My Pearly Gate Was A Car Wash

Died in a car crash.

I had nothing when I died. Everyone left me to scrap in the junkyard that was my last few years of living.

Everything except my car.

My car stuck by me as I ascended into the clouds waiting for Accountability and Judgment.

I drove up the Stairway to Heaven. I wonder how many people ever got a chance to say that.

It was a wonderful feeling. That lightheaded feeling that nothing could do you any harm, or even more so, the feeling that you couldn't do any harm to anything.

The exhaust pipes spouted clouds instead of smog. I drove through layers of clouds, and more clouds, and more moisture and more soapy suds drenching my car shiny.

And then there were cherubs - handy with a cloth and a container of polish wax.

My car was getting the VIP treatment. I could see it slowly coming into sentience, its headlights for eyes were more alive than they ever were on mortal Earth. It grinned with its fender for teeth.

"This is it, Michael! Best day ever!", said my car.

St. Peter was waiting at the gates. There was a queue. People waiting for their turn to find out whether it's oblivion or God's Dominion for them.

"Hey, Ford!", St. Peter exclaimed. "Vroom on in! The sky's yours my sedan friend!"

I smiled.

Until we reached the gate and I was asked to step out of my car.

"You were a blasphemer and a murderer, sir. I'm afraid we can't let you in"

And there were suddenly no clouds below me. No solid surface to stand on. I was falling.

Falling.

Jesus fucking Christ.