This week’s wordle: Scald Await Vinyl Passionless Isolophilia (a strong affection/preference for being alone) Carcass Gateway Hallucinate Mosaic Opia (n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable–their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque–as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out) Shadow
Kershaw was dying. His laboured breaths signalled the end of a passionless life. The strange quirk of fate about Kershaw was that he was a passionate lover of recorder music. He had a great stack of old vinyl records with one always on his turntable. Even in his dying days the nursing staff had allowed for his favourite music to be played.
Awaiting at the end of his bed were the two deities vying for his soul. For even though the body died, ones soul did not. Kershaw’s soul was in a dilemma deciding which of the entities was making him the better deal.
Greg, the heavenly deity had made it clear that heaven would not accept his vinyl collection. Harps yes, recorders no. As it was Greg thought harps twenty-four hours a day was bad enough but endless recorder music was just the thing to scald the most patient and compassionate heavenly soul.
Wayne, the devil’s advocate, on the other hand saw no problem with the vinyl recordings. As it was he saw the recorder music enhancing the nature of hell. After all in hell there was no time off nor weekends. There were only breaks. Breaks that allowed you for a short time to get away from stoking the furnace and Kershaw may well ‘enjoy’ as best he could at any rate, the vinyls he so loved.
Kershaw’s soul looked from one entity to another. In Greg it saw a life of roses, of money growing on trees and slow cooked casseroles, which were heavens signature dish. In Wayne it saw within the opia of his eyes, the sense that even though he offered great stuff like corruption, bribery and ham sandwiches to die for, there lurked those ravaging fires he had been told to avoid from childhood.
It would be no easy decision but one he would have to make soon as all that would be left of him would be a fleshy carcass good for nothing but fertilizer.
He reflected a moment glad he was an Isolophobe, that there would be no one else to consider in his decision.
He looked again at Greg from whom he could sense the mosaic of his life being formed above his head with one last heavenly piece to be inserted. There was suddenly the smell of the slow cooked casserole wafting up his near dead nose and the unmistakable plucking of harmonious harps away in the distance. He could feel himself hallucinating as his mind fought to stay rational.
Above Wayne he could see a shadow, a gateway forming to a life of desires and wants. Wayne had even promised him an eternity in isolophilia if he so wanted, at least during his break times but that was in the small print, which he kept to himself until after the deal was done.
Since Kershaw had been such a passionless man and as he felt his earthly life being exhausted, in his mind he flipped a coin, which landed between both entities.
The look on Wayne’s face told him the result.