My Last Conversation

8/8/2019 My Last Conversation

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My Last ConversationWritten by Patrick Doherty

It was deemed cleaner, purer. More humane than the previous methods. The procedure has been

explained to me only once. I will be brought into a small, dimly lit room, no larger than a closet. The room

holds hundreds of dollars worth of Medicine and thousands of dollars worth of equipment. My Medicine

and my equipment. The masters of my temporary abode were more then happy to provide. Inside the

room, only a part time orderly, my guard, and little old me will reside. The room will also contain a single

mirror, but I am aware of the twisted truth. Beyond that mirror lies a room larger than the one I will

occupy. While I freeze, that room will be heated. While I starve, the occupants of the Other Room will be

fed with the finest catering. While my friends and I wear somber faces, the faces in the Other Room will

sport facades of happiness and success. For their dreams have been achieved after a never ending struggle,

and they relish the revelation of their victory. Their victory will rest upon the final occupant of My Room.

This final attendee is a simple gurney. My two friends will strap me to this gurney, and the ones in the

Other Room will applaud politely. While I am not their long sought after victory, the departure of life from

my mortal body is. My eternal death is their immortal wish.

There was a knock against the three inch wide wooden door that was my only route to freedom.

This door had been my portal into the pure, white walled alcove that had been home for the last twenty-five

years. My last Home. Not the place I would perish, no. There was merely a large number of lasts that had

taken place here. My last meal was definitely something of an annoyance for both my care takers and me.

I had first suggested my favorite meal in the world, but that first option was quickly denied. So I merely

substituted the Meat in the dish for a liver cooked rare, keeping the side of fava beans and a cheap virgin

red wine. The drink and beans were gone, but the poorly prepared liver remained. It was no proper

substitute for the true Meat. While I did enjoy those meals, I must admit those are to blame for why I have

been wasting away in the hell hole for the past twenty-five years.

There was one more Last I had to endure. My Last Rites. This ritual was a vital aspect of the

Catholic Church, a religious organization I had joined prior to my first parole hearing. Needless to say, the


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board didnt buy a word of it. I especially believe they were offended by my statement of how much I

enjoyed eating the body of Christ. Still, since the penal system is just and kind, they were obligated to

allow a priest to convey this practice on me. The Last Rites guarantees whoever receives the blessing is

promised a spot in heaven. While this seems unlikely that I would be guaranteed a spot, I decided to go

through with the procedure none the less. When the door opened, I expected a single priest. Instead, I was

greeted by the priest and two other gentlemen. One was dressed in a simple outfit, compiled of ripped

jeans, a white College of the Holy Cross sweatshirt, and a baseball cap without a logo. He wore no jewelry

and had brown eyes and brown hair. His face was tanned, and he had grown a beard of medium length.

The first man walked slightly slouched, but he seemed very aware of what was happening in the room. The

other gentleman wore a black suit whose label I did not recognize. Underneath the jacket there was a

collared black shirt and around his neck there was a contrasting, vivid, red tie. His breast jacket pocket

lapel sported a single red rose. He wore Oakley sunglasses, which matched the color of his black, gelled-

backed hair. His skin was the color of alabaster, and he strode into the room, back arched, his mere

presence commanded attention. The combination of these new visitors would have garnered my complete

attention, except for the fact that they seemed to shimmer in and out of focus, as if they were not

completely there. Still, both appeared more interesting than the buffoon in the black and white. All three

took seats on the bench opposite me. The priest, in the middle, appeared to take no notice of the other two.

In fact, I took no notice of the priest. When the priest moved his lips, I could not hear him. Yet, I could

feel my head nod. It is not an action I commanded, but an action I felt someone else carried out. This new

feeling made me feel ill, so I shut my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I could not help myself, I

yelled out in confusion and shock.

I was sitting next to myself. This other self was conversing with the good father, seemingly of its

own free will. Even odder, the priest and I appeared to shimmer out of focus in a similar fashion to how

. I now stared intently at the first two visitors. They stared intently back, with the suit showing all of his

pearly whites, and the one with the hat wearing a wry smile. I sat speechless, mouth agape. Instead of

fading in and out, the pair glowed brightly, one glowing the color of his suit, the other radiating the color of

his sweatshirt. Shocking me, the suit smiled, fingering his lapel, Like the outfit? Its a custom-designed


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Kiton. Cost me thirty thousand dollars. I had to fly in a specialist from Naples. At this point, he stuck out

his hand, Names Beelzebub, but you can call me Bub. I shook the hand, not out of courtesy, but out of

fear of the consequences if I did not. I almost immediately pulled away. His hand simultaneously froze

and burned my own. Bub smiled again at my obvious discomfort. While rubbing the scorched/chilled

limb, the one with the hat extended his own hand. Names Immanuel, he said while smiling warmly. I

reached out, more cautious than last time, fearing the same result. Instead the hand not only felt normal,

but seemed to heal my own. I returned the smile, realizing it was one of the few smiles I have presented in

the past twenty five years. Before I could relish the moment, two thoughts struck me. One, I realized who

I was in the presence of, and two, the polite one was no doubt, very, upset with me.

Bub cleared his throat, If youll excuse me, we have work to do. Bub was now leafing through

a charcoal covered folder, Hm . Got to admit this is definitely an interesting file. It appears you have

committed thirteen first degree murders and , he stopped, re-read the page and chuckled to himself.

Ooh, my, this is interesting. He was now laughing hysterically. I know killers, but most

people do not have the taste for this kind of offense. When he said taste, he accompanied the word

with a wink. Still laughing, he motioned to Immanuel, Look at the pictures! This is right up your alley.

Needless to say, the last phrase was layered with sarcasm. Immanuel ignored the offer, instead

choosing to glare at me. This glare shook me with more guilt than any of the families soon to inhabit the

Other Room ever would.

Can you explain yourself? Immanuel questioned, I opened my mouth to speak, but he waved his

hand. If you can not justify your crimes, you will be spending all of eternity with this fun fellow.

Bub was still snickering at the files. Upon hearing himself mentioned, Bub once again faced me,

still smiling, I think Seven sounds like an appropriate fit for you, he said as he grinned. At this point he

removed his Oakleys, and for the first time in many years, I screamed in fear. Pure, debilitating fear.

For instead of eyes, I gazed into two pits of eternal darkness, all encompassing darkness, and a

darkness that stretched into forever. However, cutting through the blackness was a river as red as Bubs tie.

On the rivers edges were enormous centaurs carrying bows while guarding the boiling waters borders.

The river was not made of water, though. This material was thicker, slower moving. I felt myself


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approaching the river from the air, until I was hovering mere inches from the simmering substance. I could

feel my arm approaching the river, and before I broke the surface, I understood the composition of the

river.

Blood. The entire river was boiling blood!

Before I could pull away in horror, an arm shot out and grabbed my hand. I looked down at the

hand and noticed it was mere bones. I screamed again, but there was no sound. I struggled, but two, then

four, then dozens of arms reached out and began to drag me down, down to the steaming, ghastly gore. As

my body made contact with the vile substance, I encountered more agony than I have ever felt in my

lifetime, and no doubt in thousands of other lifetimes. I howled stronger than before, but still I could hear

not a whisper. Before I was fully immersed, I gazed at the sky from which I had descended. In the

distance, two figures were hovering. One was smiling and waving towards me. The smile so bright, I

could see it from the surface of the river. The other figure already had its back on me, and was ascending

toward a bright, welcoming light. I commanded my mouth to scream, : Take me with you! But my

throat produced no voice. As I finally felt my entire face submerge in the gore, I attempted a final scream

into the oblivion above.

Rapist! I opened my eyes half way through the shout, and I gazed upon my two visitors still

sitting in the prison cell.

Bub had returned the Oakleys to his face and cleared his throat again, What was that?

I was gasping heavily, exhausted from the vision. Darren Suder I know he took

advantage of over twenty-five people hid their bodies in backyard.

As I recovered my wits, Immanuel stared at me. So? he questioned me.

Before I answered, I remembered that in the face of these two men, I had forgotten why I had

done those terrible, terrible things. Yet in experiencing my future, I shocked myself into recalling why I

had punished those I deemed worthy of retribution. I smiled as I answered his question, My first true

Meal.

Immanuel raised his eyebrows, And your second?

Killed her husband to live with her boyfriend, I smiled.


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And your third? This time the question emerged from Bub, his second time speaking since my

little trip.

I smiled wider, Her boyfriend.

My two visitors glanced at teach other. Are all of your victims ? Bub wondered aloud.

Thieves, cheaters, liars, and killers? Yes, I responded in earnest, excited by their reactions. I

grew even more excited as I noticed the folder in Bubs hand turn a neutral shade of grey.

Immanuel noticed my joy, he spoke, Even though our Final Judgment will take into account the

fact that your actions were committed against the damned, it will not excuse you from their company.

As I felt the happiness leave me, Bub continued the thought, The taking of another life is one of

the worst crimes a man can commit. Combining a wrong with a right does not essentially cancel out the

first. Noticing my sadness, he presented what appeared to be his first true smile. It might though, he

said winking.

When will I know my Final Judgment? I asked quickly.

A little after the potassium chloride kicks in, Immanuel replied neutrally.

I shot him a questioning look, and Bub supplied the answered, with his trademark smile in place,

The Medicine that was created to stop your heart.

I was surprised, not sure of what he meant. At this point I recalled where I was immediately, and I

felt myself resume control over my other self. I tuned back into the conversation with the priest fast

enough to hear, Are you ready, my son?

I looked to either side of the priest, but no one was there, I stared back at the priest and

responded, Yes, Father.

I soon found myself being pulled down the hall by my guard, and I noticed a door in front of me

open. The opening revealed some equipment, an orderly with a needle, and a mirror. In the center of the

room stood a simple gurney. My gurney. As I entered the room, I heard two voices, so similar in quality I

could not distinguish a difference. The two voices shouted simultaneously, See you soon.

The End

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My Last Conversation