Summer in Heaven

"Seemingly it's summer in Heaven", Ilya Chechyle said to himself, with thick Russian accent, and looked through the oval window of his spaceship, that 5 of August of 200...



"... And I'm down here, surfacing the neverending astral sarcophagus into this machinola for ever, trapped in perpetual flight like a reprobated."

"Where I'm going ..?"



The sound of bagpipes, and megahertz, and carnival, and quilombo coming from Heaven reached his ears

the neck and the shoulders of Chechyle trembled in sudden chill

and all the saints were getting married that day at the celestial city, all at the same time, and eveybody was invited to those nuptial celebrations

and there were banquets, and everybody was dressed in white, even the policemen on the streets of Heaven, and the cars of the saints were perfectly parked

and all the churches of Heaven were full, because all the saints were getting married that very day, and it was summer in Heaven.

Opening a can of undrinkable beer stolen at the planet Xitintoday the week before, Chechyle punched the outdated wheel of his spaceship, to make the flying machine shift its direction:

when the spacecraft started moving away and away from the sphere of influence of Heaven, the holy sound of bagpipes, and megahertz, and carnival, and quilombo started fading in space, same as the estival warmth emitted by the souls of the blessed ones.


Chechyle looked at his own silhouette in a mirror with dead stare and put his headphones on:

as the spectral sound of King Diamond inundated his brain from an old radio cassette recorder made in Russia in 1988, his starship was getting entombed into the frozen and infinite cosmic crypt, dark and blue like the god Osiris.