You've cascaded through the realm of your planet. And here you are. A homeless entity in search of a new home. There is not much I can say to you. But the things you can understand. A concept you were familiar with during your days of breath.
Luck.
I kindly, sincerely, and wholeheartedly wish you luck, abundant luck, for you will need as much of it as you can take. Since I am being sincere, I must be honest, I do warn you, actually, on second thoughts. Take my words not as a warning, nor advice, but truth. Truth and truth only is all that is left for you, it is all that you have, and with truth you must accept that luck does not exist.
No entity of this passage believes in that illusionary concept. The beings of your kind, from your world, made it up, all of it for the betterments of their own fate. It was a mere coping mechanism I suppose, one born out of the heads of the confused. And those whom romanticise hope, to neglect the odds of failure.
But I do assure you, homeless one, the fate that awaits you at the end of your tunnel will not be dependent on luck.
No reward you receive for the goodness you've portrayed, will be dependent on luck. No punishment you endure for the sins you've committed will be dependent on luck.
In terminology of the world you've come from.
Luck is fruitful gain from odd situations and unfavourable circumstances. The existence of probable luck is the essence of hope, the two are mutually inclusive. But see…here is the thing. In this passage hope is too a foreign concept.
For what is there to hope for when you are dead? All that's been made has been made, all that's been said has been said. There's nothing else you can do. Hope stops existing when tomorrow ends. Your tomorrow has ended.
So, indeed, I must emphasise.
The only thing that shall determine your fate, here and now, are the testaments of the days you've lived. That, and that only will be the criteria, which takes the bounds of judgement. The home you shall receive will either be a reward for the goodness you portrayed or punishment for that which you lacked.
A fate crafted by you, through the arms of your choices, the inclinations of the consequences of your deeds. In this passage, the free will you once had, will be your determinism, not luck, not fortune, but evidence of the days you've lived.
So once more. Welcome, Homeless one.
Welcome to the passage in between.
The abyss that separates Heaven from Hell.
In this exact moment, you are the divide between the two contrasting homes.
This passage acts as the distance between the two, one a kingdom of peace, the other a carnage for destruction, an epitome of pain. Despite it being a passage, it is no bridge, one, never lengthy enough to reach either eternities.
"However", handler continued in its authoritative tone that effortlessly commands attention.
"This is the place where judgement is passed, and the new home for former mortals like yourself will be decided", clear cut and thorough, the simplest of words pass on as instructions from an amenable king.
"This passage asks one question and one question only…what are you deserving of, Heaven or Hell?"
The Homeless man remained as still as a block of wood. He looked as if he had just woken up from a decade long coma of an inducing nightmare and was immediately thrown into a world he could not recognise, let alone comprehend. He was taken aback by the handler's words, everything uttered had failed to resonate.
"What…", he struggled, "what…does this mean?", and stammered.
"Does this mean…I'm dead?"
"Correct", handler replied, "you are starting to catch on"
"As of not so long ago, you died. Or as I like to phrase it – you've moved on"
"How long has it been since I died?"
"Oh trust me you wouldn't know"
"You are not accustomed to our concept of time, it is much different to what you are used to"
"Of course I could convert the two and express it in a way you'd understand, but that would be meaningless"
"You are dead, that's all you need to know"
"How long you've been gone is unimportant to the matter on hand"
"I see", he claimed, "so...where am I again? And what is this place?"
"Oh my...I just told you"
"This is the passage between Heaven and Hell"
"And you are dead. So you've lost your home"
"Hence I call you the Homeless one", the handler explained.
"It is just standard procedure"
The homeless man looked at him with a frantic stare.
"How can I be dead when I'm still able to talk?"
"Hmph", handler whiskered, "I shall not answer anymore of your questions"
"Your playfulness is misleading"
"Prepare yourself for a trial, of a fate you conjured"
"As of this moment, your final trial is in session"
"Let's begin"
In the boundlessness of the abyss the Homeless man felt incomplete.
It was as if his senses were not whole. He was but a body floating in no direction.
A brain that could not comprehend forward, backward, nor downward movement.
He could blink and twitch his eyes. He could talk and pout his lips.
Yet had no sense of locomotive control.
Fear of the unknown, uncertainty of things to come had engulfed him.
Where will I land? What will I land on?
The longer such questions played, the sooner he came to realise the strangeness of this ordeal. And perhaps the predicament he finds himself in.
He realises that there is no evidence of a light source, yet both beings are able to see each other clearly. Disregarding the crippling darkness of the abyss.
That was until this curious being, handler spoke up again.
"Give rise to the Cosmic Court!", it commanded of the abyss as if instructing a servant. And the nothingness complied.
It subjugated itself to words that control both the properties and aesthetics of this passage. All of a sudden, the Homeless man could feel himself again.
His senses were intact and felt complete.
His nose itched despite there being no scent to detect.
The scent around him is as neutral as a clear body of water would be tasteless.
His presence of an appetite in the absence of taste was evidence his sense of smell has too returned.
Silence remained still only ever so slightly bothered by his own breathing. While the curious being before him appears to be breathless.
The return of clear and unquestionable sight has him anxiously looking around the room. He looked up at the overly high ceiling that goes as high as his neck can bend and throat can stretch. Catching only a glimpse of it.
He looked forward at the judge's seat that appears to be just as high as the ceiling.
If this was not stated to be a courtroom the seat could pass as a throne.
And around, he looked at the Countless of empty seats circling the floor he remains on.
These seats are on either sides of the room, be it a jury's stand, or a witness box he is unable to tell the difference. Both sides have their seats reaching for the ceiling, there is no distinct end to it.
With the return of his sense of touch brought about awareness to the fact that his arms have been chained to his ankles, with cuffs thick and long enough to cover the longevity of his wrist to the joint of his thumbs.
Reducing him to four moveable fingers on both sides. Clothed but barefooted he remains in the middle of this empty court.
"I can tell you are beginning to understand now", handler said, "the severity of your situation"
"That is because there is familiarity in this setup"
"You don't realise how much of a prison you're in"
"Until someone puts you in chains"
"Honestly, a courtroom could look like anything, as long as it is a place that passes judgement in accordance to known laws, than it is a courtroom"
"But having you in a familiar setting, did speed things up"
"So, let's do away with imagination for the sake of your understanding"
"A gruesome sacrifice", the being sighed seemingly disappointed.
"Now for the last time, let your trial commence"
The handler turned around and headed towards the judge's seat.
"Wait…hold on…", Homeless man pleaded.
"Why are you sitting there?"
"Is that…isn't that where the judge is supposed to sit?"
"Correct", answered the handler.
"Don't tell me…", stuttered the Homeless man.
"You are…you are God?"