play

We are just outside the North gate to Heaven. St. Peter is behind a desk.
An angel comes up to him and places a small object on his palm. It’s a tiny scroll. St. Peter nods toward the pearly gate. The man nods back in thanks and enters Heaven. Trumpets blast as he enters, startling him, destroying his dignified composure.

Angel comes back up to St. Peter. Hands him a thick roll of parchment. St. Peter sighs.

“Next!”

A woman leaves the queue and nears St. Peter, passes him, and assumes no verification or interview is required on her. She is immaculate, and proceeds toward Heaven’s entrance.

ST. PETER: “Hold on, sister, where’s the sale? Come back here like everyone else, no special treatment here; rich, poor—you are interviewed by me. Unless of course you want to pass through the East gate and deal with Maat. She’ll go old school on you, hon’, rip your heart out and weigh it against a feather? You like the odds? Be my guest.”

WOMAN: “Why sir, you let that gentleman pass without so much as a word.”

“That gentleman had a single brief sentence on his file. You want to know what it was? I’ll tell you: suicide crossed his mind. Crossed his mind! He was practically a saint. Compare yours.”

“Why is it so thick?”

“It’s heavy too. Wanna lift? We got a long interview ahead of us ma’am. Would you like a seat?”

“I shall stand, thank you. May I have a drink.?”

“A drink of what? I hope you don’t mean to get drunk. I don’t think you want to meet Him while you’re smashed. You might flirt, for god’s sake.”

“Water. All I want is water.”

“Ophaniel! I need water and a chair.”

“I don’t need a chair, I said.”

It’s not for you, it’s for me. (makes a note)

Ophaniel enters.

Chair is for me, thanks Ophy.