In Memory of James Earl Jones

The soul in the back was unassuming and kind, letting some move ahead and helping a couple of the others (arriving in unrest) calm and settle. Finally at the front of the line, the soul smiled brightly and held its questions until Peter had given his schpiel. “Is there anything we need to do once we’re inside? Anything that’s expected of us?” the soul asked softly, making a small gesture of uncertainty. Peter dropped to his knees and recited an avalanche of words in Aramaic before snapping out of it and pulling himself together; the soul was shocked and unsure of what to do. “It’s you,” Peter said apologetically. “I had forgotten and, when you spoke … well … I thought it was The Almighty.” “Well, I didn’t give this voice to myself,” the soul chuckled self-consciously, “so any confusion is not OUR fault.” They snickered, and Peter waved it on warmly. “Won’t be the last time,” Peter thought to himself. “They’ll be dropping like flies every time it asks directions.”