their tops. The left column blazed bright with angry red flames, while the left shone a calm blue.
“One of these doors is your true End.” Bud said, smiling at James.
His brows rose. “One of these doors...is my End?”
Bud nodded. “Choose a door, and you will receive the eternity meant for you. One door will be the closest thing to Heaven you'll ever get, vice-versa for the other door with Hell. It's all solely based on your intuition.”
James snapped his head towards Bud, shocked. “Wait...I have to choose which door I go through? And I may end up in Hell if I choose wrong?!”
“Basically,” Bud said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “One door is happiness, while the other is misery. You must choose what your eternity shall be.”
“Well, obviously I would choose the door with the markings,” James said, pointing to the door with the blue-flamed column next to it.
Bud chortled. “Is that what you think? That door is the obvious choice?”
James frowned. “Well…it’s not as scary looking as the moldy door,”
“Looks can be deceiving,”
James suddenly felt his face go white. “There's a fifty-fifty chance I may suffer for all eternity if I choose wrong?! What kind of crap is that?!” he wailed, frustrated.
Bud chuckled. “Well, it's more complicated than that.” He walked forward and placed his hand on the left door, running his hand over the lining. “According to how you lived your life, to how you acted and how you treated others and yourself is how you choose the door you're meant to choose. Trust your instincts, for they will lead you to what you deserve.”
James swallowed hard as he looked at the doors. His own gut instinct was to help him choose which to choose? Heaven or Hell? Bliss or Suffering? How could he put such a huge choice in something he didn't truly trust?
“Before I go...” James whispered his body numb from the intensity of his situation. He was about to choose what he would experience for the rest of all time, maybe even longer. Choosing wrong was NOT an option. “I have one more serious question.”
Bud seemed to humor him. “What's that, James?”
James gulped down a large breath and let it loose. “If this is how it all ends...what's the point? Everyone lives in hopes of a Heaven, in hopes of a God and Angels and loved ones. If this is it, what's the point?”
Bud seemed to mull this over, his smile turning to a more gentle twist of the lips. “You wish to know the meaning of life then?”
James was instantly alert. “Yes! Tell me, please! What is the meaning of life?” he frantically yelled.
Bud smiled and placed his hand on James' shoulder comfortingly. “There is no true meaning.”
Disappointment flooded James’ veins. “What? There’s no…purpose?” he whispered sadly.
Bud shook his head. “Unfortunately not. But, I may give you some advice. Something all humans seem to forget.”
“What’s the point?” James spat dryly. “Why should I receive advice on how to do something I can’t anymore?”
Bud hummed. “I guess you’re right. But I feel your disappointment at my earlier answer may cloud your judgment. So, I figure I can share with you a secret of life instead.”
James pursed his lips, intrigued. “Alright, what is it?”
“Seize the day,” Bud said.
James' lip twitched. “What?” he said, dumbfounded.
“The meaning of life is not a purpose that humanity was made for. There is no divine conquest that humanity is made to do. The only purpose you people have is to yourselves, and each other. Seize the day as it is. Live life to its fullest, for you all die one day. Don't die without having actually lived.”
With that, Bud was gone. It was a subtle gust of wind that took him away from James forever.
James looked to the doors, now with determination.
He let his body move on its own. His hand gripped the doorknob of the left door, the one with the mold, and, with an intake of breath, turned the knob. A stream of pure white light flooded his vision as the door creaked open, a sense of resignation settling in his gut. There was no going back.
James locked his jaw and squared his shoulders. This was it. The End.
He held his breath and stepped into oblivion.
About the Author
Michael Loring was born in Bristol, Connecticut, but has lived in a variety of places, such as Florida and Tennessee. He likes to think of himself as an amateur ‘Lycanthropologist,’ studying werewolves ever since he was eight years old when he first saw, An American Werewolf in London. He spent most of his life switching between home school and public school, always focusing on his passion of writing no matter what. He currently resides back in his birthplace in Connecticut with a house full of women who like to drive him up the wall until he finishes his chores. Though they seem to avoid him during the night of the full moon for some unexplainable reason…
Contact Information
To learn about Michael Loring, and more, visit:
MichaelLoring.com
Carpe Diem Page 5
