Corridors and doors; strip-lighting; more corridors; fast-walking, important walking. Blake was escorted at top-speed. Blake was on his way to see God.
They led him into a bullet-shaped capsule then followed him in… Whoosh of doors. The windows were tinted thus Blake could not see out. He knew they were travelling at great speed however, although there was no movement or sound to indicate that fact.
Then things went a little trippy. He felt drugged, although pleasantly so.
Somehow he knew he wasn’t in danger, so he closed his eyes.
The last thing he saw was an angel escort smiling back at him, the golden crossbow resting against her shining breast-plate … and then ….
When he awoke he found himself walking: down another corridor, flanked by the same angel-security. The way their heads darted from left to right reminded Blake of Secret Service Agents – like in the movies. These corridors were wider, taller than the previous ones. There was piped muzak -Elton John, he thought, though the title eluded him (something about a horny-backed toad?)
Blake suddenly felt lighter, full of humour, good cheer you might say.
You won’t put me in your penthouse … I’m going back to my plough…
He smiled to himself … and then …. A voice
‘God will see you now’
Blake awoke with a start. He was slumped on a leather sofa. An angel with a striped tie was stood over him.
‘So he really wants to see me?’ He croaked, somewhat groggily.
The man nodded, adjusted his collar and glanced at the place where his watch used to be. Blake stood, and allowed the angel to lead him to the doors.
The doors were huge, wooden; heavy wood, dark wood.
These were important doors.
Blake’s legs went weak, his mouth dried.
Supposing God didn’t like me?
I mean, the man with thin lips at the Great Library took an instant dislike to me, even though I’d gone out of my way to be polite to him.
The mighty doors opened silently, of their own accord.
Bright light emitted from the widening gap in glorious sunbeam-like rays. Blake expected harps and heavenly choirs, and thus they sounded in his head. He was frozen to the spot, and somehow the doors were now behind him. He was in the room.
He was in God’s room.
The light slowly dimmed, the heavenly chorus subsided in his head. And then, God spoke unto Blake:
Blake looked around, he could see no one. The angel with the tie nudged him and nodded toward a small door off to the side. God was behind that door.
‘How do I address him?’ he whispered to the angel
“You may call me … Lord” thundered a reply.
The suited angel leaned in and whispered ‘the Lord is all seeing and all-hearing’
‘Then why do I work in surveillance?’
The tie gasped, Blake froze.
“Because I choose that you should work in surveillance!” thundered the voice behind the door.
‘-MY LORD!’ corrected God.
Blake had not got off to a good start. The tie was shaking his head at him.
‘What can I do?’ thought Blake
“You can start by telling me the truth about yourself” replied God.
‘Did he just read my mind?’ thought Blake
“Yes” replied God.
All of a sudden Blake regretted his ambition.
And he regretted his imagination.
But most of all he regretted his Catholic upbringing.