LJ Idol Prompt 15 — The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

[flipflop_diva]

The clock on the wall ticks off each unbearable second, each one seemingly longer than the last, until every second feels like a lifetime. Each one an unmeasurable stretch of time full of doubt and despair and regret.

How long has she been here anyway? Minutes or hours or days or months? Maybe years? Bethany doesn’t know. All she knows is that the plain white walls of this claustrophobic room are closing in on her. The chairs are plastic and much too small and no matter how she positions herself she cannot get comfortable. Her whole body aches, which should be impossible, and her head pounds. Sweat drips off her forehead, and her hands are shaking. She feels like she is on the cusp of an eternal panic attack, made worse by the slow, awful ticking of the stupid clock on the wall.

Most of the time she is alone, trapped in the small white room with just the horrible deafening sound of the ticking clock to keep her company. But on occasion, the door that is barely discernible in the wall will swing open, blinding her with the light from beyond, and in will come a companion. A doctor with surgical gloves and a stethoscope around his neck. A judge in her billowy black robes. A moody teenager who barely even glances at her. An elderly man who can barely walk. Even a fluffy white dog whose yips are just barely better than the ticking of the clock.

But none of them ever stay long with her. They take a seat (even the dog), look around and then they are gone. Called away.

But yet she stays. Stays and listens to the horrible tick, tick, tick of time never ending until the only thing she can do is count them.

So count them she does. Every last agonizing second, one after another until she thinks she might explode.

She’s reached three million — three million monotonous, never-ending ticks — when the door swings open again. She sits up straighter in her seat. Maybe this is it. Maybe someone has come to call her. A vision in white. Maybe in red. She doesn’t care at this moment.

But it is far from anyone official coming through the door. It is just a middle-aged woman with her dark hair cut in a bob and wearing jeans and a tank top. Like maybe she just came from walking that yippy dog who was in here earlier.

Bethany sighs and flops back against the hard plastic chair, making the chair groan even louder than she does. She feels tears prick the back of her eyes. The middle-aged woman stares at her, but Bethany can’t help herself. This is the worst possible day of her entire existence, and all she wants is to leave.

The middle-aged woman walks over to her and seats herself very carefully in the hard plastic chair right beside her. Bethany looks over, and almost hits the woman’s nose with her nose. Apparently, the middle-aged woman does not believe in personal space.

Bethany leans back a little, struggling with the impulse to ask her to please, for the love of everything, just move away.

“Hello,” the middle-aged woman says, the first thing anyone has said to her all day. It makes Bethany blink in surprise.

“Hi?” she answers.

“How long have you been here?”

“Too long,” Bethany says.

The woman nods, like she understands, which is weird because literally no one can understand unless they are Bethany or not in this room any longer. But the woman is not finished yet. She asks, “Why do you think that is?”

“Uhhhh.” Bethany blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Did you do a lot of bad things?”

Bethany frowns. “I mean … what do you consider bad?”

“What do you consider bad?” the woman counters.

Bethany shrugs. “I didn’t murder anyone, if that’s what you’re implying. Or steal from them. Or sell them drugs laced with fentanyl.”

“That’s very specific,” the woman says.

“I mean, I might have bought some drugs like that and taken them, but I didn’t sell them.”

“So you feel like buying and taking the drugs were a bad thing?”

“It was for a party!” Bethany said. “I wanted to be cool.”

“But instead people died.”

“What? No! No one died. Just, you know, really sick. And, like, dropped out of college. But not died.”

“So it was a bad thing?”

“It was a stupid thing,” Bethany says, then sighs. “One of many stupid things.”

“What were some of the others?”

Bethany shrugs. Why is she actually telling this woman any of this anyway? But yet her mouth continues to open and words continue to flow out.

“I dated a guy who I let punch me around.”

“You let him?”

“Well, not let him let him. But I didn’t stop him or anything.”

“You think you should have stopped him?”

“Of course. Maybe if I had …” She stops.

“Maybe if you had?”

Bethany shrugs again. “I heard maybe I wasn’t the last.”

“And if you had stopped him?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have been the last, would I?”

“So you consider not stopping him a stupid thing?”

Bethany scrunches her nose. “Dating him was the stupid thing. Getting out and not telling anyone why and letting him just go about it all over again was the bad thing.”

“Ahhhh,” the woman says.

“What is that supposed to me?”

“Just trying to understand,” she says.

“Okay,” Bethany says, then, “Why do you care anyway?”

“Why?” It’s the woman’s turn to blink in surprise. “How else am I supposed to evaluate you?”

Bethany feels her heart plummet all the way down to her feet. “What?” she says. “You’re joking.”

“I very much am not,” the woman says.

Bethany studies her. Indeed, she does not look like she is joking.

“I have done good things too!” she declares. “Many, many good things!” But the woman is pushing herself to her feet, suddenly holding a clipboard in her hands.

“I have all the information I need,” she says. “I’ll be back with a decision.”

“A decision?” Bethany says weakly.

“Yes, dear. On whether you led a life deserving of the upstairs or the downstairs.”

Bethany glances at the clock on the wall. “Will it take long?”

The woman smiles. “About five billion ticks, dear.”

Bethany feels horror spread throughout her whole being. The woman’s eyes soften.

“Oh, dear,” she says. “What is five billion ticks compared to your eternal afterlife?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. In an instant, she is gone, and Bethany is once again alone in the little white room. Just her and the agonizing tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall.

One …

Two …

Three …

…






Fiction



This was written for therealljidol. If you liked my entry, please consider voting for me! You should also go read the other amazing entries. You can find them here. Voting should be up Saturday!

Comments

[erulissedances]

Argh - she doesn't need to be transported to Hell, she's already there. That room and that ticking clock would drive me totally bonkers!

- Erulisse (one L)

[chasing_silver]

Purgatory! This was creepy!

[inkstainedfingertips]

Left in limbo like that would be the ultimate form of torture. You portrayed her fear and frustration well. Great job.

[mollywheezy]

I had to Google how long 3 million seconds is . . . ;)

You did an excellent job showing Bethany's frustration and discomfort! I know I HATE plastic chairs like that!

[bluemermaid.livejournal.com]

Actual hell would almost be a relief after so long of blank white nothing lol. The ticking clock would drive me bananas very quickly!

As usual I love the way you word things. :)

[fausts_dream]

This is why I oppose most views of an afterlife... I feel I have earned my dirt nap,

32 years of bureaucracy...dirt nap please.

Great Story though

[adoptedwriter]

Purgatory-Land! Agh!