Inquisitive: Part 11
By Hassan Izzo
I grasped for the only theory I had: If I did exactly what I did to start this whole thing off, maybe I’d get to see my grandmother just one more time. I had no wish to ever see that corridor again but I had a belief, hopefully not unfounded, that my grandmother would not let that happen. The only reasoning I had for this was that it surely couldn’t end that way. If my grandmother was alive on the other side, surely she could do something to help me. I was trying my best to convince myself to go for it, and in the end the defining factors in convincing me were simple ones: I would never be able to adjust to life here, not with everything I knew now, plus the fact that there were so many unanswered questions.
I placed the bag over my head, composed myself, and pulled it tight. As I felt my chest begin to tighten I had to fight the urge to let go and breathe in sweet air. My mind began to race through a myriad of thoughts and for the first time I thought about Kevin and was wracked with sorrow and guilt for having had my best friend take part in such a stupid scheme. It hit me how it must have destroyed him, having me die in front of him. I sincerely hoped that he didn’t for a second blame himself but was sure that, as he grew older and matured, it would be an episode that would torture him for life as he lamented our immature and reckless pursuit of ever more dangerous schemes. Those thoughts would plague him as they plagued me now. I felt bitter for the life I had squandered and distraught at the potential fate that awaited me. I remembered that before passing out there was a rush of euphoria and I hated myself intensely for the fact that I would experience such a sweet release into nothingness. I didn’t deserve it. As the first pinprick of that euphoria started to edge its way into my consciousness, I fought it, pushed it back, and tried to ignore it. It came again, stronger this time, and I felt too weak to fight it as it took control of my mind. As this was the end, I took one last glance at myself in the mirror and saw my grandma standing behind me. I let go of the plastic bag and fell to my knees, coughing and spluttering. From my position on the floor, I looked up at her. “I couldn’t do it grandma, I couldn’t stay here.” She came over and helped me to my feet.
“I should never have placed you here. Come, sit.”
She led me over to the bathtub and I perched on the edge. “Please tell me what’s going on.” She stood over me silently. “Grandma?” She seemed sad. I reached out and took her hand in mine. “Talk to me.”
She looked at me for a moment before removing my hand from hers. She sighed. “What would your reaction be if I told you that I stopped you from entering limbo and placed you in that corridor?”
“I don’t know exactly what limbo is.”
She smoothed down the white blouse she was now wearing and perched next to me. “Limbo is the place where righteous people go when they have not yet met the requirements to enter the Kingdom, to wait for the second coming of Christ. It is at the second coming that heaven will be opened to all the righteous within limbo.”
Despite everything that had happened I still found stuff like this hard to accept and I couldn’t stop myself smiling at what sounded so outlandish to me. “OK.”
“The fact that even now you find it hard to believe in what I am saying, speaks volumes.” She smoothed down her blouse once more. “What I am about to say will be hard to understand, so just listen and allow me to explain.”
Like any other writer, Hassan Antonio Izzo is happiest when he is sat at his desk putting words down on paper; whether it be updating his blog, working on a short story, script, poetry, journalism, or wrestling with his first novel. If anything stands a chance of getting him away from his desk, a few drinks with friends would stand a good one. His biggest claim to fame is that Quentin Tarantino loved his Mr T t-shirt when he met him; which was pretty cool.
A proud South Londoner, you can follow on Twitter @Hassanizzo86