Gone

She tried to understand, although she had no idea of her soul's
existence apart from primary assemblies, where he was mentioned, a bit
like All Bran being good for you or Lucazade, if you were ill. Maybe he
was, or could have been recognised if she had not been an
existentialist.

She was taught at Sunday school, God and his relations were always
male,
unless they were virgins.

He was not prepared to be ignored; he could not stay, he needed to be
wanted.
Her soul left but misjudged the space; she hadn't died, so it was too
early.

He hit the front room wall and landing on the wooden floor like a jelly
fish and had no easy way of moving. He wrapped himself in a wet t-towel
to stop drying out. Souls need that kind of attention. (They are
usually delicate) He found the out of body experience cold.

The soul was however embarrassed to be wrapped in a towel; he was
normally revered and talked about in Mass and at funerals. He was
special and not to be treated like a lump of dough being risen above a
warm cooker. He should have had more purpose, or so he had been
taught.

Congregations embraced the idea of the three, a clover where he was
referred to as the Holy Ghost, or at least he hoped he was part of the
concept but he was no longer sure.

God had supposedly endorsed the existence of the trinity to encourage
his flock to behave properly, in exchange for a after life after
death.

Maybe he would be lost, one of the wandering ones who never arrive. He
knew God forgave humans who repented but was not sure whether that
extended to rebellious spirits.

He had only stayed in her because it was expected of him but he never
felt understood. She had not believed in him. He had been lost,
rejected and lonely.

The person in whom he guested, should at least wonder if he existed,
he could have taken her with him. Saint Peter could have least given
her a chance to put her side of the story.

He became uncomfortable; he was not used to the dampness and the
indignity. The lines of thick cotton of the souvenir from Bournemouth,
irritated his new beginning, but he liked the warmth, because he had
not previously felt appreciated.

Now he was scared by the separation. She should have at least been
afraid enough of death to hold onto his possibilities, even if he was
male.

He felt a failure. God seemed to like humility. Maybe he would become
an Isaac, but hoped not offered as a sacrifice. (Being saved at the
last minute must have been frightening for a small boy. Would you ever
trust your father again?)

Being free was a problem. Unless a higher power intervened, he had no
host. He had not spoken to Him, because it was too soon, he had not
been expected yet.

If he knew how to read a celestial map, maybe he could find heaven,
even if He didn't let him in, he would feel nearer. Her soul could ask
her if he could return but she would have to try and understand him. He
was young. She wasn't. Possibly that was why she had always ignored
him, there was an age difference.

Talk shows had explained the difficulties.

Was there a corporate heavenly body who judged these things or was it
just Him? Having disobeyed, he was afraid.

Maybe he had not tried hard enough, especially about her attending
church.

Possibly as he aged she would accept him, if only through fear. That
might make enough of a bond. She seemed so aware of her-self; he was
upset she hadn't noticed him.

He had been too quiet, not assertive enough, not buried into her
subconscious, questioned her atheism and punctuated possibilities of
religion.

Escaping had never really been an option. He knew that. She did not. He
was trapped in her disbelief. That was their eternity.

He was no longer sure he believed but he would be with her in-spite of
her indifference. They would discover the answer together.

Return was inevitable. She was unaware of his restoration as she was of
his previous departure.

They could share their doubts and he would stay with her until the
appointed time.

He was unsure now though, that he would become a seraph.