[Flash Fiction] Miley’s Purgatory

In #rabble5, Culture, History, Humour, Print Editionby John LeechLeave a Comment

Illustration: Dara Lynch

Illustration: Dara Lynch

Stop us if you’ve heard this one before. Miley from Glenroe dies and arrives at the Pearly Gates. He’s met by St Peter who offers him a fat bowl of DMT straight from the inside of Salvadore Dali’s skull. Intrigued? Read on gentle reader…


Wasn’t it that Prince Valiant fellah that once said “To die would be a great adventure”? Well I can tell ya one thing, it was that. I suppose the best thing I could liken it to, would be smoking a fat bowl of DMT in a plush egg chair inside Salvador Dalí’s skull . ‘Twas fierce unheard of, I can tell ya that much.


Now, I would have thought my track record with the almighty powers that be was spotless, or at worst, balanced on the better side, like a Friesian… or a cardboard box from Gateway 2000 when they were still going. But as fate wanted it, there was a mix up at the pearly gates. Now, I had gotten well used to being called ‘Miley’ in supermarkets, pool halls, or retro video game shops. The price of fame, as they call it sure. Yet, you can imagine my shock to hear no less than Saint Peter himself confuse me with the aforementioned character from the acclaimed RTE rural drama.


In shock and protest, I stammered briefly, attempting to formulate the words that would distinguish me as an actor merely portraying the man they had flagged as an offender. But before I could articulate my retort, I found myself being ushered into a side office by broad shouldered, square jawed, eastern European looking Angels, to face judgement from the Almighty himself.


“N-Now… hold on a second, t-there ahem… seems to be some element of confusion here, your Greatness…. With all the respect in the world Sir… I am merely an Actor by the name of Mick L…”. “SILENCE MILES!!!!” Boomed the angry creator, with a vehemence comparable to Blackie Conors after a drop too many of the pure. “FOR THE SIN OF INFIDELITY AGAINST YOUR SOULMATE, BIDDY, YOU SHALL BE BANISHED TO YOUR OWN PERSONAL PURGATORY, WHERE YOU SHALL REFLECT ON YOUR ACTIONS FOR AN INDEFINITE ETERNITY!”


Well Holy God…. An indefinite Eternity? The paradoxical implications of God’s command startled me such, that before I had opportunity to protest my innocence, I found myself engulfed in a flash of pure white energy, and vanished. I awoke in an all too familiar setting, and immediately recognised the Kilcoole hay-barn from our days on the set of the fictional town of Glenroe. Yet as I staggered to my feet, I felt more youthful and spritely, and indeed glad as they say, to be returned to this earthly realm. But what a shock I received, as I first caught a glimpse of my own reflection in a nearby urn. I was a shaggin’ calf! I looked back down upon my torso and ’twas confirmed, the fecker had reincarnated me as a calf. Sure what else could I do but stand there on four legs, pondering the significance of it as the sun set outside, casting longer shadows as the mystery grew deeper.


Shortly after dusk, I heard approaching footsteps, then a familiar tone. My own voice, playful and giggling like a schoolgirl in May…. and then hers…. Fidelma, the siren Cailín , leading me on with her glee and woven curls, as she fakes that fall onto the hay bails. It was happening again, all playing out before my very eyes, black and wide as they now were.


And so I was forced to watch it all over once more, this time as a mere ignorant beast. Although… as I watched my own pelvis gyrating with that age old circular rhythm, I wondered who the bigger beast truly was. It was all replaying like a grainy VHS tape, freeze framing an slow-mo’ing … Well Holy God, the torment! When it was all said and done, I watched my youthful self exit the barn sheepishly and filled with regret, just as I had done so many moons ago. With a bovine tear running down my snout, I laid my head in my hooves and tried to get some shut-eye, unsure of where tomorrow was to lead me.


But just as the the sandman descended, an intense white light descended on me once more. I imagine it must have closely resembled the intro to a Quantum Leap episode. And there I was again, back at the beginning of the same day, but this time living as a bolt in the wheel of my old Tractor, parked in a conveniently tortuous position to give me a view of the same sequence again, this time from another angle.


And so I was forced to witness the events over and over for an indefinite and unfathomable eternity, just that film with yer man who was in Ghostbusters. I watched it as livestock, machinery, and most mercilessly – inanimate objects, where the lack of genitalia makes even reflective arousal an impossibility. At the time of writing I am a splinter of wood in a ceiling beam of the barn, which whilst offering one of the most splendid views of the proceedings to date, is in equal measure the most disturbing, as I have just noticed that Dinny has been hiding behind a drum of Diesel enjoying a voyeuristic indulgence all of his own the entire time. Well Holy God indeed….. this truly was the ‘fillet’ of personal purgatory scenarios.

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