The last thing she remembers she was running across the road to catch the postman as he emptied the post box in the last collection of the day. And now?
She looks around, dazed, and through a swirling blue-grey mist she spies some large gates. She sighs heavily.
A tall man with a clipboard stands to the right of the huge structure, smiling at her.
“How many more times? I’m not interested,” she says, more than a hint of irritability in her voice.
“We don’t give up as long as there are souls to be saved,” the man says cheerfully.
“I wasn’t interested in the High Street every Saturday you rudely butted into my mobile phone conversation or stopped me from getting to the bank on time. What makes you think I’d be interested now?”
The man regards her seriously. “This is your last chance. Surely now you can see the truth with your own eyes you can’t deny it? Heaven. The presence of an all-seeing, loving God?”
She smiles. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she says. “There is no such thing as objective truth. And I happen to know this isn’t real.”
“Oh,” says the man.