I have, over time, written many short stories,"Short-Shorts" as they are call by some, and by request I am putting them together into one collection for my readers; I will be adding to it as time allows. Love, peace, and freedom. Olan
The pastor comforts Paul, and Paul says, "What I want to know is where the spark went? I was talking to her and in mid-sentence something happened to my dear Eloise, her eyes just went blank. That part of her that looked into my eyes was gone, just receded into the background like someone just shut her off. That body you pray over isn't my Eloise; she left, but where did she go? Pastor, I want to know. The question, to the preacher, was rhetorical, but still a reply was needed to balance the counseling.
"I don't know, Paul. No one does. We have hope of the promise of a life after death. A kingdom and a new city on the hill. A new heaven, and a new earth for all who believe, is all we have." But the pastor lied. He'd been to the other side and returned to resume his life. He didn't want to return; he begged the being that was with him, whatever it was, to stay there, in that explicitly colorful paradise that laid in front of him, but the presence with him just looked sad. No words were needed to tell the pastor he was going back; back to a world of pain and suffering. At the moment he was in the world beyond the world, and he knew with absolute certainty, that there was life after death, for he was dead and was being sent back to this realm. Why did the pastor lie to Paul; perhaps it was a step too far, to offer him hope that it was the pastor's personal experience, or for the minister the story was not ready to be shared. He would continue to lie about death, but he hadn't told anyone, except his wife, of the experience. After a decade, two decades, it was so painfully joyous to talk about he would just fall apart and blubber. It was personal to the extent it tore out his heart, you see, he didn't want to be on earth, he was left behind by what he called an angel, but for what reason. He would tell people about the accident, not the near death (NDE), the people would say, "It's a miracle, or that he was left here for a reason. If he couldn't share his experience with his parishioners, what good was it to go across to the other side, if you could come back with proof? His life should have ended in August, 1971, and deep down he felt unworthy, and he felt he needed to prove himself worthy to go back to this wonderful place beyond places, but how much more time was he to spend in this hell called life, he would often ask himself. Over the decades, very slowly the fear of death seeped back into his life, but he would shun it and remember his NDE.
"Are you here? Pastor. You went somewhere, and for a moment I thought it was happening to me again, you know, the dead eyes, and all."
The pastor blinked, his thoughts now back into reality; and he said to Paul, "I was somewhere. I was remembering something special that happened to me, many years ago." You're right, where is that spark of life, behind the veil of the eyes? But where did it go; that is the ages long question? When I was twelve, my brother took me to the State Fair with his fiancée. It was a blistering day in August, and we walked for miles in temperature over 100 degrees. My brother was to my right, I was to the left, and his future wife was in the middle as we strolled the roads of the fairground when suddenly she disappeared. She fell straight back on the ground and was staring up at the sky. She wasn't there, just those dead eyes. As she came to the highway patrol came over, and put us in the air-conditioned cruiser, until she was ready to walk. However, for a few moments as she laid on the ground she was gone, but where her spark of life went for those moments, no one knows.
