| St. Peter's Gate (points: 3/10)|
St. Peter's Gate
You are standing before a giant golden gate, adorned on all sides by tiny fat cherubs playing harps. There is nothing to either side of the gate, which makes you wonder what the gate is for, since you could just go around it. But that would be too obvious. You are standing, dead as a doornail, in a bank of space clouds. It's probably a space gate. The gate is currently closed.
There is a small, bookish man here standing at a podium. He is reading a large book. He has not noticed your arrival.
> SAY HELLO
The old man looks up sharply. He is a kindly old man, like a grandpa that likes to share Werthers Originals with his hyperactive grandchild as a bonding experience. He is wearing small framed reading glasses, dangling at the end of his nose. You make a mental note to yourself to ask why angels need glasses. Are there optometrists in heaven? Because, based on your experiences with them, they'd undoubtedly be in the other place.
"Yes," he says. "Can I help you?"
> SAY I DON'T KNOW, CAN YOU?
The old man says, "Ah. I see. Perhaps an introduction is in order. My name is Pete. Some call me St. Peter, but that sounds so formal doesn't it? Tell you what though. Works great with the chicks. Especially the bad ones. Think they can get in the easy way, if you know what I'm saying. Of course they can't, but it's not like I'm going to tell them that. Who am I to judge them? ... Oh right. I'm St. Peter. It's what I do. I should write that on my hand or something."
Pete says, "Okay, look. This is how it's going to work. I'm going to weigh your sins, blah blah blah. Long story short, if you are good, you get to go in the gate and play Yahtzee with the Mormons. If you are bad, well, I don't think I'm exaggerating much when I say you'll be eternally sorry.
"Okay, let's see. Exactly what manner was it that you died?"
> SAY KILLED BY TROLL
"A troll? You do know that this is heaven's gate, right? Lying isn't exactly going to help your case... Fine, we'll do it the hard way. Let's see here."
Pete opens the large dusty tome resting on his podium and flips around in it. As he reads through it, he makes a variety of different gestures that make you a bit concerned for your immediate future. He sighs, then giggles. Completely unaware of your presence, he starts picking his nose. Then he looks up an notices you. With some disappointment in his eyes, he flicks it off to the side. Again you are forced to confront the possibility that angels eat their own boogers. Perhaps an even stranger thought is whether they are any good. Holy boogers must be superior in some way, it's regular boogers is some good eatins.
Time passes... slowly. More giggling.
Pete looks up with a frown on his face and says, "Turns out, it was a troll. That's pretty unusual, getting killed by an imaginary creature, but hey, we get all sorts up here. This one guy... well, let's just say that the horse didn't take kindly to his actions. Strangely, we let him in. Turns out that he gave a lot to charity. That's worth something up here, you know. I notice that you never gave to charity. Well, you did give one of your sister's favorite dolls to the Toys For Tots program, but I'm not sure one cancels out the other.
"*ahem* Let's go through this step by step. You've never really done anything particularly useful in your life. You weren't particularly bad either. You were just sort of there, taking up space. Sure, you've got some things to recommend you. You were kind to animals. Only cursed when it was funny. Only farted three times in church. Never killed anyone on purpose. You are recommended more for what you didn't do than what you did.
"But on the other hand, you've got some sins here. Wondering whether or not holy boogers taste good is not really a sin, but I'd suggest against future ruminations. You picked on your sister. You once set a man's hair on fire - but since it was accidental and hilarious, I'll over look that one. Oh, and the masturbation! Holy hell, kid! It's not a major sin, but seriously! There's like thirty pages here! Your chapter is only 32 pages long!"
"Look, don't worry about it kid. It's too late now. Luckily, you were good enough to not get thrown downtown, but unfortunately, you aren't good enough to pass through these gates. Normally, in a situation like this, we'd just put you in purgatory. Unfortunately, it's being painted right now. Mauve. I kid you not. Wasn't my idea. I wanted a nice gray, but they said it was too depressing. Mauve... too much Home & Garden channel if you ask me.
Anyhoo, we can't put you there at the moment. Already, we've had relocate the current citizens somewhere else, and let me tell you, it was difficult finding the room. Had to stick a few people into dog heaven. Unfortunately, some were allergic to dogs and they're stuck in hog heaven at the moment. The complaints we are getting from there are just..."
St. Pete sighs.
"Okay, here's the deal. We'll return to your life. Let's just call it a small clerical error in your favor. Get it? Clerical error? Go on. Think about it for a second. No? Well, when you get it later, you'll just burst out laughing, I'm sure. So, we'll send you back. A second chance. Good luck. Oh, and might want to cut down on the Girls Gone Wild commercials, if you get my drift."
> KICK ST. PETER IN THE TEETH
Before you can make any action, you get an uneasy feeling, like being a tissue paper being sucked out of an airlock. You are dizzy. You are sick. When the room stops spinning, you open your eyes to see...
West of the House
You are in an open field west of a big white house with a boarded front door.
There is a small mailbox here.
> SON OF A BI