Licorice Dreams

When Benedict died, he expected to go to heaven.

And no, it’s not because he would call himself a saint. He enjoyed an occasional drink with his brother, which, depending on the God, was already a sin. His wife and him did not wait until marriage—and nor did any of his three ex-girlfriends. And, potentially worst of all, he was a very jealous man. He hated it when his children talked more to their mother than to him. Hated when his wife smiled at his brother for too long. Hated whenever anyone was having a good day and he wasn’t.

But he had never done anything about it—it must’ve been worth some points, keeping his nasty impulses in check.

And all in all, he had been a good person.

He rescued three puppies and two cats (though that was mostly his wife’s endeavor). He regularly donated to the army, hoping to stop the wars in the middle east. He never screamed at his children, or his wife, or his brother.

Obviously, he had never killed or harmed anyone either.

And despite all that, he still knew that there would be a chance that heaven wouldn’t open its gates for the mediocracy of his immortal soul.

Well worst case scenario, he thought he’d go to hell.

Just not whatever this was.

Benedict took another step, one that he could no longer count. He stopped after 999 billion—embarrassingly enough, he didn’t know what went after.

The road before him twisted in a snake-like manner, an emptiness on both sides and beyond. Today, the emptiness was bright and humid, almost like walking on a path amidst the spring rain clouds.

His legs should’ve been dead tired by now, and he should’ve been physically unable to take another step.

But instead, well, he was the dead one.

And in whatever place he ended up in, walking a gazillion steps wasn’t a problem.

Did gazillion go after all the billions?

Benedict scratched his head, moving one foot in front of the other on the fluffy road.

This was another conundrum of his, the path itself was constantly changing. Right now it was utterly boring—a marshmallow looking road, which felt like a light trampoline beneath his feet. The other day it was made of crimson, sparkling fabric, and he pretended that he was the one to discover the Silk Road of the ancient lands.

But that got boring quite quickly too. He only knew the name of the road from back in history class, but he never learned what actually happened on it.

Then it hit him.

Maybe this in-between place was for mediocre people like himself?

Benedict looked behind him, then to the front, then frowned. Nothing changed—there was still no other soul. He must’ve reached the wrong conclusion, there was no way that he was the only average man to live. At least his brother should’ve been here.

The road twisted before him, turning into a black asphalt that looked just like the one in his childhood. His feet felt no difference for a moment, but then the soft feel of the marshmallow switched to the familiar rough path. It even faintly smelled of his country road—gas and old rubber that fell from the truck tires.

Whenever this happened, Benedict’s heart jumped in a moment of hope.

Maybe this was it, the road that would lead him to… somewhere. Anywhere.

He looked forward, then backward, then around the emptiness that surrounded him. Not a soul or different direction had appeared. Only the emptiness changed from the pleasant light to a darker, stuffier barrier around him.

Benedict sighed, taking another step, then another.

The first time that the road switched before him, he thought that maybe it was a trial, mystery perhaps, that he would have to solve to go to hell or heaven.

But if this were true, why were there no instructions?

Maybe this was the mystery—how fast a mediocre man will give up hope and succumb to eternal…walking?

Benedict was sure his head would’ve throbbed from all the thinking, but in this weird place, he didn’t feel the pain.

He simply kept on putting one foot in front of the other.

Then something weird happened.

The familiar smell of the rubber and the dirty road hit his brain—if that part of him still existed—and his knees felt a familiar ache to sit.

He couldn’t quite feel them, but he could remember how that pain would feel.

Benedict slowed his steps, then stopped.

And then he sat.

How did it never come to mind that he could take a seat?

His soul felt somehow lighter, and his hips felt the familiar pressure of sitting criss-cross on the dirty road. Whenever he’d be tired after school, walking on that very asphalt, he would do just that.

He smiled fondly at the memory, the endless road becoming rather familiar instead of the path of in-between. He dug deeper into his mind, trying to find more sweet thoughts he could latch onto.

He would take a break in the middle of the road, and after, he would race his brother home. Then he'd get scolded by his mother for dirtying his pants. Even more so when he sat in the dirt.

‘Why would you do that? Take a seat on the damn road! There’s no point, Bennie, you’re just wasting time,' she'd tell him.

The smile suddenly fell from Benedict’s face, the ache in his hips dulling to a memory rather than a feeling.

His Ma was right. He was only wasting time.

The road changed from his sour mood, this time, becoming a sticky licorice that he used to hate as a child. His brother would always give them to him, just to be annoying. And he was too scared to say no.

It'd haunt his dreams with its sickly sweetness.

Benedict got up to his feet and began the walk, his feet sticking with each step to the black, horrid candy.

The space around the road twisted too, becoming simply white. It created an awful contrast, between the road and the emptiness. He was sure that if he could feel his eyes they’d hurt.

He squeezed them shut just to feel something, and was surprised to find them full of tears. One fell on his cheek. Another dropped past his lips.

It wasn’t surprising that he would cry, was it? Such an average man like him could not expect anything else.

As the drops fell on the candy road it became harder to walk, his feet sticking more and more with every step. He didn’t quite feel his legs burn, but his steps did become slower.

Another tear fell, and he wiped it off.

Then another. And another. He couldn’t catch them all.

Why was he so damn useless? So mediocre of a man?

He stopped. The tears continued falling.

Benedict was indeed, a mediocre man. He’s been always told as much.

When his friend offered him a job, he took it. When his wife got pregnant with their first, he married her. When his brother gave him the licorice, he ate it.

When he died and a road appeared in front of him, he walked it.

The tears felt angry now.

Benedict jumped to his feet, not bothering to wipe them.

He looked around—the road, the emptiness around it. It was terrifying.

But so was the walking.

Benedict had never wanted the job that his friend offered, it was simply something placed before him that he took. He didn’t really love his girlfriend, who went on to be his wife, but had to marry her out of duty. And he hated those candies, with a passion, but ate them when his brother said so.

Now, he despised this damn road.

And maybe it was the fact that he died, or that heaven nor hell had accepted him, or maybe it was this damn licorice road—but something inside of him snapped.

If he were still alive, maybe this would be what a heart attack felt like. But he wasn't, so instead, he had a choice.

He wasn’t going to go forward, he decided.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going back.

He was done choosing whatever was placed before him.

Benedict looked around, at the endless path, at the emptiness around it. And finally, he chose a different direction. He walked closer to the nothingness, to the white light that might be empty beyond.

He couldn’t die twice, could he?

The too-sweet smell of the candy tickled his nose, or maybe he just imagined that it did. It only made him angry.

He's lived a mediocre life, died a mediocre man, and went into the after-life alone.

Maybe this was the test—some heavenly creature trying to see if he would ever make a different choice.

Benedict raised his hand to the light barrier, touching it. His fingers tickled.

And yet he could feel nothing beyond.

Benedict straightened, terrified.

"I hate licorice," he told the world.

Then he stepped off the road and jumped.