,” called a honeyed voice that vaguely reminded him of his southern kindergarten teacher, instilling images of magnolias and mint juleps served beneath Cyprus trees, dripping with Spanish moss. After a quick look to verify the direction the voice came from, he moved away from the relative safety of the line into the unknown.
When he at last stood before the counter, the man looked up into the flawless peaches and cream complexion of the being who had called him forward. “Welcome to the Bank of Souls,” said the honeyed voice, although the being’s mouth never moved. He stared in disbelief at the personification of perfection before him.
Feeling as though he was drowning within the depths of the sapphire eyes, he shook his head before he asked, “Where?”
The being before him quizzically raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, causing it to disappear beneath a halo of curls that seemed to glow and burn like living flame. “The Bank of Souls,” came the reply. “Here your life’s actions and choices will be weighed and your worth measured.”
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