Instead of Heaven or Hell

My name is Noah Miracle and I just died from a car crash.

Sure, I should have seen the truck coming into the intersection, but it was more its fault than my own. After all it ran a red light, not me.

Anyways, me being Catholic, I would have thought that I would be in front of the big pearly white gates that led me into Heaven. I would be standing on clouds that you gingerly stand on, even though you know that you won’t fall. I’d see St. Peter, and he’d greet me with a kind smile and welcome me in happily. He’d have welcomed me into a city of golden dreams that almost looked transparent. Or perhaps when I died I would have fell and fell until I was on a prickly sort of grey grass. I’d have seen grotesque beings stumbling around, and I’d hide from them, knowing that on sight they’d probably torture me. I’d have seen the bloody red and raven black of Hell’s cobblestone. Demons like Beelzebub or Hastur would grin their unnerving smiles when they looked at me.

I didn’t think that when I died, I’d be lying down on the wooden floor of a small bedroom.

The first thing I see is the ceiling. Stars and moon night lights are stuck on the ceiling. Some look as if they were ready to fall off.

I sit up rather hazily and look around the strange room. A small twin-sized bed sits in the corner of the faded pink room. It has the same pattern of white stars and moons as the ceiling. A tiny plastic desk covered with papers and papers of drawings made by what I assumed to be a child is right next to it. A tall wooden closet stands opposite of the starry blue bed. The bottom of it is flecked with old, but bright stickers of cartoon characters.

What I find the most peculiar however was the fact that a small blonde pigtailed girl was kneeling next to me, holding a plastic teacup with the paint chipped.

The little girl had a frilly indigo skirt and a yellow spaghetti top on. Her brown buckled shoes are placed perfectly under the child’s perfect posture.

She smiles at me with a toothy grin and holds out another teacup out to me. “Here is your tea, Sir Miracle!”

I try to take it, but my hand phases through it as if I was just air. The girl nods as if she knew this was going to happen and places the white teacup delicately in front of me. I poke at it. It still doesn’t move.

“Who are you?” I ask the little girl.

She grins and makes a point of sticking out her pinky finger when holding her teacup. “I am Princess Sadie! You are my nobal knight, Sir Miracle!” Princess Sadie says quite proudly and puts her empty teacup to her lips.

A realisation came to me as I attempt to pick up my teacup again.

“Do you mean ‘noble knight,’ Princess Sadie?” I ask and smile slightly.

The little princess shakes her head with a comical expression on her face. “I said nobal! Nobal, Sir Miracle!” Princess Sadie tells me fussily.

“Of course, princess,” I laugh as I bow my head towards her.

My name is Sir Miracle, and I am Princess Sadie’s imaginary friend.