by John White

Created on: May 05, 2010

Valhalla

Melvin Emond didn’t see the taxi that hit him.  He was enjoying his first vacation in years and was too preoccupied with Big Ben to pay any attention to the traffic.  With all the hours spent on the Internet in preparation for his London vacation, it was unfortunate he didn’t remember the traffic in England runs opposite that of his native Minnesota.

Melvin dutifully looked to his left to check that way was clear, but failed to look to his right.  An internal debate on the accuracy of the large clock tower was his last earthly thought.  Melvin’s fateful taxi hit him squarely on the right side of his body.  He flipped onto the hood, smashed into the windshield and rolled off the back of the taxi where he was unfortunately run over by another, also traveling 50 kilometers per hour.

Melvin’s soul floated momentarily above the carnage.  It took him several minutes to realize that the fuss beneath him was his accident.  He flailed his arms like a drowning swimmer in one of the Minnesota lakes he loved so much.  Try as he could, he was unable to make any headway towards the ground and his lifeless, wrecked, body.

His soul was sucked feet first into the atmosphere. He watched as the roads changed first into cities, and then countries, until the globe began to take shape.  The view kept expanding until the earth was now just a blue dot on a black background.

There was no way of knowing how far or how long he traveled.  He passed millions of stars and planets, traveling at a tremendous velocity while suffering the humility of being pulled backwards through it all. Eventually the stars disappeared and there was only a black void.  All perception of movement eventually faded when there were no more stars to reference motion.

Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped.  Melvin stood in front of an enormous wrought iron gate the size of a small mountain with a sign fixed atop it that read “Welcome to Valhalla.”  A smaller, “No Loitering” sign hung on a small chain below it.  A large, gruff looking, dark-skinned man sat on a perch jutting out from the gate.  Melvin yelled to him.

“You up there, where am I?”

“You can read can’t you?”

“Yes, I see.  Is this really Valhalla?”

“No.  It’s bloody Buckingham Palace and I’m the queen ‘erself.  Why in ‘ell would we

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