A difference in perspective

I scream as I fall from the sky. The ground rushes up at me with a speed I couldn’t get out of with a car. I know I’m going to die. I’m dead. I’m about to die. I hit the ground. The sound of bones breaking is disgusting, and for a few fleeting moments I can still feel the pain of my body splitting like a melon, at least from the waist down. It’s agonising. Then it’s nothing. I feel nothing. I’m nothing. I open my eyes. I’m in a massive room, filled with people. They’re all watching me. They’re not looking at my broken body on the ground, they’re looking at me where I’m standing. I look around. The room is interesting, if not a little confusing. There’s people of all shapes and sizes, and at this point, most of them are staring at me. I’m not even sure how I got here. I must have died. If so, this is heaven. Not exactly what I imagined but I’ll see what’s going on first. After a few seconds of me just looking around one of the people from the crowd approaches me. “Hi, welcome. No need to be alarmed,” he says. “I think I’m dead.” I reply. “Yes, you are. You are dead.” He said quietly. I paused for a moment, I think I was ready for it. I asked the question that was in the back of everyone’s mind. “So what now?” I said. He shook his head slightly. “I’m afraid you are not suited for the afterlife. You have been selected for a different fate.” He said. I paused, not quite sure what he meant. He continued. “The afterlife isn’t for everyone. You are not good enough for heaven, nor bad enough for hell. Your thoughts are too twisted to enter the realm of the dead. You, along with many others, have been selected for a different path.” He explained. I really had no idea what to say. All I could think was that I had no idea what to say. I thought about it for a moment. “What is this even?” I said. He pointed to the crowd. “These are the people who cannot go to the afterlife. They cannot give away their dirt suit. They cannot be recycled. They are here for that very reason. You are here for that same reason, you’re just not dead yet.” He said. I thought about it for a moment. “Three things. First of all, why are they the same people over and over again. Secondly, how am I not dead? And lastly, you keep referring to, ‘the afterlife’. As though there is only one of them, as though heaven and hell aren’t different afterlives.” I said. His face was painted with gratitude. “Yes, a good question. First of all, there is a difference between you and the people here. While you are stuck here in your dirt suit, they are not. They have an option to die. To escape this nasty little thing you call your life. To get rid of this fragile body and its weak little brain, and enter a higher life. Or at least, lower life.” He paused for a second, and I felt the blood drain from my face. “They are not the same people, they are the same body. This is a factory farm, or a butcherhouse if you will. Humans in one side, out the other. We call them dirt suits because your entire existence is based around the soil. Without it, you wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t breathe, wouldn’t function. You know what I am? I am a farmer. I am a shepherd of humans. The second question is a little more complex. Your mind is not in your brain. It never is. It is in a different place, a place I know not of. Your brain is like a computer, often you used the term, ‘my brain is fried.’ That is what it is, a computer. Just like your computer, if you get a virus, you just get another one. But what if you get a really bad virus? One that deletes all your files? That’s what your problem is. You got a really bad virus. Your brain is gone, your mind is still here. Now for your third question. You’re right, they are different. But they’re not afterlives. It’s not what happens to you after you die, it’s what happens to you after you live. It’s not what you do while you’re dead, it’s what you do while you’re alive.” He said. I thought about it for a second. “What you mean is that there are loads of different ways to live your life, not different ways to die your life.” I said. He looked at be. “Exactly that.” He said. I thought about it for another second. “I have one more question.” I said. “Yes?” He said. “Why are there different ways to live your life? Why can’t they give away their dirt suit? Why can’t humans enter a higher life?” I said. “What do you call a human who has lived their whole life without sinning?” He said. “Impossible.” I said. “Right. A human can’t live their life without sinning. But if a human can’t live their life without sinning, why do they need an option to sin? They will sin by default. But, as a result of this, humans must pay for their sins. And they can’t enter heaven until they have done that. They have to go to hell.” He said. “But why can’t I enter hell?” I said. “Another good question. The answer is, because you can’t sin.” He said. “Why can’t I sin?” I said, as I started walking in the direction of my mangled body. “Because you are not alive.” He said. I stopped in my tracks. “What?” I said. I turned to face him. “You are not alive. You are dead. And that is why you cannot enter the afterlife.” “What is the purpose of this whole thing, if not for you to enter the afterlife?” I said. “I don’t know. I just be there to clean up the mess when they die. The mess you left,” he said, nodding towards my broken body. I looked at it. “What now?” I said. “They give away their dirt suit. Either to the butcherhouse, or to the graveyard. If they go to the graveyard, they have the option to come back. If you go to the butcherhouse, you are gone forever. You will not enter an afterlife, you will be gone.” He said. “Well, what are my options?” I said. “You don’t have any. Others can give away their dirt suits, you cannot. Your only option is to take one.” He said. “Well where am I going to get one from?” I said. “You’ll find one somewhere. There are some here, you can just lay in their dirt suits, and take over their consciousness. But you have to find them first.” He said. “Ok, so you send humans in, and they give away their dirt suits. What’s the point of that? What do you get out of it?” I said. “You really are stupid.” He said. “Oh, ok. So you won’t answer that question. So I will. The answer is nothing. You don’t get anything out of it. Or should I say, you do get something out of it. You get the pleasure of knowing you’re sending millions of innocent creatures to their deaths. You get the pleasure of watching them die, to put a nice little cherry on top of the beautifully disgusting sundae you eat for breakfast every day. You get a little high from their suffering. You know what? I don’t think you’re a farmer. I don’t think you’re a shepherd. I think you’re a butcher, a dog food maker. You think that because humans are weak, and they’re ugly, and they’re fragile, that that gives you the right to hurt them. You know what? I hate you.” I screamed. I turned and walked away from him, in the direction of my body again. “Good luck. You know what they call humans?” He said. “I don’t care.” I said. “They call humans dog food. You know why?” He said. “I said I don’t care.” I said. “Because they’re not smart enough to be eaten by people. But they’re not ugly enough to be turned into glue.” He said. That hurt. “I SAID I DON’T CARE.” I said. I walked away. I walked away from a life that was meaningless to me. And into a life that I knew nothing about. But I walked away. And that’s all that mattered. I looked down at my broken body. I scoffed. “Dog food?” I said. That was what they called humans. Well I’m about to prove them wrong. I bent down as they dragged my broken corpse away. I got in the body that was next to it. And with my new perspective, I started a new life.

A difference in perspective

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