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By Colin Williams Corby leaned over the rails of the cross channel ferry and stared at the disappearing Yorkshire coastline. As the curtains of mist swallowed up the land and with his eyes watering from the salt spray, Corby decided it was time to seek out the bar. Never having been to sea before, Corby made his first nautical discovery: Walking along a pitching, rolling deck is not the easiest of tasks. Like a drunken robot he ricocheted his way down the side of the ship searching for a doorway. With a huge sigh of relief, Corby stepped through the door and made his second nautical discovery; the inside of a ship moves about just as much as the outside. Cursing under his breath, he made his way to the bar. Four hours, seven double brandies, three whiskeys, four rum and vodkas, and several pints later, Corby wished everyone a very pleasant evening before he staggered back outside onto the deck. With the exaggerated carefulness that comes natural to the inebriated, Corby climbed over the guardrail and without a sound stepped off into space. "Argh!" spluttered Corby. "This water's freezing! I want to drown meself not die of hypo... hypo... thingy!" A bright light suddenly shone into Corby's eyes. Assuming the light to be coming from the Ferry, Corby tried desperately to shoo it away, but the light persisted. As the ball of light grew brighter and bigger, Corby feared that the ship was about to run him down. And then Corby knew. Still no reply. "Hello?" cried Corby in a louder voice. "Hello?" yelled Corby. "Will you wait your turn!" boomed a voice that shook the entire universe. Although it was difficult to tell in all the blackness, Corby, nonetheless, felt sure that the powerful voice had sent him spinning backwards. Patiently, Corby waited. And waited. And waited. "Now then," boomed the voice. "Who are you?" "At last!" cried Corby. "I've been waiting here for ages!" "Ages?" queried the voice. "It has only been three thousand years since I ordered you to wait your turn!" "Three... Three ... thousand?" spluttered Corby. "Stop whining," boomed the disembodied voice. I'm very busy so state your business." "Well I... I... I've apparently died and here I am." "Name?" "Corby. Corby Steele." "Isn't that a..." began the voice. "Yes," sighed Corby. "It is a town in North Hants, and no I wasn't named after it. I was... Hang on! Why am I telling you this, if you are who I think you are?" "Never mind all of that," replied the voice. "I'm afraid, Corby Steele, that it is not your time yet. You must go back." "Back?" gasped Corby. "You don't mean...?" "'I'm afraid so. Bye for now. I will see you sometime in the future." Before Corby had chance to complain, he found himself back in the North sea resuming his drowning. The light returned and once more he flew towards it. "Hello?" yelled Corby. "And don't you dare make me wait a few thousand years again!" "Oh, no! Not you again!" sighed a familiar booming voice. "I thought I told you that you had to go back?" "I did!" whined Corby. "Back to drowning. So here I am once more." "Mmm. There's something amiss here," said the voice. Suddenly, the absolute darkness was replaced by a bright, dazzlingly bright light. Corby screwed his eyes up. "Blimey!" he cried. "Where am I? Inside a tin of brilliant white, gloss paint?" "Sorry about the colour scheme," answered an invisible voice, "but it's the only colour available up here." "Where are you?" asked Corby. "I can't see anything other than this whiteness." "I'm sitting right in front of you," replied the voice. "Give it a few minutes and your eyesight will adjust." A few moments later, Corby gasped. Whatever it was that he had expected to see, it certainly wasn't a dwarf dressed in a white suit sitting behind a white desk on a white chair. "You're surprised, aren't you?" said the dwarf. "And by the way, my name is Alfred." Corby stared. "But... You're not.... Not... Him." "I FACE="Arial" SIZE=2> "First things first," said Alfred butting in. "Now, take a seat and we can begin. Corby glanced around. "A seat? Where?" "Just there to your left," said Alfred. "The white leather armchair?" "Blowed if I can see it," mumbled Corby taking a few steps to his left. Alfred chuckled when Corby crashed into the chair. "A wonderful invention the shin, don't you think? God originally devised those for finding objects in the dark. Of course, they work equally well in camouflaged conditions - as you just so admirably demonstrated." With a glower, Corby carefully lowered himself into the armchair. "Now then, "said Alfred in an officious tone. "Let me take some details. If I can find my white fountain pen somewhere on this... Ah, found it. Now then, name?" "My name? Corby. Corby Steele." "Isn't that a town in...." "Yes!" snapped Corby. "Just get on with it." "Hang on a mo!" cried Alfred. "You are not supposed to be here, are you?" I remember now. You're that fellow that disembarked in the middle of the North Sea, came here, went back, and now you are here again." "You can't send me back!" cried Corby. "I want to be with my Brenda. That's why I went through all this trouble of killing myself - to be with her once again. It's no fun killing yourself you know. This was my seventh attempt, I never seem to get it right somehow. Now that I'm here, can't I stay? Please?" Alfred sucked air in over his teeth. "Sorry, Corby but you must return. We can't have the grand design all mucked up, now can we?" "Can't we?" replied Corby "No. We certainly cannot. Don't you realize the work that's involved in organising the Earth's day to day running?" Corby shook his head. "I don't understand what you mean." "If you stayed here now," replied Alfred, "it would take ages to sort out the mess. I can see that you are puzzled so let me give you an example. Several years ago, old Jake, who's in charge of birds and insect planning, got distracted when a passing angel paused to readjust her halo. Of course, the error Jake made didn't show up straight away, but when it did - sheesh!" "Why?" said Corby. "What happened?" "On the morning of the eleventh of August a little sparrow woke up and immediately felt the urge to peck at a flea on its left leg. Now if Jake hadn't been distracted, that sparrow would have attended to the flea on its other leg first!" Corby laughed. "What the hell has..." Alfred leaped to his feet. "Don't!" he yelled. "Don't!" Corby frowned. "Don't what?" "Use that word! Never, ever, say that word up here." Corby frowned as he tried to remember what he'd said. "What word? I can't recall saying anything untoward." Alfred stabbed a finger at the ground. "You mentioned the 'H' word." "Did I? I said that? Oh, hell!" Corby squirmed around in the chair. "Well that's a very sad story but what has that got to do with the price of fish?" Alfred rolled his eyes and sighed. "That little lad was destined to become the Prime Minister of your country. All that planning - gone to waste. Can you imagine the upset that caused?" "Well I...." "And that's why you have to go back. You lot just can't pop up here willy nilly and expect everything back down there to run like the well oiled clockwork that it normally does." "Hang on a mo!" cried Corby. "Are you saying that everything is pre-planned? Our whole lives are run to some secret schedule that we are not aware of?" "Of course it's all planned. Can you imagine the chaos if it wasn't?" Corby sighed deeply. "All I want is to stay up here and be re-united with my fiance Brenda. It was all my fault you see. I was supposed to be meeting her outside the cinema at eight o'clock. I called in my local for a swift half with a few of my mates. When I told them I had to go, they started winding me up about how Brenda already had me well trained, so, like an idiot I ordered a new round and well ... you know how it is. I was on my fourth pint when it happened." Corby fell silent. "What?" urged Alfred. "The screech of brakes. The sickening thud. The... Oh, God! If I hadn't been such a fool. If I had just left after that one drink Brenda wouldn't have come looking for me and she wouldn't have walked out in front of that truck." Alfred suddenly leapt to his feet. With one finger pressed tightly to his ear he started nodding and 'yes sirring' whilst staring at Corby. "What?" cried Corby. "What is it?" "Shhh!" ordered Alfred. "Yes, Sir. Certainly, Sir. Will do, Sir." said Alfred. "Who are you talking to?" asked Corby. Alfred sat back down. "That was ... Him." "Him?" echoed Corby. "Yes. Obviously He sees and hears everything. Apparently He was quite impressed by the waves of remorse you emanated just now when you were explaining Brenda's death. He has given me permission to allow you to stay here after all." Corby sprang out of his chair. "I can? Really?" Alfred nodded. "Really." "Hooray!" whooped Corby. "At last!" "So," said Alfred, "If you'll just bear with me while we fill in the relevant paperwork, we'll soon have you on your way." "Right then," said Alfred standing up. "That's that out of the way. So now I'll take you up to the Pearly Gates and sign you in. Now where's the door? I can never find the stupid door! All this whiteness can be a pain at times. At the last general meeting I suggested an off-white - purely for the doors, but would they buy it? Nope! Help me find the door Corby, it's around here somewhere."
The Hall of Records was very impressive. For a start it wasn't white, everything was a shiny gold. Spotting a huge book bound in gold, standing on a golden pedestal, Corby approached it and lifted the cover. He stared in puzzlement. Either the gold pages were blank or some idiot had used gold ink. "Can I help you, Sir?" Startled, Corby leaped away from the book. "Sorry," apologised the voice. "I didn't mean to make you jump." "Where are you?" asked Corby. "I can't see you. "I know," sighed the voice. "I'm here but I too am gold. I never used to be, but after working here since the beginning of time I've sort of absorbed gold into me." "Since the beginning of time?" gasped Corby. "That's awful!" "Oh, it's not so bad," replied the voice. "I'm due a break in about ... let me see now .... eight thousand years." "That's terrible!" cried Corby. "You should complain." "Oh, no. I'm just happy to have a job. There isn't an awful lot of work to go around you know. No, I'm not complaining. Anyway, how can I help?" "Er, I'm looking for my fiance Brenda." Corby's jaw fell open when the pages of the book appeared to turn over by themselves. "There are over seven million Brendas in here. What's her surname?" "But those pages are blank!" cried Corby. "To those not permitted to read this, yes," said the voice. "Surname?" "Er, Wilkinson. Brenda Anne Wilkinson." "That narrows it down to twelve thousand," said the voice. "Address?" "Here in heaven," replied Corby. A disembodied sigh. "Address in the before life?" "Before?" "This is the after-life you know." "Oh, yeah. Um... Forty-three Sycamore Drive. Chelmsford." "Post code?" "Dunno." "Never mind. I've found her." "You have?" cried Corby excitedly. "Where is she? Where can I find her? Can you send her a message? Can you..." "Hush! You'd give an aspirin a headache you would!" "Sorry. I just can't wait to find her!" said Corby. "I'm afraid you aren't going to like this," said the voice. Corby frowned. "Why? What is it?" "Brenda Anne Wilkinson was returned to earth just yesterday. It seems that it wasn't her time." Corby felt his heart fluttering wildly. "What d'ya mean - not her time? She's been dead and buried for months!" "Hang on, let me read this footnote. Ah!" "Ah?" echoed Corby. "What do you mean? What's going on?" The End all characters are fictitious in this story and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise. |
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