Post Room 101

So I have reached my 101st post and what more fitting way could I think to use it, maybe more to abuse it, this extroverted number 101, assigned forever to George Orwell's Book, 1984. Where the Room 101 holds everybody's worst nightmare however big or small. The room obsessed by so many in comedy circles for TV and radio programs, people's conspiracies, and all because of one number. Nothing to do with Revelations, which holds another number inscribed on to people's minds -666.

Without a worry about what Room 101 holds for me, because "we all know what we are going to find there" if there was such a place, some form of purgatory for me no less and that half way line to being at one with what comes next in the after life. Purgatory where after dispatch we have to answer to all our days, St. Peter residing over the front door asking if we have been good or bad, forgiven others and done as said according to Scripture.

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Here, I have you now, for I welcome you to Post Room 101. The place where you have to wait upon death to arrive and walk you between our Earthly world and the next land. "Your Vehicle awaits us" Death says, as he leans in over your bed, from where you lay, you stand as a shimmering entity of soul life next to 'Your Body'.
"Your Soul Cake," he quibs, for you're not the first or the last of his job, removing the life from the world, you note your family and friends look on at you in peace. "Follow me I'm taking you for dispatch, Post Room 101 for you." You look on, morbid, for life's ended, happy that it hasn't 'ended' in the sense of nothing. "Don't worry, dispatch is what everybody has to do, there are so many people that an organised system is needed to place your correct location on route. Yes, I know what you're thinking, even in death there are queues!"

You arrive in the click of a finger, where not so much as your local post office for you to queue at for your turn, but a whole sorting office sits. The local worker behind the desk murmurs "You will be filed soon enough". Your illusion is as good as mine, our perception of reality is not quite as it may seem. The worker looks straight in to your eye and says, "Go to Zone Six." Death kindly walks you along the back of the queue and down into the Zone. "Zone 6?" you ask. Death points out that it's just an area, everybody has be placed in reference to the Global Holdings of people, for everybody knows everybody somehow.

Gradually you make it to the front. You are asked, "What's your Belief...Faith my friend", you answer C of E. "Ah, Coffee people", he marks his paperwork then points at a distant area, "Come this way round and join that Corner". As you get closer the temperature rises, you've been happily warm for a little while, now it's positively hot, something from a holiday you once had in the Caribbean where it was 40 degrees C +. You look at Death and ask "What's the plan, how does it work?" Death looks on, towering down at seven foot, "It won't be long now, your destination awaits you through that door, I won't be coming any further, I'm just the Keeper between reality." You ask if he knows where you are going, he looks around and says, "Ever been to see your worst nightmare, through this door your credentials will be checked, whilst you're only a youngen compared to others, everybody has a duty of repentance. You are no different, but here in Post Room 101 your have been assigned, oh yes I see it coming, your host is He Himself, Number 666. You see, well I suppose you don't, everything from the Soul Cake to the Faithful questions has been a test of judgement for us to help with your credentials, you will be sentenced. 666 will thoroughly check your History of Life, your Perception of life is just a Dream compared to others."

You begin to worry, you don't understand, your scared of what may lie ahead, you might be a peace but you are most certainly alive and in fear of what may be waiting ahead. As you approach the door for your turn you can't turn the handle. You say "I can't turn the handle it's stuck", Death checks all the paperwork, notes in order, murmurs something about it being the first of October, looks up at you... "Sorry, got the wrong day, your not due until when your 66."

At which point he clicks his fingers everything turns foggy and you wake up in a cold sweat back in bed recovering from your bout of flu. Shocked and scared stiff you look around, alive again, the last thing you remember hearing is, Death yelling in the distance, "Just another 101 days to correct all the misgivings, you got a second chance." Your grand-daughter is reading your favourite poem by Edgar Allan Poe, "All that we see or seem, is but a Dream Within a Dream."

Sweating like a mad man, you wonder was it a dream, was it an illusion or are you destined for dispatch to the after life, are the wheels in motion for a more timely death, your perception of reality deceiving you. Your grand daughter looks up at you, " Granddad a really tall gentleman came in and left you a cake, look." You do, on the side the very same one as you thought you ate sits wrapped and freshly baked.

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Optical Dice Illusion
Which way round are these Di stacked?
Count the numbers on the Di.
Try adding them up too.
Answer: 666 does exist.

I wasn't expecting that number at all myself either -freaky!
I just wanted an illusional image.

Illusion: A: The Perception of Reality
B: An erroneous Concept or belief
C: The condition of being deceived by a false perception or belief.
D: A fine transparent cloth, used for dresses or trimmings.

With the aid of Writer's Island Prompts 2011#5: Illusion.