The House Of Death Floats By is a fragment by Jack Rusher, published here Friday, January 11, 2008. It is part of Objet Trouvé.
A short dialogue on the afterlife, interlinked with the recent readings on the web that inspired it.
After his corpse was planted, Stephen’s old friends and recent pallbearers went to the pub. A long talk involving more drinks than hours brought them to the one topic that was inevitable under the circumstances: the afterlife.
Crossing the Styx, Art Young, c. 1892. The text on the sign reads “The Birdie leaves this pier every 1/2 hour.” On the paddlewheel, “Sinners from Yankton, Leadville & Denver not allowed on deck. Lots of room in steerage.”
“What d’ya think? Pearly gates an’ aw?”
“Well, for me at least, it’ll be quite a bookish heaven, a massive library where every volume is written in a perfect alphabet, completely unabridged, and bound in a cover of blinding beauty. Sean?”
“Mine’s sort of a gated community, more or less like here, but free from bugs and snitches. One thing I don’t go in for is the inferno — load of sado-metaphysics, you ask me.”
“Kevin, what about you?”
“I fancy it’s more like what those Japanese monks say; a revolving door that leaves you with nary a memento to carry, not one word you’ve heard makes it to the far side.”