A UNIFORM SHADE OF RED

The road to judgment is a tortuous one indeed

Part 1

Giving due consideration to the circumstances, Theodore Nathaniel Pendergast died well. He walked the long, dimly lit hall, chatting with his companions about the miserable conditions in the world, late-breaking news events, and traded plain old small talk with them. Even told a couple of jokes. For all outward appearances, one would not have known he was walking his last mile. At least not by the tone and tempo of his conversation. Anyway, that’s what they call that last walk, you know — the last mile. Of course, it was not even close to a mile. More like fifty yards. But that’s what they call it. The last mile. Who knows why?

When they entered a small room surrounded on three sides by windows with the blinds closed tightly so people could not see the preliminary activities. Theodore walked over to a table. It was an antiseptic-looking thing; all stainless steel with a thin mat and white sheet on top. He laid down without anyone having to guide, force, or help him in any way. His companions said their goodbyes, shook hands with him as he lay on the table, then left. Three of the medical staff in white coats remained.

The doctors went through the motions of preparing him for his injections. There would be three injections. He’d read up on it, so he knew what to expect. They strapped him down to the table and someone, he wasn’t sure who, asked if he had any last words before they continued. Upon asking the question, the blinds snapped open. He rolled his head to the left so he could see through the large windows. On the other side of the glass sat an entourage of folks who had come to see him off. He smiled at them and gave them as much of a farewell wave as he could. He accompanied his wave with a thumbs up sign. It wasn’t much of a wave because of the restraints, but he was sure they recognized it as one, and he knew hardly anyone would mistake his show of a thumb up as representing anything but a positive attitude on his part. He wondered why they bothered to strap him down.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “Words will only prolong what I have awaited for so many years.” Serenity tempered his voice as he continued, “So long everybody. I hope you find a way to fix the world. It’s in a real mess.”

#

Theodore felt good. He awoke, there’s no other word that fits what he experienced, in a huge room lined with chairs, like a doctor’s office, but there were no boring magazines with articles about gallbladder operations and no bad art prints hanging on the walls. He sat alone, except for a shapely woman sporting too much makeup. She wore a comfortable and revealing white robe, slightly reminiscent of a toga. She sat at a desk against the far wall. To his astonishment, he wore a similar robe, but of more coarse fabric. Where had that come from? Who dressed him? The woman at the desk? He wondered how all that had happened without his knowledge. Anyway, because she sat at a desk, he decided she was just the receptionist and probably not the one who had fitted him with his toga.

She looked up from doing her nails and said, “Mr. Pendergast, the Director will see you now.” Her voice, sexy and smooth, echoed in the vacant room of chairs.

She pointed to the only door in the surrounding walls. That’s odd, he thought. Where’s the door I came through to get in here? He stopped at the receptionist’s desk and asked, “Um, what…what is this place?”

“Why, this is the Hall of Final Decisions, Mr. Pendergast. Go on, the Director is waiting,” she said, waving her freshly painted nails at the door. Her nails were purple. Why would anyone want purple nails? What final decision?
Theodore passed through the door and entered another empty room. There stood a single chair in the center of the chamber. Everything radiated soft, white light — floor, ceiling, walls; even the chair. No shadows. A message in light blue letters appeared on the wall the chair faced.

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Pendergast. We will be with you shortly,” it said.
He sat down and laid his hands on his knees. Within what felt like no time at all, more letters appeared on the wall.

“Welcome, Mr. Pendergast. We trust you had a good trip?”

“I…I think so. Frankly, I don’t remember whether I did or not.”

“Well, that makes no difference. You are here now and we may begin — ”

“Um, begin what?”

“Your last interrogation before we hand down the final decision, Mr. Pendergast.”

“Interrogation? Final decision?”

“Perhaps interrogation is not the proper word, because we have but one question to ask of you. We know all the minute details of your life. Please, do not include trifles. What we would like you to do is tell us, in your own words, what led up to your arrest and resulted in your being sent here. Do you now understand what it is we want?”

“I…think so. What’s this final decision business?”

“It is simply a decision about whether you will stay here, or be sent…down there. The Council of Ten makes the decision based on the details we have and your explanation. In the rare case there is a tie, my vote will break the deadlock, forgive the expression. The decision made here is final. There is no appeal. Do you understand?”

“And this decision depends upon what I tell you?”

“Short-term memory problems? I just told you it is made by taking into consideration what you have to say for yourself, and the other things that make up your life to this moment. Whatever you have done to bring you here, no matter how heinous it may have seemed, is subject to being forgiven in what we refer to as the Ultimate Judgment. We don’t want you to tell us your life history — as I said, we already have that — what we want to hear is what got you on the track that led to that pivotal moment in life on the other side and how you…justify it.”

“I think I understand, now. Where would you like me to begin?”

“From the moments after your arrest, Mr. Pendergast. Tell us what happened and how you feel, in your opinion, what you did was, well, acceptable under the circumstances as you present them. You may tell your story however you would like. We are also quite interested in what transpired to make you do what you did, and the feelings you had just before executing it. Again, forgive the expression.”

Click here for Part 2 [agnostic.com]