5  The Afterlife is a Lie…

Cangemi poses questions about belief systems. Does God exist outside of time? Why do some faiths use a wheel not a straight line to represent life? Is time an all-devouring god like Kronos, the Greek deity who swallowed his own children to avoid his fate?

Shaun Smith sits close to the front. He’s fourteen rows away from his mother, not that he’s seen her. Shaun doesn’t care about religion apart from when it stops him getting what he wants. Amanda, who clearly likes him, doesn’t believe in sex before marriage. Shaun doesn’t have forever. This is university, isn’t it? He drifts in and out of the lecture. Most of his brain is occupied with sensations he has not yet experienced.

“Desire to escape the yoke of time pushes many toward religion. Hindus use the cycle of reincarnation while Buddhists maintain that time itself is a form of suffering. The afterlife offers a higher plane where we transcend temporality.”

The mention of churches and temples whips Shaun from his daydream. He scans the hall. Thankfully, Amanda is not taking this class.

“According to the scriptures, the universe and time were created. However, if this is true, their creator cannot be in time, since God existed before. And if heaven is eternal, how do we experience time there?”

Shaun is pretty sure he exists in time. About God, he’s not certain. He knows his prime pulling days are melting away, like a candle burning down to the nub.

The church is empty. The quiet stills the noise inside Shaun’s head. Exam failure, his lack of party funds, the fact he’s still a virgin at nineteen, that all stays outside.

He reflects on what Amanda from his psychology class told him about the pleasures of now versus eternal bliss. Shaun watches the dagger rays of red and green light that slice through the window onto pictures of mournful-looking saints. The altar glints a gold-toothed smile.

A low voice breaks the silence. “The afterlife is a lie, you know.”

A white-haired man emerges from behind a pillar. The pockmarks on his face are not dissimilar to Shaun’s.

“Yeah?”

“But not in the way you think.”

Nutjob. Surely.

“I’ve just come back from there,” the man says, staring at his hands, wiggling his fingers in turn. “When you die, time runs out. You can visit paradise once before you go. Only once, mind.” He points to the confession booth, which emits a noticeable glow from inside. “It’s in there.”

Shaun strides over to the booth and opens the door before the man can stop him. He hears a distant shout as he enters.

Golden light rushes into Shaun’s body, filling every pore with invincible energy. The old man was right. Shaun is transported directly to heaven.

Soon, an ever-changing string of models occupy the penthouse suite with him. He becomes an expert lover. He plays concerts in the world’s best-known clubs. There are no exams and no money troubles. Soon, the buzz wears off, and Shaun gets his thrills by fighting to survive in the only place where he can die – on screen, in a video game. The confession booth gathers dust in the corner of his lounge and over time, its light fades.

But Shaun’s blissful life is incomplete. He imagines what his afterlife would be like if he’d entered when he was older, or was African like his granddad, or if he were rich, or a woman, or smarter. Would he still kick back in the gaming chair and watch his enemies’ heads explode in ultra-high definition?

Eventually, the fading light of the booth becomes an obsession. What will happen when it shuts off? Opening the door is the only risk left. Shaun misses risks. So, one day, with the recklessness of a teenager, he drops his controller, strides across the room, and enters the portal.

Brilliant light gushes from his body, draining out of every square millimetre of skin. Years of pressure and strain enter his being. Shards of pain pulsate through every joint. He grips the wooden rail and closes his eyes as the trapped light becomes unbearably bright. Muscles waste, skin sags, and his hair greys to white.

Shaun leaves the wooden box and hurries down the church aisle back to his life, but each step is painful and slow. He catches his breath by leaning against a pillar. Despite the pain, it’s a relief to be back. The dimensions of the space, the angles of the stonework, the distance of the echoes, the height of the columns, and the hue of stained-glass light are tailor-made to fill the void in Shaun’s perfect afterlife.

The entrance door creaks open and a lanky teenager walks into the church. He wears the same kind of skinny jeans and button-down shirt combo Shaun used to. The boy’s gaze follows the lines of coloured light from the high window down to the dusty pews.

This time, he will stop himself.

Both Shauns listen to what emptiness sounds like.

Time elapsed: one afterlife