Published in Victoria: A Students’ History A History and Anthology of Creative Work, Coach House Press, Toronto, 2012
Colston opened his eyes. Everything was white, above, bellow, left, right. All white. He slowly raised and looked around. Colston started to walk looking for a person, a room, a street …anything. The white he could handle but the silence was unbearable. Living in the city he became accustomed to a lot of noise from cars, airplanes and chattering people. Even the time he went in the forest camping on his own there were owls, squirrels, raccoons, frogs and the wind rustling through leaves creating a rhapsody. But this silence was frightening.
“It must be a dream” he said aloud so he could break through the silence.
“It most certainly is not” came a reply from behind. Colston jumped.
“It’s not?” He asked looking up and down at the creature in the blue suit holding a clipboard and a pen.
“No. You are dead.”
“Dead?”
“Was I not speaking clearly? Dead. The opposite of being alive.” Colston opened his eyes in bewilderment. He took a second to gather his thoughts. He looked around and said
“At least I made it to heaven!”
“Heaven?” chuckled the creature “there’s no such thing.”
“Of course there is! There’s heaven for the good and h…” the creature in the suit began to laugh hysterically.
“If I had a nickel…” he said, holding his sides.
“What and who are you?” “I’m an Inkem”
“What’s an Inkem?”
“Well, I’m …Hm…” the Inkem scratched his chin “How do I explain this?” He began to tap his clipboard with his finger. “Have you heard of that man in the boat who you have to pay to get you across the river to get to the other side?”
“The Charon?”
“An Inkem is like that only we don’t have a boat, you don’t have to pay and there is no other side.”
“How is that anything …”
“Never mind that, just think of me as your tour guide or your hotel manager.”
“Where are we?”
“Nowhere.”
“How can we be nowhere?”
“We just are, but not for long, I have to check you in.”
“Check me in?”
“What do you think happens after death, oh never mind you already answered that, let me tell you what happens: you get into the House of Doors.”
Just as the Inkem said that a hallway filled with doors appeared, Colston could not see the end of it.
“And an Inkem does what exactly?”
“We announce ‘inkeming people’…or we ‘ink’em!’” He began to laugh hysterically once more.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll show you! When people are born a new door is created and opened. If it’s a boy the door pink if it’s a girl it’s blue.”
“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“No, you humans really distorted things” Colston had no reply.
“This door remains open. There are currently 6.7 billion open doors, give or take a couple. As each person lives their life, their room fills up with things. If you were good at piano a piano will appear and so on. There are photographs, art, statues, stories, music and entertainment systems all according to how well you lived your life. The more people you cared for and they in turn cared for you, the more comfortable your room becomes. A chair turns into a couch when two people get married for example.”
“What if they separate?”
“Then, the chair disappears. This works the other way around too. If you have spent your life making other lives miserable the room is filled with dreadful things. One other bonus which I find most exciting is the window of hope.”
“What window?”
“Every room has a window which is directed at life, you don’t see your life or your past but you can watch people you want live theirs, people who are alive now of course. For example if you had a daughter and she was on Earth right now living, you could watch her live her life.”
“So all my life I’ve been watched?”
“Maybe…possibly.”
“Do people stay alone in the room?”
“No, if any other person in the House of Doors has things similar to the ones in your room you then have connecting doors and you can visit. It’s delightful! What room are you in?” The Inkem asked.
“How should I know, shouldn’t you tell me?”
“It’s on your wristband” Colston looked at his wrist. The orange wristband looked similar to the one he had gotten at the hospital many years ago when he had twisted his ankle.
“It says room identification number: 19,000,920,123” The Inkem dropped his clipboard.
“Say that one more time?”
“19,000, 920,123” The Inkem covered his mouth and stared at Colston.
“What?” he asked “Is something wrong?”
“Let me check” said the Inkem as he grabbed Colston’s wrist. He read carefully.
“I don’t believe it!” he said “It’s room 19,000,920,123!”
“Seriously? You actually know the details of every room, there must be trill….”
“No. Just one” he took a deep breath “Everyone knows about this one, there have been books written in the House just on theories about this room.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your room is the only one that’s…empty.”
“Empty? Empty!? Empty! How is that possible?” Colston asked
“I was hoping you could tell me, I actually feel honoured to be the first to know, please tell me how could you manage going through life without having any impact on anyone’s life?”
“What?”
“For every good influence you get something good, for every negative one something bad…remember we went over this a couple of minutes ago, but your room is empty.”
The word empty was still ringing in Colston’s ear. Now the silence in the white room no longer seemed so bad. How? His room? Empty?
“How long do people stay in the house of doors?”
“You never get out.”
“There must me some mistake, I … I thought if I don’t bother anyone I would …”
Colston knew he could not talk his way out of this one.
“Inkem? Is there any way to talk to the Judge, the person in charge of the House of Doors?”
“I can give her a message for you.”
“Her?”
“Yes. Her. She is the ruler of the House of Doors.”
“Could you ask Her, if maybe I could get a second chance to prove myself or maybe for some books in my room?”
“I’ll try but rules are rules. No exceptions are ever made.”
“Maybe since I am an exception to begin with…empty room?”
“Good point. I’ll see what I can do.”
Colston entered his room and stared at the four walls. He peeked outside the window of hope, but he had no one alive whose life he would want to watch. He moved around, slept and pondered but it all got very dull easily. After five weeks, Colston felt hopeless. He was used to isolation, but not an empty room. Could it really be that isolation was worse than doing a bad deed? He could not even hurt himself or bleed because he was already dead. Just then a robin flew in through the window carrying a message from Her.
Colston quickly opened the letter and read the fine print “I’ll think about it.” Surprisingly the robin stayed. He flew around the room several times and just perched itself on the window. Colston became fond of the bird and befriended him. The robin sang for Colston but after months of speaking only to the robin with no reply, Colston began to lose his mind, he was so bored.
Years passed by, one right after the other slowly and painfully, until one day when there was a tapping at the Window of Hope. The bright room darkened. It was a grand black vulture carrying another message from Her. In bold letters it was written “No.”
Colston stared desperately at the letter. Being awfully disturbed by this message Colson did not note the Vulture kill his little friend the Robin.
His eyes widened. A rage as such had never taken all over his body. Fury flowed through his veins from head to foot. He sprang on his feet deranged and killed the vulture with his bare hands. An idea emerged. Colston used the vulture’s feathers as quills and his blood as ink and he began to write passionately on every white wall the story of his life
as he remembered it. He worded each phrase most passionately using minute details to make his life seem extraordinary. As he used the last drop of blood, Her voice came from above.
“Colston, what have you done? Killed my messenger?”
Colston looked around only then realizing his deed.
“I…I…I didn’t…I’m so sorry” he pleaded thinking his only chance to escape his wretched fate was gone.
“Don’t be. Now you may have a second chance.”
“What?”
“Don’t you see Colston? You’ve made a friend, killed an enemy and created art. You had an influence on two lives. The birds were sent to you as a test, and you passed.”
The next morning Colston was reborn and left in a basket at the doorstep of a childless family. The only object resting beside him was a book titled The House of Doors so that he may never forget and make the same mistake twice.
The End
©Copyright A.I Marin. Work Published in: Victoria: A Students’ History A History and Anthology of Creative Work, Coach House Press, Toronto, 2012
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