Awake

By Joshua Armstrong

Alex Morris succumbed to cancer at 85. As he closed his eyes for the last time, he awoke in a strange place and met with an all too familiar face.  

"Welcome to the afterlife Mr. Morris." 

Alex endures a strange odyssey of his post-life and meets others like him, those who rejected the choices presented to him.

Will he and his companions succumb to their caretakers and find peace? or will they endure hardship after hardship and learn the ultimate truth of what happens after you take your last breath...

• Language: English
• Publisher: JJN Publishing
• Release date: Aug 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386498339

Joshua Armstrong

Joshua Armstrong lives in Vancouver, WA. He works as a Production Analyst and writes in his spare time. Currently working on his book series Rozen Chronicles, He is also the head writer and creative consultant for the visual novel “Spice of Life” When not working or writing, he can often be found relaxing under a tree or destroying hoards of monstrosities with whatever game he’s playing.

Book preview

The Deceased:

Col. Alex Morris Ret . – Born: 1935 – Died: 2024

Age: 89

Profession: Marine Veteran of both Korea and Vietnam. Retired on disability.

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Mike Aldington – Born 2035 – Died 2050:

Age: 15

Profession: Student

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Barry Smith – Born: 1972 – Died: 2001

Age: 29

Profession: Pro Basketball Player

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Akbar Malik – Born: 1985 – Died:2050 

Age: 65

Profession: Dharma instructor

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Kate Monroe – Born: 1968 – Died: 2045

Age: 56

Profession : Computer Programmer and Business Owner

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Lucy Pinkerton – Born: 1978 – Died: 2013

Age: 35

Profession: Assistant Librarian

Chapter 1 - Judgement

A re you awake?

Am I awake? What kind of question was that?

I can see you moving.

I can move. The pain is gone!

Try and open your eyes.

Brightness, oh god the light!

Take your time. The transition can be difficult.

What... where am I? Vision is clearing; the blurriness is starting to take shape. Are those my hands? My hands are young again! The liver spots and arthritis is gone! I can flex my fingers!

A man stood in front of him, wearing sandals, a white robe, and a strip of blue cloth that ran diagonally from his shoulder.

Welcome to the afterlife Mr. Morris. said the strange man.

Where am I? The last thing I remember, I was on my bed. The cancer was crawling through my chest. Am I’m dead? Mr. Morris questioned the man speaking to him.

Yes, well in a sense, your life has passed, and it’s time to review your deeds and be judged. The man said as if it was a beautiful thing.

Now, hold on. Mr. Morris replied as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Mr. Morris took in his surroundings. He was in a white room with no doors or windows and no real perceptible walls, just endlessness. The only thing in the place was a twin bed covered in white linens that matched the floor and the ceiling and an empty white pressboard nightstand.

Panic gripped his chest as he stared into the horizon of the maddening place. The realization set it that he could no longer count himself among the living.

My home, my family, and my life have ended, and all that is left is what? What did I truly leave behind? Mr. Morris thought to himself.

He was not close to his children, his wife barely spoke to him after the divorce. Even near the end, the only person who visited his room was a nurse and that blond woman who lived across the street. She would come by and visit near the end, bringing treats that made him throw up as soon as she left. And now what? Will all the stories and sermons come to pass?

Standing before him was a tall brown haired man with piercing blue eyes. He had a full beard and a look of peace on his face. He opened his hands as if to welcome him, and he saw the man’s palms. There were holes in them. His mind exploded with recognition.

Mr. Morris knew that face. It was the face of the man that bombarded his life for as long as he could remember. The man whom, as a boy, Mr. Morris wept too and pleaded to bring his mother back after her accident. The man he gazed upon, in the picture over the mantle, while his father whipped him with a twitch. The man who was the focus of murals on so many hospital walls, on so many candles, TV shows, books, and commemorative plates.

You... was all Mr. Morris could say, his tone was more accusatory than he wanted. The switches in his brain were clicking far better than even before the Alzheimer’s settled in. A flood of memories raced through his mind’s eye and each one induced an emotional response. Joy, fear, helplessness, anger, frustration, loss, betrayal, senselessness. I know you... Mr. Morris said, his tone dripping with disgust.

Indeed. I came to welcome you into my home. The man said, He crooked his head to the side and smiled, showing perfectly formed teeth and attempting to wash him over with a sense of warmth and love.

No. Mr. Morris said, shaking off the euphoria. No! I’m not going. Not with you. Never with you! Mr. Morris screamed. He stood up and tested his legs; his bum knee felt great! Mr. Morris looked over at the man before him, trying to gauge his reaction to what his visitor said. He wore a quirky smile as if trying to hold back a laugh.

Mr. Morris, you’ve been told how this works. The man said with a gentle tone and a welcoming smile, All of your life, your loved ones spoke of me to you. The truth is in your heart. We will go and review your life; then you’ll be judged, and rewarded by my acceptance into paradise or punished eternally, as you’ve been taught. The man said, with a slight threatening edge to the latter part of his sentence.

Mr. Morris decided to call him Greeting Card Jesus; it’s an image he’s seen countless times in the greeting card aisle when he got his Mom a card every year.

Who made you the judge of me? Mr. Morris asked he was not going to accept this lying down. To show his audacity to his new companion, he picked a random point and started walking in one direction, looking for an invisible wall, or an end to the infinity of the horizon.

I sure as hell didn’t. Mr. Morris continued I may not be perfect, I know I did some shit in my life, but I don’t give a damn about your sort of judgment. I gave up on it a long time ago, and I won’t allow it to hang over my head now.

The man looked slightly confused, as if unsure what to do. Mr. Morris continued walking in the same direction defiantly, looking behind him, saw he had only traveled twenty feet from the bed, and the brunette figure standing next to it. Mr. Morris gave a huff and kept walking.

Let me guess, Mr. Morris said sarcastically. He changed his direction on a whim and worked a zig-zag pattern to see if he made any progress at all. normally the other folks are all on their knees, weeping and praising you. You pat their head with a ‘there, there’ and they skip happily toward their end of life review, then they are reunited in the holy afterlife or condemned to a lake of fire. He looked over his shoulder to check how far he was from the bed. It was the same.

The man nodded and replied, That is a good example of the process. Mr. Morris stopped walking again and checked where he was. He was still twenty feet from the bed. He made a right-hand turn and picked up his pace to a light jog, continuing the conversation.

Bull... shit. Mr. Morris snapped, he was waving his arms around trying to locate something, anything, in the vexing space. Throwing his hands in the air with frustration, he walked back to the bed which was still only twenty feet behind him and sat down. He gave Greeting Card Jesus a furious glare.

Let me out of here. He stated warningly, pushing every ounce of anger through his words, hoping it would shatter the pristine smile across the righteous face in front of him. 

Mr. Morris, can you please explain your reluctance to continue with the judgment? Greeting Card Jesus asked as Mr. Morris sat down next to him. Greeting Card Jesus reassuringly patted his shoulder, only to be met with an icy stare. Greeting Card Jesus took the hint and pulled his hand back.

You and I both know that this whole thing is bullshit. Growing up, I was told before bed every night if I prayed and asked for forgiveness, all my sins would be washed away, and I’d be forgiven. Mr. Morris replied Greeting Card Jesus nodded in agreement. I’ve done some terrible things in Korea and even more during Vietnam that should never be forgiven in my opinion. I don’t want your forgiveness. I regret what I did, and no amount of retribution will wash them away.

Nothing is so terrible. You’ve repented all your life over the deeds you wrought. Even in your final hours, you did ask for me. Greeting Card Jesus said, in a somewhat compassionate tone, as he rested his hand on Mr. Morris’s shoulder gave him an ‘it’s ok’ smile. That same annoying smile he’s seen on countless faces, which always infuriated him. That complacent ‘it’s okay’ smile that people believe will be enough to allow forgiveness. He’s seen it all his life, and now, he’s going to see it in his afterlife as well, oh god kill me!

The words Greeting Card Jesus spoke seemed filled with more condescension than compassion, or that’s what he always heard when anyone said that to him.

Would this man merely forgive him for all the suffering he caused people? If he followed Greeting Card Jesus to review his life, would he not be condemned as the monster he views himself?

Yes, it is terrible! I am the only judge who can weigh my rights and wrongs. And that last hour I was so high on morphine, I could have been asking for big bird to fly me away. Mr. Morris retorted. So because I asked for you to accept me after calling in napalm strikes to innocent villages, tying prisoners to a stake, setting them on fire for interrogations, sending their charred  fingers back to their wives, and murdering countless children all in the name of war, I get eternal life that I don’t deserve?

Greeting Card Jesus was speechless! His serene smile seemed poker-faced, but something in his eyes said he was calculating his next words.

I reject this whole process. Mr. Morris inferred.  You are biased, unfair, unforgiving, and unrelenting. Your father is a crazy dictator who’s so hung up on people loving him, that he’s driven humanity to genocide, regicide, infanticide, and mass extinction that is if we go by ‘the good book.’

Greeting Card Jesus gazed at Mr. Morris with a more severe look. I think you should rethink your options. You must go through with the process Mr. Morris. Eternity awaits you.

N... O... and you can’t make me. I’ll tell you WHY you can’t make me. Mr. Morris said defiantly.

Why... can’t I make you? Greeting Card Jesus asked. Your time on earth is over.

Free will. Mr. Morris said triumphantly. I was told by your people over and over about us having a choice with our fate. We can do what we want, that is what separates us from the apes. You’re going to tell me, that this last moment, you will deny me my free will? The very gift your father bestowed upon not only our flesh but our spirit? At this hour of my life or after-life, you will tell me I have to do something when I choose not to? Mr. Morris stared the man down. his gaze was unwavering. He knew the logic was flawed, but he wanted to play this card to see the man’s reaction.

No Mr. Morris, we would never deny you your free will. We will give you a choice; we did give you many choices with your time on earth... Greeting Card Jesus explained. Mr. Morris interrupted him.

No... no... no. Those are illusions! Just like this whole life review thing is an illusion. I remember my life; I know what I did. It haunts me even now! Why make me watch it all again? You’re not judging my deeds; you’re not judging if I helped the homeless or if I set them on fire! All you’re doing is seeing if my name is on the guest list. The whole life review is unnecessary and pointless!

That’s... not the process, Greeting Card Jesus said, clearly enjoying this. He was no longer hiding his grin and seemed slightly amused by the sheer defiance Mr. Morris was giving him.

That’s not the process, that’s not the process, you keep saying that. All I am going to say is I reject the process! Mr. Morris said defiantly and plopped onto the provided bed and dramatically crossing his arms to drive the point home.

That’s your choice Greeting Card Jesus said and headed to an empty wall that seemed to grow out of the floor in front of the bed. A round opening oozed into existence as he approached. Greeting Card Jesus stepped halfway through the threshold and paused, turning to look over his shoulder at his defiant guest.

So what? You’re going to leave me in here? Mr. Morris shouted after the man.

You chose to reject the process; we cannot move forward so that you can stay here. Greeting Card Jesus said. Do not worry, you don’t need to eat or drink, you will not be harmed. Call on me when you decide not to be so... difficult.

With that, GCJ turned his back as the portal melted back into the floor.

Don’t need to eat or drink eh? Mr. Morris said with a grin. Well, seems like only one thing left to do...

He took a deep breath and shouted as loud as he could 99 bottles of beer on the wall... 99 bottles of beer...

MR. MORRIS WAS ABOUT to start his fourth round of 99 bottles when the wall appeared and opened up. Greeting Card Jesus held a goblet in his hand adorned with jewels made of solid gold and a golden platter with various fruits, cheese, and bread laid out in a lavish presentation.

Ya couldn’t have just gotten me a Big Mac? Mr. Morris asked sarcastically.

I thought that this might help in your decision. Greeting Card Jesus said.

There is no choice, I do what you want, or you keep me here against my will. That’s not a choice. If you want to give me free will to choose what happens to me, after I pass on, you will allow me to make a choice myself, not threaten me with subtle coercion of conformity. Mr. Morris waved to the platter of food. I’ve managed prisoners and have used the exact same tactics during interrogations. Is that what this is? Or you giving me some sort of communion. This your way of telling me to eat you?

Greeting Card Jesus let out a disappointed sigh. The same one his mother gave him when he let her down. The sound and tone slammed a feeling of shame and regret through his body, and his mind could see himself looking up at her. His mother’s tear-filled eyes would make him feel like the most worthless being on the planet. "Mr. Morris, I don’t want you to perceive this as a threat. I wish to welcome you with