I turned back to my phone and brought the call back on,
"Hi, sorry about the wait. I'll try to help you, I'm having some problems with the computer and the phone, so I'll do the best I can."
"There's nothing wrong with your computer or the phone system. I 'adjusted' them. No one but me and you will hear this conversation, and no one will see that you were off the phone."
"Who are you!?!"
"You don't recognize my voice? I'm Mr. Brown. I was your Sunday School teacher in the Fifth Grade."
"But you died! I went to your funeral! Who are you really?"
"Don't believe me yet? Look at your screen..."
There he was. The solemn man with a grey flat-top and glasses with the square black frames. He had taught me and my friends every Sunday morning. He had been a banker, but also had spent time in the Navy, he was the sort of old-school guy I always wanted to be like. He was amazing, because he was serious, but not stuffy. He always spoke to us like we were adults, but he had an authority about him that never allowed us to take liberties. As far as spiritual matters go, I could think of no one else I trusted more.
The image on the screen started speaking again.
"Do you believe me now?"
"I guess I have to...There's no earthly reason to explain what's going on. Why are you here?"
"We're concerned about you. We've been watching you for some time. You've been floundering. You could be in danger if you don't change your ways."
"Look, I know I'm not the best Christian in the world, and I've got some improvements to make, but I don't think its all that bad."
He looked at me with a look that made it very clear he did not like being trifled with. He pointed his finger at me, the hand and index finger came through the screen and I scooted back a little. He spoke again with a voice clear and firm...
Thanks for reading,
Purgatory: A place of suffering and torment with an unknown duration. In Roman Catholic Theology-the place where the dead are purified from their sins.
By Rage Against The Machine