A Cold Room

“OK Frank stop there. We don’t do surnames around here, your first name. It will be just fine,” said the man in the black suit.

The unimposing room was cold and poorly lit. Two chairs, a table and a small electric heater working flat-out without making much difference.

Frank sat on his uncomfortable wooden seat facing the man who had introduced himself as Jake. A stern-faced young man. He just sat looking at frank, as if trying to work him out.

“Where am I?” said Frank.

“The afterlife of course,” said Jake.

That was awkward, not least because it meant Frank was now dead. That on its own was bad enough. However, it also meant he had been wrong. Frank had never believed in the afterlife.

One life, live it to the full. That had always been his motto. It had served him well until now.

Things were vague, slowly though the course of events came back to him. Booze, way too much of it and his car. He was remembering now, the bad bend and tree on his way home.

“I don’t believe in the afterlife, one is all we get,” said Frank.

“Well now, that’s a little difficult. We have forms and need to go through a few things with you. Let you know what happens next,” said Jake.

Jake got up to leave the room, pausing at the door.

“Tell you what, give us a shout when you do believe in the afterlife,” Jake left locking the door behind him.

Frank? Well he tried shouting, banging, screaming, even pleading. He’s still there, sitting in that dreary, damp, badly heated room. No windows, two chairs and a broken heater. Waiting for the day someone comes back so that he can tell them he now definitely believes in the afterlife.

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