It’s a long line leading to judgement, but everyone waiting, having died, has the time to spare. Toward the front one soul – Ascetic – is satisfied with the pace. Never in a rush towards salvation, this one lived a life unshaken, embodied stoic faith; viewed from the filter of their lifestyle, entry to paradise is more of a guarantee than it is a question. A self-assured type, calm, deeply offensive to those plagued by insecurity.
“You know you’re no better than me.” Says the soul in front of Ascetic, defensively. They’ve just finished sharing the stories of their lives with each other; not much humor was found in Ascetic referring to them as Gluttony.
“Would never say that I was.”
“The implication didn’t escape me. So think whatever you want, but right now, this,” Gluttony gestures at the line as they move forward, “This implies equality.”
“Is that so?” Ascetic asks, eyes on Gluttony’s rounded gut.
Gluttony tracks the gaze, scoffs. “Big deal. You kept yourself skinny. Now you’re in a one-size-fits-all scenario. What use was that?”
“Righteousness is its own reward.”
Gluttony laughs, turns their back to Ascetic, “It better be.”
Waiting, watching, walking when allowed. Closer, now, to judgement than ever before, Ascetic gives Gluttony a tap. “Worried?”
“Not at all. Matter of fact, I’m in a hurry.”
“To be condemned for all eternity?”
Gluttony shrugs. “I didn’t decide any of these terms. Out of control to me.”
“But…we’re guilty. Yes, we were born with it, but our lives were a chance to remedy that ill. We prove ourselves worthy, and in spite of our deficiencies, in spite of our suffering, we’re promised infinity – paradise.”
“That is true. We’re all promised a pair of dice. Problem with that is the result, right? We can hope, have faith, but really there’s no way of knowing what it’ll be.”
“You’d spend your last moments on mockery?”
Gluttony’s real name reverberates over and throughout the line. “That’s me.” The line stops at a short staircase, three steps onto a platform where Gluttony waits for one second then snaps out of existence the next.
Ascetic didn’t expect much ceremony for such an obvious sinner, but the lack of anything at all is startling. That level of disregard should not be possible from an omnipotent God.
Ascetic’s name is called. Ascetic calls faith into question. The energy spent on belief seems, now, to be worth more than comforting yet empty guarantees. Another second alive, Ascetic realizes, and it’d all be spent on worry.
But there’s no more time. Onstage, Ascetic’s life flashes before closed eyes – a voice, inside and not, says it’s not good enough then calls the next person up.
Vincent Santino Smarra 
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