Waiting To Be Judged

I was lost in all these thoughts, watching the road below my feet go by a step at a time. So lost in thought I hadn’t noticed the maledicted walking up on me.

“Where do we go?” she asked, and I jumped out of my skin. She was right next to me, and with the breeze blowing into my face I hadn’t even smelled her.

“Do you know where we’re supposed to go?” she asked again. She didn’t appear to have been dead for very long. She was clearly deceased, but not very much decomposition had started yet. I could tell she had been a pretty woman, her facial features still intact. She had long curly hair, although now it had a straw-like texture to it. She had a simple dress on, and no shoes. I backed away a few steps, knowing the unpredictability that came with their brain-dead insanity.

“Go? Where are you trying to go?” I asked her, slowly trying to put more space between us.

“To be judged.”

In that moment I saw the confusion in her eyes, and the fear, and the sorrow. I looked her over to see how she had died. She was covered in old dried blood, but I could see no wounds. It was when she reached out towards me that I noticed the gaping slices in her wrists. Like so many who were afraid to be judged, she had committed suicide instead. Now she found that she was denied the right to make that choice, and would wait as a rotting corpse.

I knew what she needed to know, but couldn’t bring myself to tell her, nor would her rotting brain understand. So I stood in the middle of the road with the dead woman, and I wept for her.

She stared at me, her head cocked slightly to the side. I could see the cracks in her dried lips, but there was no more blood to bleed. There was a bug in her hair, another on her leg, but she seemed not to feel them.

“I think that’s our house,” she stated as she pointed to one of the farms on the north side of the road. “Are you ready to come home now? Molly’s late too.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. Her mental faculties had left her brain minutes after the oxygen did, and that was a couple days ago. She was just a package of disconnected memories, trapped in a corpse.

“Do you know where we go?” she asked again. “Maybe Molly’s there.”

I wanted to get away from her now. I couldn’t help her, and at any moment she could become violent, or start yelling and attract Judges. “I’m sorry. I have to go,” and I began walking quickly away from her.

“So you don’t want soup then?” she called out to me.

No, I don’t want any freakin’ soup.

As I got further away, I heard her call to me one last time. “Mister…”

I stopped to turn and face her. She was still just standing in the road with bugs crawling on her, not knowing where to go or what to do.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes full of sorrow like a child who was just scolded by a parent but doesn’t understand why. I thought about her apology for a long moment.

“Sorry for what?”

“I just want to die now please.”

The vision of her sadness, and hearing her words, it broke me. My spirit sank and the tears streamed down my face as I turned and walked away.

What kind of god does this?