Sister Souljah - Life After Death

“I hate bitches who try and talk slick and who beat around the bush. Get to the point. Talk straight,” I threatened her.

“ Straight, that’s a good word,” she said, delighted all of a sudden. “Can you handle straight?” I was starting to heat up. Seemed like this young bitch thought she was a cut above me. Seemed like she thought she also knew a bunch of shit that I didn’t know or that she thought I couldn’t possibly figure out. So I took a good close look at her. She looked like a reflection of my younger self. I thought about the first time I saw her. Maybe she is Lexy or Mercedes, one or the other.

“I can handle whatever. But I control the action,” I finally answered her in my big-sister tone, because I am the first daughter of the Santiaga household. I’m not going to have my youngest sister talking down to me as though she is my teacher, even if we are both dead.

“You said you know everything about me, right?” I asked her. She smiled. “Everything,” she said like there was nothing to it.

“What am I wearing?” was my first question. I didn’t know the answer myself. I was checking to see if she could actually see me and what she saw. My look matters the most, I know. If I am looking shabby to her I know it changes my leverage in this conversation.

“Ah-hum-doo-lah-lah, you are the most beautiful- looking human to me, of course,” she said strangely. “I used the mercy I was given to remove your scar because you seemed uncomfortable wearing it,” she added, and I didn’t like her flipping shit like I owed her something. She probably removed my scar because she knew her ex-lover lusts women with scars.

“Don’t try and be slick. You still have not said what I am wearing,” I reminded her. Suddenly she started spinning round and round like she was trying to make herself dizzy. Then she started saying words like she was singing a song.

“Gucci Gucci Gucci, Louis Louis Louis, Fendi Fendi Fendi, Chanel Chanel Chanel, Hermès Hermès Hermès, Birkin Birkin Birkin, Louboutin Louboutin Louboutin, Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Choo Choo Choo, and good Lord Tom Ford! Okay! You are wearing it all.” She dropped to the ground in a squat, then collapsed into a lying-down position. Then she closed her eyes. I guess all that was her attempt to stop the dizzy feeling she caused herself. I liked seeing her throw a tantrum and lose her cool. And I liked it even more that she knew the names of some of the top designers. And she was pretty and nicely dressed, her hair covered with the trademark intricate delicate designs of a colorful Hermès scarf. Her sporting Hermès forced me to forgive her fashion-wise for covering her hair! And she was rocking her mean-ass saddle bag by wearing the strap like a sash across her front and the pouch on her ass. I liked the reversal. Quality fabric, expensively stitched leggings compliment only a sleek body type, like hers. Big sloppy bitches or even little sloppy bitches in dollar store cheap leggings is a crime. Diamond Rain’s fashionable leggings were also like riding pants that rich bitches wear on horseback. Oddly, she wore black leather ballet shoes with the ribbons criss-crossing up past her ankles. It wasn’t my style. I guess her coming from the sky caused her to dress to travel light. She looked dope. I was willing now to give her that. Her fashion outburst had chipped off some of the ice between us.

“Lexy or Mercedes?” I asked, looking down at her.

“The cars or your sisters?” she replied, opening her eyes. So she knew those were my sisters’ names without me having to tell her. She passed that little test.

“Which one are you?” I asked, still keeping it brief.

“Neither Mercedes nor Lexus are dead. Miss Winter, you are dead,” she said, sitting up and turning the mood very, very serious. “I am not Mercedes or Lexus. If I were either one of them, you would not ever have been able to see me or them, because you are no longer in the realm of living humans.” I didn’t need no clarification.

“So fucking what? You’re a dead bitch just like me!” I shot back. She leaped up. “Otherwise you wouldn’t even be here.”

“I am not a ‘dead bitch,’ as you say. And I wish you would change your manner of saying things. It would be to your benefit.”

“So why exactly are you here? You said that I’m dead, yet you say that you can see me. At the same time, you said that I cannot see the living and you say that you are not dead, but clearly I can see you. What are you then?” I asked forcefully.

“Very good,” she said, and I didn’t like her slick compliments or how she spoke them softly with a smile.

“First things first, Lah-il-la-ha-illah-huwa,” she said.

“Speak English or fuck it all,” I threatened her.

“You must never follow up sacred words with niggardly words,” she said. But I was tired of her foreign shit.

“English is only one of thousands of languages in the universe. UBS are suited to speak all of the languages in existence as part of our mercy, Alhamdulillah. Our mission is to be relatable. We introduce dead humans whose souls are lost and roaming in error to the path of cleansing. We show them how making prayers to the ONE is a means of protection for themselves. And also, it is absolutely the only path out of this area.” She pointed out beyond the green towards the looming darkness that I had been stuck and sitting in. Then she continued.

“Our prayers and praises to the ONE are always only in the language that the ONE revealed the Truth in. So when we are speaking to dead humans in their language, we will often add in some words of prayer and praise to the ONE. This is the proper way of speaking for all of us servants. And, Miss Winter, you and I and every soul are each and all servants of the Maker of all souls.”

“Servants!” I cracked up. Thought the bitch was pretty but crazy, pretty crazy!

“Miss Winter, for you to get permission to leave this realm, you will need to stop mocking Faith and stop blocking the Truth, which your soul already knows to be true. Down here, the biggest wrongful error any soul can commit is to pretend that it does not understand when it does understand and has understood all along. This is a bigger wrong than murder or suicide in this realm. Do you understand what I have said so far?” she asked me as she stared into my eyes. I just stared back at her. Didn’t say shit.

“So I am here to help you place everything in the right order. We have already established that there is only ONE God who is the Maker of all souls. If a soul does not feel and acknowledge this truth, every other thing and choice it makes will be completely out of order, all confusion and chaos.”

“Is this some fancy Jesus talk? Are you down with those crazy Seventh-day Adventists who go around knocking on people doors who they don’t know like they ain’t got no damn sense? Back in Brooklyn, one of ’em got shot dead for knocking on the wrong door talking shit.” I laughed.

“Shot dead… same as you, Miss Winter,” she said, and I felt an anger and a chill.

“Jesus, peace be upon him, was a servant of the ONE. Jesus was not a partner, an equal, a son or a relative to the ONE. The ONE has no partners, no children, no equals. No one and none of us compare to the ONE who created time, created the sun, moon, and all stars, the universe and all souls, spirits and living things. Jesus was given many, many MERCIES from the ONE, Ah-hum-doo-lah-lah. MERCY is something only the ONE can grant permission for and give. MERCY is the reason you can walk today and see, hear, touch, feel, and talk. In this realm, when you see the atmosphere turn green, it is an indication that the ONE has provided a MERCY happening at that moment. And because the devil is a liar , him and his army of demons shows up and spreads mischief and confusion among the population of lost souls such as yourself, Miss Winter. The demons prey on the weak-minded and convince them that it was they who healed you, gave you feeling, healing and mobility, sight and sound. Demons show up when they perceive the green color in the atmosphere. The same way that sharks show up when and where they perceive blood.