Mango Jones Moves On

Mango Jones was unfortunate in more than that his parents had presumed that naming him after a fruit was a good idea. His misfortune had been with him all his life – including most recently his beloved Hannah leaving him and his subsequent loss of interest in all things outside his flat. All of which lead to him being sacked from MegaTech Industries and down the steps of his former workplace to wander absentmindedly into the path of the number 33 bus to Worsely.

That was the end of Mango Jones.

When he awoke, blinking and confused as to why he was stood up straight, a strange desert stretched away on all sides. It was strange because it seemed that someone had imagined that taking a car park, covering it with an inch of sand and repeating the effect as far as the eye could see, qualified as a desert.

His confusion was interrupted by a nasal, precise voice “Mr. Jones? Mr...Mango...Jones?”

Mango was not a small man by any measure but the figure that stood before him as he turned towered over him. He, for surely it must be a he though gender seemed indeterminate, was entirely bald with a body that seemed to have been stretched to its bizarre height, giving it an almost skeletal appearance. Clad in a formal business suit, and weirdly a bowler hat, it was carrying a briefcase from which it removed a sheaf of papers and a business card, the latter of which he offered to Mango.

“On behalf of all interested parties, both Above and Below, I would like to welcome you to the afterlife.” It said in its strange unearthly tone. The card, which Mango had now taken, bore no name but did have the words Corporeal Conversion and Adjustment Officer printed on it in neat lettering just above the slogan Easing You Into The Afterlife.

“I’m dead?” Mango asked, bewildered at his entry into the world beyond.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Jones, but fret not, you’ve the rest of your afterlife ahead of you. Now if you could just sign here, here and here” said the thing “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wait” said Mango, more worried about his immortal soul than the things paperwork “what about the Pearly Gates, angels, all you loved ones and dead dogs? Where are they? What sort of death is this?”

“Well” his greeter sighed, sitting forlornly on a chair it’d whipped from nowhere “it wasn’t always like this, the whole process used to be a lot more traditional. I used to have a scythe, you know, an honest to goodness scythe. You’d arrive and I’d put the fear of God into you before you were weighed and measured and sent on your way. Problem is, nowadays, Heaven and Hell are all full up. Barely room to move. You lot down there it is all wonder and light or fiery damnation but it really is a numbers issue. The powers that be tried purgatory for a while, slow the whole process down a bit. It worked for a millennium or so but never really caught on so they made this place. Look at it as kind of a waiting room. Eventually, someone, either Up or Down, slips up and breaks a rule and gets booted out to here freeing up a space for someone else. I’m afraid this is your lot for now” it continued, glancing at its watch and standing up “now I really must go. Appointments to keep and whatnot so if you wouldn't mind signing this, I’ll be on my way”.

“So that’s it is it” said Mango, taking the pen and signing his name “I’m just to loiter here by myself until it is my turn? I’m to queue to get into Heaven? Where am I supposed to go and what am I supposed to do?”

“That is entirely up to you Mr. Jones” it said as it checked over the paperwork “as your official Adjustment Officer, I can only recommend that you pick a direction and walk until you meet someone and deeply hope and pray that they are friendly”
And with those slightly sinister words of advice it was gone, vanished without a trace, barring the business card in Mango’s hand.

So here he was, dead in a falsified desert under a starless sky in the afterlife’s waiting room.

Walk, the thing had said, walk and pray. For the first time in a long time, Mango closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. He let his body turn and kept turning until his gut told him to stop. This was his path. Squaring his shoulders and taking a breath he marched onward toward his fate