Heaven's Bureaucracy of Blame

Chapter 11: Heaven's Bureaucracy of Blame

Honestly, you’d think when you’ve accidentally turned the planet into a rather dismal ash-heap and become immortal to boot, the least the universe could do is grant you a direct line to the top. Apparently, not. Nope, my cosmic screw-up, it turned out, came with its own set of very, *very* annoying administrative hurdles. And wouldn't you know it, those hurdles were located squarely in the pearly gates. Or, well, the celestial equivalent thereof.

"Next!" a voice chirped, utterly devoid of the gravitas one might expect from a being in charge of, you know, the afterlife. I shuffled forward, clutching my worn leather satchel, which, incidentally, now contained a half-eaten sandwich and a very worried-looking pocket watch. The ‘desk’ was less of a desk and more of a shimmering cloud. Behind it sat a creature that looked like it had been assembled from spare parts of a harp convention and a particularly stern librarian. It wore spectacles perched precariously on its nose, which, I swear, were made of solidified moonlight.