Albert bent down over the toilet and filed off the
last bit of the heel spur that had been bugging him
since he’d arrived. His toes made a hollow clanking
as they shifted on the porcelain.
“Much better,” he said, wiping it down with a towel.
“That’ll do just fine.”
He glanced into the mirror, turning his ivory skull
back and forth, then raised the towel to wipe away a
bit of soot that had gathered where his jawbone joined
the rest of his head.
“Scrubbing, bleaching, buffing, and it’s still not all
gone,” he said, but realized that as it was in the air
like a thick dust, it had to settle somewhere.
The sun was setting beautifully over the mountains as
Albert stepped from the porch of his grey ranch for
his evening bike ride. Two or three doors slammed
shut. He scanned the neighborhood from the end of his
cul-de-sac, looking over all the grey houses, but did
not find the source of the noise. He never could.
He mounted his bike and pedaled down the empty street.
Some curtains were violently pulled shut as he rode
by, and the corners of others were turned as some
quietly watched.
Down the street about four houses, the shape of a
small child lingered near a white picket fence. Its
bones were blackened, small fields of beige
interspersed with hard patches of charred flesh.
Just as he was in front of the house, the screen door
banged open. The dark skeleton of a woman lunged out
but was quickly halted by the sight of Albert riding
by directly in front of her house.
“Dara…Dara! Get in here! Don’t look at that…that….”
She fell to the ground with a CLACK-CLACK, putting her
dark hands to her darker head.
“Hello,” said Albert, cheerfully waving.
The woman shrieked, burying her face further.
The head of the child perked up and followed Albert as
he moved down the road.
The houses on the right gave way to a small, orange
lake and, beyond it, the mountains. The sun filtered
through the soot in the air and painted everything a
glowing crimson.
The people had never been very friendly, even before
Albert had polished himself, but they were getting
more scared as time wore on. Afraid of his
brightness, his clarity of form, they had shut
themselves off to live their own dark existence of
grimy bones and pity.
It had always surprised Albert that cremation had been
a sin on Earth, but was even more perplexed by the
comfortable accommodations in the afterlife, and that
no one enjoyed them.
As the road turned around the pond, he pedaled a
little faster, as he did every evening, wondering if
he was really in Hell, and if his betterment was a
road to salvation.
x x x
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