The stranger arrived at your house in the middle of the night. They were wounded when they arrived, a nasty wound in the middle of their chest. There is blood all over your house, all over your sheets, all over everything in your life. It is seeping into everything, staining it all. A person should not have been able to lose this much blood without dying.
But they are still alive and they are in your spare bed. All they have asked for is a single glass of water. They were very explicit on this point. They seem to have resigned themselves to the fact that they are going to die. It is nothing to oblige them on this: a simple act of mercy to a dying person.
The room they have decided to die in is heavy. There is a gravity of sorts as you interact with them, an uncomfortable chill in your teeth and a shiver down your spine. They reek of guilt. You've never felt anything like this before, but your bones scream out that they are a sinner. But as you step closer and bring the glass of water to their lips, you feel a sense of pity for them.
The sinner begins to croak out a whisper.
"Do you know where you are going when you die?"
A morbid thought, but that is not that surprising given the circumstances. You are not really concerned with what they are saying, and look at their injury. Their wound is continuing to bleed. It looks bad and you are not sure if they are going to make it much longer. Minutes, maybe?
"I'm not sure. Do any of us know?"
"I know where you are going when you die. You, my friend, are going to Heaven. You will get to escape the great fires. The same for me. But we might just be the only two people alive that can be said for."
This catches your attention. You have lived a good life. The reassurance that you are going to Heaven is not one that is all that surprising. But this sinner beneath you is damned. The weight of all their sins is dragging them down. You can feel it, just standing next to them. You've never had a third eye or any of those senses — it is simply that heavy.
"I see that look in your eyes. You're surprised. You think I'm going to Hell."
It's true.
"You want to hear a secret? Hell is empty."
You furrow your brow. The sinner in front of you sees that you are puzzled and smirks, preparing a response for whatever you say next.
"Then where is everybody else? If Hell is empty and there are only two people going to Heaven, where is everyone else?"
"Where you go when you die isn't necessarily where you spend all of eternity. Everybody goes to Hell. They don't stay there."
You freeze for a moment, staring at the sinner. A thought crosses your mind that they are delirious, but they seem very lucid. As you lean in closer to them, your impression changes a little. There is a weight to them and a weight around them, but … it isn't their own. It is a burden that they are carrying it.
"But we're going to Heaven?"
The sinner groans in your bed and clutches their bleeding wound. Everything around them is stained with their blood.
"The powers that be are cruel masters. Judgmental, vain. They take offense to just about everything. Everyone ends up in the fires below. They have a Heaven, but it is not one that takes many visitors."
You wipe their forehead — they are sweating profusely.
"But what about us? Why us?"
They cough and then begin to lightly chuckle.
"There's a loop hole. A way out. A way out for the entire race. Listen to me: you have to save the entire world from the pit. Save yourself and save me. But listen close. It's dangerously close to all collapsing right now. We can save it. We can save everyone in the world. Everyone alive today. The dead already have their penance, hah. But I need your help. It has to be you."
You crouch down and lean in close to them.
"Tell me what I need to do."
"You can feel the weight of my burden. It is heavier than anything you have ever felt in your life. You are not ready for it. I'm sorry. It'll have to do."
"Has anyone ever been ready?"
"No."
"Tell me what to do."
"Yes. Of course. Beer. And bread."
You stand from the bedside and walk off to get the beer and bread. It's a simple request, and fortunately you have a little of both. You pause in your kitchen, holding the two objects. This wasn't how you saw your night going. But! If the stranger is telling the truth, you simply cannot comply. And what harm will it be if you break bread with a liar?
You return to the bedroom with the food and take your seat next to them, holding the bread and beer out for them. They look up at you, weakly, and shake their head.
"This is the key moment, here, I'm afraid. Say a prayer, eat the bread, drink the beer. Doesn't matter what you say. Whatever comes to mind."
The sinner reaches out a hand, stained with blood and touches the bread. A hand waves over the beer — blood gets in. Contaminated. And then their hand falls limp to the ground, collapses. Their head goes limp, collapsing into the pillow. Dead.