When I was a young boy, a long time ago, I broke a mirror.
I was playing with it, and it slipped, and it hit the floor,
and it was broken.

Bad luck.

I stood above the wreckage, and looked down at what I have
done.
My reflection on the chipped glass surface was distorted.
It looked like me, but also like someone else.
Someone guilty.


A man is driving a car on an autumn evening.
He begins crossing a junction, when another car, comes
flying his way.
And there really is little he can do about it,
Other than sit back, and admire the beauty of his
adversity.

Two shimmering, metallic insects locked in a deadly dance.
Spinning, spitting sparks. Gripping at each other's throat,
screeching vehemently. Screaming, shrikes of exploding tires
and exhaust pipes. Choking, blasting gusts of smoke colored
by neon lights from above. A deafening crash sends massive
volleys of glittering glass in every direction.

Then stillness.

All he can see is a gray blur.
His ears are ringing. His head is pressed against the
stirring wheel, and blood is flowing down his cheeks,
dripping steadily to the floor.
He is unable to breath, the suffocating fumes of burnt
rubber clog his lungs.

Somehow he frees himself from the seatbelt strap, and slowly
turns his neck to the right. His wife's motionless body is
hunched foreword; her head is nestled in her lap, like that
of an idle marionette. Her face is hidden from him, covered
by a mass of red hair, which is cast upon it like a veil.

"Honey?" He calls faintly.

But she is unconscious, and does not answer.

He looks through the busted rearview mirror. Agonizing pain
follows every move he makes.
He sees his daughter's hand, resting on the back seat. By
her side, sits her younger brother. His knee is slightly
touching hers.

" Kids are you ok? Odelia? Thomas?"

No answer.

He presses his fingers against his aching temples. They feel
wet and sticky. He tries to open the door, but it is stuck.
The man slams his body against it, in a pathetic attempt to
force it open. The impact sends waves of sharp stings up his
spine, and down his lower back. He knows something just
snapped inside him, the anguish is phenomenal in its
intensity.

His very skin is charged with electricity. For one moment,
that lasts for eleven eternities, every fiber of his being
cries mercy,

And he is ready.

Ready to let go of his life, to embrace perdition. He will
pay any price, whatever it will take to stop a million
bear-traps from gnawing on his bare nerves, and saw through
his bones.
He hears himself scream, vaguely feel his fingernails dig
into his palms.

His eyes go blind, just before the world goes mute.


I opened my eyes to the sound of elevator music.
And the cold touch of polished linoleum against my cheek.
Slowly, I rose to my feet. A quick survey of my surroundings
revealed that I was standing in the beverages department of
a large convenience store. By my side stood a shopping cart,
overfilled with groceries.

I saw a man, busy at work, only a few paces from where I
was. The man was mopping the floor while whistling to
himself.
He had his back turned. However, I noticed that he was
wearing a pair of blue pants, a striped white shirt, and a
tie. A dark red turban was wrapped around his head. I
started walking towards him.

The man turned to me, and smiled.
His nametag read: "Agam Dharamdeep".

"How can I assist you? Are you looking for something?"

"I don't know." I answered.
"Where am I?"

The man approached me, and extended his arm.

"Welcome to my shop!" He greeted me.
"I guarantee that you will find everything you need here!"

"But what am I doing here?" I asked, avoiding his
handshake.
"How did I get here?"

"Oh!" He exclaimed,
"That's obvious. You got here the same way as everyone
else;"
"You died."

"What?" I cried.
"What do you mean 'Died'? I am not dead! How can I be dead,
when I am standing right here, talking to you!"

"Indeed." He nodded in agreement.
"And yet, you are very much deceased, I assure you. This
place, this shop is not a part of your world. You no longer
exist there."

"You are mad!" I snapped.
"I am not dead! I would know it, if I was."

"Fine." Replied the shopkeeper with a calm voice.
"No need to get all worked up. I can easily prove it to you.
Can you please tell me what is your most recent memory,
before arriving at my shop?"

"Sure." I said.
"Let me think for a second...
It was Odelia's birthday, and we were all going to celebrate
together. We were in the car, on our way, I was driving-"

I went silent.

All at once, I remembered everything.
Every detail; we were in a car crash, the devilish speed of
it, the chaos, and terrible destruction. I must have went
unconscious, hurt my head, kept bleeding. The grim
aftermath, my wife and kids, not moving, not answering. The
paralyzing fear I felt taking over me, suffocating me, the
scent of death in the air.

Finally, the pain,
Me willingly surrendering my life, gladly, eagerly, to make
it stop.
I gave up; let go of myself.

That must have sealed the deal.

I closed my eyes.
My wounds were gone now. The pain was gone, and so was the
confusion.
The mind confirms what the heart already knows;
I am dead.

This is the afterlife.

"I told you so." Said the shopkeeper.

"Oh my God!" I gasped.
"I don't even feel dead, I feel normal. I am still
breathing!"

"Never mind that." He persisted.
"Breathing is just a habit, a psychological mechanism. Your
mind acknowledges that your body is dead. You accept it.
That's what counts."

I collapsed to the floor.
The shopkeeper's words struck me like fists.
My head was spinning. My brain, failing miserably to digest,
such overwhelming new developments, was about to crack under
the pressure.
I had to find something solid to hold on to. Something
steady to lean against,
Some kind of rock, I can tie my mind to. So that it won't
fly away.

I turned inward, reached down to my center, the very core of
me, and found the answer.

Do not panic. The voice in my head commanded.
Remember the sutras! Remember your teachings, and your
beliefs! You are not a kite without a string, drifting
independently through time and space. You are a part of a
greater whole, a tiny, yet vital piece of a breathing,
changing universe, not a universe all on your own.
You are engaged in endless interactions with all other
living things. This life may be over, but you will live
again, like you have lived before, an infinite number of
times. Your soul is immortal because it is a colorful part
of a beautiful fabric, a universal tapestry.

Your soul is indestructible!

I took a deep breath, and was once again, in control.
I got back on my feet, and smiled at the shopkeeper.

"Very well", said I.
"I am dead. That's fine, when do I go back?"

"I don't quite follow what you mean," said the shopkeeper.

"I mean, that I was in life, and still am now, in death, a
believer in the circle of life and rebirth. Therefore I know
that I will be reincarnated back into a new body, and return
to the material world. To live again as all living sentient
beings are destined to do, for all eternity."

"Eh, right..." The shopkeeper seemed uncomfortable.

"I have only one small request before I go back." I
continued.
"I wish that my next life will somehow be linked with those
of my wife and two children, whom I left behind. If that's
not too great a thing to ask for..."

"Yeah, I'm not sure about that." The shopkeeper replied
hesitantly.
"Please understand, I am just a humble shopkeeper. I don't
know anything about reincarnation or eternity. Once you
leave my shop, as far as I am concerned, you can go wherever
you want. I will not stand in your way."

"That's fine." I replied.
"You have been very helpful. Now if you would be so kind as
to show me the way to the nearest exit, I will be forever
grateful."

"Certainly." Said the shopkeeper.
"Please follow me, and do not forget to bring all your stuff
with you."

The shopkeeper led the way, and I followed him, faithfully,
pushing the shopping cart along as I went.
On our way, we passed more rows of packed shelves,
displaying a seemingly infinite variety of products.

Gazing up with awe, I couldn't help but wonder what was the
function of this strange place, a curious station, between
the moment of death, and that of rebirth. A vast, yet all
but deserted department store, packed with earthly
materials, completely useless for the dead.

"Shopkeeper, May I ask what exactly is the purpose of this
place? This shop?"

The shopkeeper was obviously offended, if not utterly
dumbstruck by my question.

"What? " He cried.
"This is my shop! It is an honest, and well-established
place of business. A time honored institution providing much
required essentials, for the benefit of the general public.
We have an outstanding reputation for quality, service and
selection!"

"Of course..." I quickly corrected.
"I meant no disrespect. I simply want to understand, what is
your role in the greater scheme of things? Why are you
here?"

"Ah!" The shopkeeper quickly regained his former cheer.
"I am but a simple merchant man, a punctual banker, a
meticulous clerk, these are my only duties. I am only here
to perform a role, same as everyone else. I told you that
already."

"Well that's a relief!" I said.
"For a minute, I must admit, I was afraid you might be God"


"I get that a lot." Answered the shopkeeper, not slowing his
pace.
"But why would you be intimidated by that? Were you a great
sinner in life?"

"Hardly." I answered
"However, according to the philosophy and teachings I
follow, God does not exist. Therefore, if you were God,
well, that would mean everything I believe in is a lie..."

At that, the shopkeeper stopped on his tracks. His face wore
an expression of great unease.

"Ah yes, of course..." He finally replied.
"How fortunate for you then!"

We marched on, side by side, until the last soaring row of
shelves gave way to a vast illuminated arcade. Here numerous
cashier stations were in lined before me. Blocking my path
to a glass gate marked as exit.

The shopkeeper produced a key chain from his pocket with
such dazzling speed, that to my eyes it appeared as though
it materialized in his hands out of thin air. With eager
eyes he circled the small station, and undid the lock on the
other side. An instant later, he was already seated, and had
the electronic cashier in front of him operational.

"O.K, lets begin!" He exclaimed with a determined voice,
clapping his hands together.
"Please unload all your Luxuries on the conveyor belt. Pay
attention- omit nothing! It is essential that we scale and
register every single one, before you can pay and proceed!"

"But I don't understand... What is the purpose of this? What
do you mean by "Luxuries", and "Payment"? I am dead now. I
no longer enjoy luxuries, or posses any sort of wealth, do
I?"

The shopkeeper burst into a loud and hearty laughter.

"Oh no! Of course not, those days are over, buddy. Ha Ha!
But still, one has to give some amends for those luxuries he
enjoyed, and didn't have the chance to pay for while still
alive."

I was utterly perplexed by the shopkeeper's words; all I
could do was stare at him with a blank expression.

"Stop worrying so much! Everybody goes through this. Lets
begin with the lighter stuff, top of the heap, and work our
way down to the bottom"

I decided it was probably in my best interest not to argue
or question the shopkeeper anymore.
His answers made little sense to me anyway, and I hoped that
maybe by going through whatever were these costumed
procedures, I would be able to figure out what was this
place all about.
I began unloading my groceries on the conveyor belt under
the ever-watchful eye of the shopkeeper, who made sure not a
single item goes unregistered.

One of the first objects I picked up was a rusty toy car.

I was about to place it on the conveyor belt, when suddenly
I recognized it.
It was an exact miniature replica of the very first car I
ever owned. I examined it closely in disbelief, the
precision and care that was put in even the smallest detail
was extraordinary.
The color was the same dark red, including the spots where
it was peeled off or faded. Even the bumper sticker that was
used to conceal a scratch under the left passenger door, and
the dent on the hood were present. It was unsettling. There
was no mistaking it, this car was identical to the car I had
almost 20 years ago, only at a much smaller scale.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded.

"It's the car you bought and drove during your college days,
some 18 years ago," Replied the shopkeeper in a measured
tone, as if he had foreseen this question.

"Yes. I remember it quite well, but why am I required to pay
for it now? As you yourself had just said, I bought this
car, and paid for it, when I was still alive."

"Not exactly..." Said the shopkeeper.
"What you have paid for with money, back then, is the
material value of the car. You have paid for a mechanical
device of transportation, and of course for the legal right
to posses and use this devise. However, this car has
provided you with much more than this, would you not
agree?"

"How can I agree, when I don't even understand what the hell
you are talking about!" I cried.

"Please sir, don't be mad. I am an honest merchant. I am not
trying to rip you off. Let me explain what I mean when I say
that you are now required to pay for the "Luxury" value of
this car:
It is difficult to understand perhaps for the men and women
of your generation, who takes the concept of motorized
transportation for granted, but try if you will to imagine
the lives of the people who lived two hundred years before
you. They had to harness the strength of beasts in order to
get from one place to the other. Better yet, think about the
animals themselves, they have to relay on their own muscle
in order to move about.
That is the original, or natural state of things. That, and
not what you have been accustomed to.
Now it is time to pay for the pleasure and comfort your car
has provided you with, for the luxury of being able to
commute without using your own muscle, the way you were
originally meant to do."

I was totally lost. The shopkeeper's words made no sense
whatsoever. For a long time I was unable to phrase my
astonishment.

"Wait, what are you telling me here?" I finally managed to
choke out.
"That by driving a car, I was disturbing some sort of
natural order? That by avoiding the physical effort of
walking I was in fact, committing a sin?"

"No" He answered.
"You are not a sinner. Nor are you going to be treated like
one in my shop. I find the very concept of 'Sin' to be
obscene. Please sir, try to understand, you are not on trial
here, and I am not here to judge you! To me you are a
costumer. You became my costumer when you made a choice in
life, to drive, instead of walk. As you made that choice,
you also made a purchase in my shop. You bought the luxury
of effortless transportation. A luxury, for which you have
not yet paid..."

"And how am I to pay this alleged debt? I don't suppose
material wealth has any value in this place?"

"No" Said the shopkeeper.
"Your money is worthless to me. Here, the only currency that
is acceptable is called a 'Lash'".

"A what?"

"Lashes are, in a sense, the exact opposite of luxuries,
they represent the negative sensual experiences that are
accumulated throughout one's life.
For example:
Roughly half a Lash was gained to your credit, every time
you bumped against the closet, as you got out of bed in the
middle of the night, for a glass of water, and hurt your
pinky...
Every time you were ill, suffered from stress, loneliness,
or was abused by others, every time you lost a loved one,
grieved or felt afraid. You gained an amount of Lashes;
proportional to the intensity of the ordeal you went
through.

You know, people say sometimes; 'If only I had a Rupee for
every time this or that happened to me...' Ironically, that
is exactly what happens! The sum total of every ill fated
sensation, major or trivial, in a man's life, becomes his
only wealth in death."

I shook my head in disbelief.
"This has got to be some sort of mistake," I mumbled almost
inaudibly.
But I knew in my heart, that there was no mistake. On some
under-conscious level, the shopkeeper's words made sense.
There was a kind of internal order in the mechanism he
described. It contained a seed of truth, something remotely
familiar to me, not necessarily antagonistic to the beliefs
I held in life.
I still haven't figured things out completely, but I was
ready at this point to give the shopkeeper the benefit of
the doubt, if only to satisfy my own growing curiosity. I
felt that I could trust, and accept him, at least
temporarily as my guide and teacher.

I obediently unloaded the rest of the Luxuries from the
cart.
Amongst the many items that were registered, I found
miniature representations of every single home I lived in,
still photos of every destination I had ever traveled to, on
vacation.
Every single item of clothing I had ever worn was portrayed
in a sizable catalogue, that was thicker than two bibles
stocked on top of each other.
Every snack, candy or delicacy I had ever eaten was noted on
a carefully folded shopping list the length of which I can't
begin to estimate.
Heart shaped gold and silver lockets in various sizes were
collected together on a large chain, each contained a
portrait of a woman I had been with.
Any form of material pleasure or comfort I had ever
experienced in life was in some way described. From a fine
cigar I smoked on a friend's birthday party, to the air
conditioner I had installed in my office at work, to a hot
bath I took at a spa, when I was on holiday.
A single, over packed, shopping cart had contained a whole
and complete record of every simple joy, every meaningless
vice, every forgotten comfort, or fleeting satisfaction.

It was all there.

I had no way of telling how long it took, for us to go over
the entire content of the cart, but I am quite sure it went
on for well over half a day, before we reached the very last
item.

Lying there, at the bottom of the cart, I found a small
crimson jewelry box.

"This is not mine," I said to the shopkeeper. There was
something unnerving about this box; a black cloud seemed to
hover above it, a shadow aura. I felt extremely reluctant to
even look at it.
"I have never seen this box before, it's not mine."

"Open it," Said the shopkeeper.

Hesitantly, I picked the box up. Carefully with both hands,
and slowly raised the lid.
Inside was my wife's wedding ring, alongside a lock of
Odelia's long flowing red hair, and a fistful of Thomas's
dark auburn curls.

The faces of my wife and children rose before my eyes, and
with them, the horrible reassurance that they are forever
lost to me.

Only at that moment did I truly comprehend the full
implications of my passing away. Only then did I fathom the
scale of my tragedy. I will never see my family again. I
felt as though an arrow has just pierced my heart, and split
it in two.

"The most precious of your belongings" I could hear him
whisper, from a thousand miles away.

I felt my heart hit rock bottom.
The life I had, and loved, was robbed from me in an instant.
It was all so brutal, unfair. My life has ended too soon,
not yet complete. A great wrong has been done to me. I did
not deserve to die, and it was not yet my time to go.
I should have lived longer! I was still young, had a family,
It was not done yet.

I was not done yet!

The shopkeeper kneeled beside me, and held me by the
shoulders. His grip was firm, but his eyes were kind,
sympathetic.

"Please sir, try to be strong. Do not mourn that your life
ended prematurely, but rather, try to be grateful for every
single day of it.
You had a good life, and you were loved. That is more than
many can say about their lives. And even though you passed
away at a relatively young age, few are fortunate to have
lived a life that was as full as yours, even though they had
lived longer.
So please, I beg you! No tears. No regret now. Your life
meant something, not only to you, but also to your dear
ones. Be strong now, for them. Show them that your love is
greater than death or loss or tears, show them that your
love lives on!"

He was right, of course.
Falling apart then, would have been an act of selfishness.
Not love, but cowardice.

I was not to disgrace the memory of my beloved family with
such profanity.
I vowed to be stronger than myself, for them. If I was
required to pay for the luxury of being loved by my wife and
children, for their unfailing devotion and ever-present
affection, then so be it.
Every split second I got to share with them was priceless to
me. I was honored, privileged, blessed to love them, and be
loved by them. I was ready to pay any toll for such divine
grace, and then pay it again, and again, ten fold. Whatever
be the cost, it would be a meager price to pay for that,
which is invaluable.

I wiped away, my tears. The shopkeeper helped me get back on
my feet.

Slowly, I closed the small crimson box, sealed it gently
with a kiss, and placed it in the shopkeeper's open palms.

"Thank you," Said he.
"You did the right thing, Sir. Now let me just add that to
the rest of your items, and we can calculate the total sum
of your purchase. One minute please..."

"Ah! Very well, Sir... That would be SEVEN HUNDRED, FOURTY
TWO THOUSAND, EIGHT HUNDRED, AND FIFTY FIVE Lashes total,
please..."

"Uhm, right..." I was looking around uncomfortably.
"What do I do now?"

"Your credit card please,"

"My what?"

"Check your pockets sir..."

I dug deep inside my pants with my palms, and sure enough,
there was the unmistakable touch of plastic money in my
hand.
The card looked exactly the same as any other credit card,
with my name engraved at the bottom, and my signature on the
backside.

I gave it to the shopkeeper, and he swiped it on his
register.

The machine, in response, gave a short flat beep.

"Hmmm..." Said the shopkeeper.
He was looking at the screen, wearing the same expression,
universal to all clerks, when they stumble across a credit
card with not enough juice left in it to cover the entire
purchase.

The shopkeeper tried the card again,
And nodded with discontent.

"I think we may have a little problem with this card, sir,"
He said after a third attempt.

I checked my pockets again, but they were empty.

"That's the only card I have"

"Well that is unfortunate sir, because you only have FIVE
HUNDRED EIGHTY THREE THOUSAND, AND SEVEN HUNDRED SEVENTY TWO
Lashes on this card. Not nearly enough to cover your debt."

"But how is that possible? You told me these Lashes
represent the sum total of my entire life's suffering. How
can that not be enough? What those it mean?" I was growing
more and more impatient with every passing second.

"What it means, quite simply is that the amount of fear,
grief and pain you suffered during your life was
significantly inferior to the amount of pleasure, happiness
and bliss that you enjoyed.
What it means is that your life was drastically unbalanced!
You did not suffer as much as you were supposed to; you had
it too easy; you never knew poverty, illness, loneliness or
war. All through your life, almost everything you touched
turned to gold. You had it all, and you hardly ever had to
pay any dues for it..."

"Well then," Said I.
"I guess I was just fortunate things turned out that way for
me. I won't deny it, I know I was blessed. I know my life
was good, and maybe even easy. I agree with all of that, but
what exactly do you expect me to do about it now?"

"We don't have a lot of options here..." Said the
shopkeeper, as he bent down behind the register.
"I will have to manually collect from you the remaining
Lashes, right here, right now!"

"How is that possible?"

"There is only one way really" He got back up, holding a
black leather whip in his hand.

"WHAT?" I cried.
"No way! Are you insane? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Afraid not" Replied the shopkeeper dryly.
"Believe me sir, I hate when this happens, but it is the
only way to keep an accurate score, and regain the balance
you disturbed... Please try to understand, I can't just let
you go without paying your full debt. It just wouldn't be
right"

"And THIS is your idea of right?" I shouted.
"Do you consider, having me whipped two hundred thousand
times with that thing, to be RIGHT?"

"Actually you will only have to be whipped ONE HUNDRED FIFTY
NINE THOUSAND, AND EIGHTY THREE times. What's fair is
fair..."

The shopkeeper started moving towards me, whip in hand. I
began pacing back slowly, fighting to make ends meet in my
brain.
This is not happening to me, I thought.
It can't be happening. It doesn't make sense, there has to
be another way. A sane way to please this fanatic, and keep
his whip away from me.

"Wait!" I screamed.
"Let us try and be reasonable about this! Please Mister
shopkeeper, I trusted you! I thought you were an honest
businessman, I know there is another way, there has to be
another way!"

But the shopkeeper kept going.

"I am terribly sorry sir, but this is the only way.
You know, with every passing year, I have to go through
these unfortunate procedures with more and more costumers.
It wasn't always like that. In the old days, people had much
harder lives. Back then, I almost never had to deal with
costumers like you, who purchased more Luxuries than they
could afford."

"But I did not know! How could I have known, no one ever
told me about this place. How could I have guessed that
being happy, and having a good life is wrong?"

The shopkeeper pulled the whip above his head. It made a
loud explosion sound as it snapped in the air.

"You are only deceiving yourself!" He declared.
"Don't make this about right and wrong, your problem was
that you lacked common sense! Throughout your life, you saw
people all around you get hit by destiny, but you always
seemed to dodge the bullet.
Now, are you going to stand there and tell me that you never
felt guilty about your exceptionally good fortune?
Of course you did.
And why? Because deep inside, you always knew that it wasn't
normal. You felt the sword hanging over your head by a
thread, and you asked yourself; 'when? When will it be my
time?'
Well, there it is. Your time is now."

Just then, I heard a faint voice, it came from behind the
shopkeeper's back.

It was the voice of a young boy.
He was standing by the abandoned cashier's station.

The boy looked more like a meek skeleton, than a human
being.
His dark skin was hung loose around his bonny limbs, it was
almost as though that skin was an oversized outfit, into
which the child had not yet grown.
His hair was thin on his scalp, his body was weak, and
frail. His sunken cheeks, long chin, and narrow bone
structure, along with his head, which was still
disproportionately larger than the rest of the body, as is
usually the case with young children, emphasized the milky
whiteness, and roundness of his quivering eyes. They
appeared almost to hover there, in mid air, completely
detached from the body. These distorted impressions of size
and shape made the boy look much younger than he probably
really was. But the expression in his eyes was that of an
old man.
Old enough to forget the meaning of the word childhood.

The kid was shirtless.
A piece of dirty white cloth was wrapped around his waist,
and his skinny feet were bare.
He was carrying a gray sack on one of his feeble shoulders.


"Right," The shopkeeper coughed nervously.
"I will be with you in a second sir!" He shouted to the
boy.
"And you sir, stay right there. This will not take long".

With that, the shopkeeper turned around, and returned to his
station. The whip was held, neatly folded, under his arm.

The young boy nodded at the shopkeeper.
The shopkeeper nodded back, and said a few words to the boy.
The boy then, dropped his sack to the floor, and quickly
began unloading its content on the conveyor belt before the
shopkeeper.

I slowly moved closer, I was curious to see what kind of
Luxuries the boy posses in his bag.

It took less then one hour to go through all of it.

A few stolen moments of play, with his brother and two
sisters, or with some friends, numerous hours of leisure,
swimming in the ocean, or watching the sun set behind the
golden hills, and an occasional precious evening with his
mother, before she was gone.
Those were the few joys this boy had known in his short
arborous life.

"A total of FOURTY THOUSAND, TWO HUNDRED AND FOURTY EIGHT
Lashes." The shopkeeper declared festively.
"Will that be cash or credit card?"

The kid grabbed the sack, which was now just a gray
shapeless thing on the floor, and opened it wide.

At the bottom of the sack, lay a great block of pure gold.
On top of it was engraved the number- ONE MILLION.

"Right..."The shopkeeper mumbled.
"That should do it"

I could see a pair of twin blocks of gold twinkle in the
lances of the shopkeeper's thick glasses.

The boy had to use both hands, in order to pick up the block
from the floor, and pass it on to the shopkeeper.
The shopkeeper quickly grabbed it, and hid the gold under
the counter.

"It has been a pleasure doing business with you sir!" He
exclaimed at the boy, while waving cheerfully.
"Be sure to stop by again, very soon!"

The boy, keeping his eyes fixed on the polished floor, began
shuffling quietly to the exit.

"Wait!" I finally exploded.
"Are you just going to let this miserable boy go? He paid
you more than... Twenty five times the amount he owed you,
and you are going to treat him the same way as any other
client? I mean, look at him, obviously this kid has suffered
his entire life. Will he not be rewarded somehow for that?
Was all that excess agony in vain?"

"Oh, yes! I almost forgot." The shopkeeper said, smacking
his forehead with his palm.
"Come back here sir. I have something for you!"

The shopkeeper produced a large colorful lollipop from under
the shelf and handed it to the boy.

"Thanks again sir, and so long!" He graciously added.

The boy offered no reply. Absently licking the lollipop, he
commenced his journey towards the exit.

"What the hell was that!" I was now practically screaming.
"Where is the fairness you talked about? Where is the
balance? I am to be whipped two hundred thousand times for
having too good a life, while this poor child, who was
whipped by fate throughout his life, and had not known a
single moment of true innocent joy, gets A LOLLIPOP?"

"You are forgetting yourself sir..." The shopkeeper, for the
first time, sounded truly angry.
"This is MY shop. Here, I dictate the policy, and the shop's
policy is very clear on these matters!"

Dramatically, he pointed his finger at the wall.
I followed it with my eyes, and came across a rather
sizeable sign.
In bright red letters the sign read:

NO RETURNS!
NO REFUNDS!

I buried my face in my hands.
Never before have I felt as frustrated as in that moment. I
was standing at the very edge of perception, leaning
foreword, straining my intellect as far as possible, but
still was not able to grasp the inner logic of what was
going on around me.
Things just didn't add up.
It was a point of no return for me. The shopkeeper had won.
I was all but ready to crack.

"Where were we sir, before we were interrupted?" Asked the
shopkeeper, and then answered his own question;
"Oh, yes. The whip. Shall we get this over with?"

"I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Afraid not sir"

"Then let's do this"

"Thank you for your cooperation sir. Now, please drop to
your knees."

I humbly obeyed.

"Take off your shirt please."

I did.

"Now unbuckle your belt."

"Why the belt?" I inquired.

"You will need something to bite on." He replied.
"Trust me."

The leather had a bitter taste to it, but it was a blessed
distraction from the pain that lay ahead and I savored the
flavor as if it was honey.

"Lean foreword please."

My heart was pounding rapidly. My body was covered with cold
sweat, and shaking.
I could hear the shopkeeper, stretching his limbs behind me.
Testing the flexibility of the whip with his hands.
Inhaling.
Exhaling.
Preparing his body for the straining task ahead.

I could hear him fix himself in position, loosing the whip
behind his back.
Any second now, the first lash shall come.
Then the second,
Then the third...

I spat the belt to the floor.

"STOP!" I cried.

"What now?" Said the shopkeeper, clearly irritated.

"I can't do it." I said, as I stood back up, and turned to
face him again.
"Not before you tell me what good will come of it."

"Come of what?" Asked the shopkeeper.

"Of all this. All this pain, all this suffering. Why is it
necessary that I suffer? Why can't there be only good
things? Only pleasure, and happiness, and joy. Why can't all
living things exist without pain? Huh?

Answer me that, and I swear I will give you no more
trouble."

For a long moment the shopkeeper said nothing.
Finally he opened his mouth and said:

"If there will be no pain in the world, all these Luxuries
would surly be consumed without being adequately registered.
And what will happen then? Chaos. Anarchy. Life as we know
it, will become an unchecked orgy of the senses! And THIS
SHOP. This shop would become a place of...
A HOUSE OF PROSTITUTION!
No sir! We cannot have that. We must have order. We must
have restrains."

I need your suffering to keep my books balanced".

That was all I needed to hear.

I took a step foreword, then another.

"Sir? What are you doing?"

I got as close as possible to the shopkeeper, and looked him
directly in the eye.

"Don't do this sir!" Said he. He wore an odd expression,
soft, almost compassionate.
"I beg you. Don't do it."

"If you were in my shoes, you would have done the same
thing," Said I.

The shopkeeper sighed, and nodded his head.

And I stormed for the exit.

"SHOPLIFTER!!!" I heard him scream behind me, as I skipped
over the cashier's station.

The exit was right before me, and getting closer with each
leap I took.
Beyond it, I saw only whiteness.

Far behind, there were some people chasing me, but whoever
they were, they had no chance. I knew I was going to make
it.
I smashed my body against the glass gate with all my force.
It opened without giving any resistance.

I charged out of the shop.

And was immediately hit by a blinding light.
A light that was brighter by far than that of any sun or
fire.
The impact I felt was that of a solid thing.
A brick wall of pallid purity, it felt as so my very
eyeballs were scorched by fire. Like a bright flame, it was
burning me from the inside, consuming the breathing brain
inside my skull.
I felt again, with heated intensity, the pains of the flesh
and the bone,
The anguish of life!


A man opens his eyes in a hospital room.
At first, he is dazed and nauseous. Unable to remember, why
he is there.
Then the clouds of oblivion scatter, and he slowly recalls,
the bits and pieces of his recent demise.

Then a nurse walks in.
She appears to be ecstatic that he is awake.

"You were declared dead!" She cries.
"Your brain was not responding. We thought you were gone,
your body was about to be moved to the morgue!"

She hurries out to get a doctor.

"This is nothing short of miraculous!" The doctor declares.

"Tell me, how does it feel? How does it feel to cheat
death?"

"Actually..." The man says.
"I feel numb. I can't move my legs or arms, I can't even
feel them."

The doctor's face becomes somber.
"I am terribly sorry sir," He says.
"I am afraid your brain has lost the ability to communicate
with your body. This paralysis, one should never lose hope,
however, is usually a permanent condition."

The man shakes his head in sorrow.
A tear slides down his cheek, as he begins to understand
what has just been said to him.
His life will never be the same again.

He looks up at his doctor.

"What about my wife, and kids? When can I see them?" He
inquires.

The nurse begins to weep.
The doctor coughs his throat nervously.
"I don't know how to tell you this..." He begins.

And the man knows.

His debt to the shopkeeper is about to be paid in full.