Greener Grass

This story is by Sabrina Al-Ghosien and was part of our 2016 Winter Writing Contest. You can find all the Winter Writing Contest stories here.

Harry Perdue was a good man. Yet, by twists and turns of rumors and hate, he was reputed as so unpleasant that he was avoided by all except Iris. He loved her and she loved him. She’d been on his side in all matters since childhood.

“Police have arrested Harry Perdue for what is being called the most gruesome murder of the century, the murder of Ian Halden,” television reporters declared.

“Harry, look, I…” Iris murmured. Harry stepped closer.

“Iris, you know I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. You know me better than anyone else. Please believe me.”

“… I’m sorry, but…” Her voice faded. “Please go,” she said coldly. Both shed tears that day.

“New information regarding Ian Halden’s murder has led police to discover that Jack Farris was indeed the murderer, not Harry Perdue, who was released earlier today.”

“Iris! Iris!” he called. “See? I told you I’m innocent!” She turned, and her gaze brought tears to his eyes. Her familiar warmth was gone, replaced with distrustful revulsion. “I-Iris?…”

He walked down the street, eyes fixed steadily to the ground. “Honey, get away from that man!” a woman whispered, urging her child forward.

“Hey, you see that guy? Isn’t that Harry Perdue?” a man said.

“Yeah… Sicko,” replied a grimacing man.

Harry was alone.

Two weeks into freedom, he went for an evening walk to clear his head. When overwhelmed, he liked to walk a beautiful, veiled path he’d perfected over time, pleasantly private from others. Usually, depending on the trauma, he’d walk one or two miles. That day was his sixth three-mile walk, ending in a round, grassy area bordered by hills.

He fell backwards, sighing. He cried quietly to himself before realizing no one could hear him. At least, he thought so. He flinched when he noticed his mistake.

“What’s wrong?” someone asked. Harry stared at the sky, not caring enough to move.

“Whole world hates me. I didn’t do anything,” he grumbled.

“Really?” The man almost sounded hopeful.

“Why’re you happy?” Harry challenged.

“Same here, same situation. I’m Quinn, you?”

“Harry. What happened to you?”

“Wrong place, wrong time.”

“Same.” Pausing, Harry finally rose. His eyes flicked around, searching. Puzzlement replaced his optimism. “Hello?” he called.

“Yes?”

“Where’d you go?”

“Oh… nowhere,” Quinn replied timidly.

“But… why don’t you come here?”

“I would if I could,” he muttered.

“What, are you hurt or something?”

“No… well… sort of.”

“‘Sort of…’? You okay?”

“I’m dead, but yes. Actually, not okay,” Quinn spoke matter-of-factly. Harry paused for a moment, scoffing amusedly.

“I’m stupid. I actually thought you meant literally ‘de—’”

“I am.”

“… Liar.”

“I’m serious. Why do you think you can’t see me?”

“… I don’t believe you. You’re crazy… I’m leaving.” Harry started to walk away.

“Wait!!” Quinn sounded desperate. Harry stopped, rolling his eyes.

“What?”

“Let me explain… please.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks. Sorry, it’s… being here’s just… awful for me. Most love it, obviously. It’s Heaven. Well, for them, but I have no friends here. I wish I could go back to Earth. I miss it,” he despaired sincerely.

“I wish I could be where you are,” Harry lamented.

“You’re serious about that?”

“Yeah… definitely. Anywhere but here.” They paused.

“Care to switch?” the dead man offered.

“Can we?” Harry exclaimed. “Please! Yes… It’s possible?”

“Yes.” The man exhaled. “All you need to do is repeat. It means, ‘I am in this world. He is in another world. His world is mine. My world is his. I consent.’”

“Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Ego in hoc mundo, et ipse est in alium mundum. Eius mundo est meo. Meo mundo est eius,” Quinn said, Harry echoing. “Consentio.”

Harry smiled. “Consentio,” he finished. There was a bright flash as the transition gave both a mild, lingering sting. Quinn, now in Harry’s body, chuckled happily, inspecting his surroundings. Harry looked around without seeing anyone, so he wandered a few minutes.

“Sorry. I-I think… Do… you know Quinn?” Harry stuttered.

“Hey, Quinn got another sucker!” a new neighbor of Harry said to another. They looked human.

A third resident smirked, greeting Harry honestly, “Welcome to Hell, Bitch.” Harry’s eyes widened. Silent tears fell.

“No. You can’t… I’m in Heaven. I’m supposed to be in Heaven.” Harry hyperventilated. “Quinn?” he murmured. “Quinn?… Quinn?! Quiiiiinn?!?!?!”

Quinn smirked, a free man on Earth.

“What is that?” Harry asked meekly, pointing at a creature.

“That’s… a demon. We’re just human souls. We died too recently to be demons already,” an amused humanoid explained. “How’d you get here? There’s only one place here to interact with Earth. Only Quinn knows where. Do you?”

“N-no.”

“Useless,” she muttered.

The demon pushed through souls toward Harry. Harry braced. Oh, my God… Don’t. Please don’t, he thought frantically. The torture was forever seared into his mind as the excruciating pain caused him to scream.

Slightly later, Harry slipped away. Yes! He’d found the communication point: where he had arrived. He had a distorted view of his last earthly location. He discovered he could move his view. He found a man crying. “Hello! I’m Harry,” he said eagerly.

“… John,” the crying man replied.

“So, I’m dead and it sucks here. Y-you don’t look so happy. Can we switch? I-It’ll be better. You just have to repeat something. It’s easy.”

“Uh… No.”

“Please. Y-you’d like it here.”

“… No.”

“But…”

“Go away.” The man left.

“Wait! Wait!!” Harry begged. Something happened. Harry wasn’t sure. He thought maybe he fell through something. Anyway, he found himself in another region of Hell. He froze in fear at several demons’ twisted glances.

20-year-old Isaac Faustus’s “friends” shoved him off a ledge into a rocky part of the ocean, laughing. He whimpered, holding his bleeding, painful leg. He barely made it ashore, one leg disabled, one hand holding it. Catching his breath, he sobbed softly. Harry watched everything.

“Ego in hoc mundo, et ipse est in alium mundum. Eius mundo est meo. Meo mundo est eius. Consentio.”

“Ego in hoc mundo, et ipse est in alium mundum. Eius mundo est meo. Meo mundo est eius. Consentio.”

Quinn stared at the iron bars of his cell’s wall, recalling the event. That man crashed into his car. Quinn got mad. The man insulted him. Madder. The man punched him. Furious. Quinn fiddled unstably with his, technically Harry’s, car keys.

The man turned around to gesture angrily to his car and Quinn jammed a key just above the man’s neck with his palm, sliding it across to sever the cranial nerves. Instant death.

Immediately after, the police arrived. Quinn took a cop’s gun and shot them all. He proceeded to eliminate all evidence of his misdeeds. However, the last time he was alive, there weren’t traffic cameras.

That was the first time he couldn’t talk himself out of something. Jail was better than Hell, but he wanted freedom. He had always wanted freedom. After a few days jailed, he got a 20-year-old, limping visitor. He wasn’t sure who.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome devil? You know, I could swear I’ve seen you before, Quinn. You have one of those faces, right?” the visitor growled. Ahh, Harry, old pal, Quinn thought.

“Harry, how’s it goin’? What’cha been up to?” Quinn asked, smirking. “Switchin’ with a kid… Nice.” Harry barely resisted smacking him across the room, since he’d probably be kicked out. He had to talk to Quinn.

“Oh, just rotting in Hell. Rotting in jail, are we?” Harry replied.

“You know it!” Quinn sucked air through his teeth. “Kind of funny that now that Harry Perdue has actually murdered people, it still wasn’t him.” He laughed. Harry clenched his fists, breathing deeply.

“You lied to me.”

“Never,” Quinn replied honestly.

“You said you were in Heaven!”

“I said it was Heaven for most. True. The majority are demons. They love it. I said I hated it there. All… true.” Harry paused, processing everything Quinn ever said. He never lied. Harry sighed.

“Look. I’m screwed now. I’ve put someone in Hell. He seemed nice enough and he wasn’t even supposed to die. I’m going back when I die. All I want to know is this: can I switch with someone in Heaven?” Harry said slowly, as if talking to a child.

“No. I was a conman in all my lives except my first. The best there ever was. If anyone could, I would’ve in my second life.”

“Second…? How many lives have you had?!”

“This is my seventh. Hell, every time. Same trick, every time.”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Why can’t you switch into Heaven?”

“No one, good boy or not, enters Heaven. I was an upstanding guy in my first life.”

“… What?… When you die, you go to either Heaven or Hell, right?”

“Think simpler.” Quinn smirked.

“I want a straight answer, why can’t I switch into Heaven?!” Harry demanded. Quinn laughed uncontrollably, maniacally. “Why are you laughing?!”

“You fool… There is no Heaven.”