The door slammed shut. The darkness fell.
Jason tried to roll over, but the tray was too crowded. The metal grill felt hot under his skin. It was getting hotter.
“Welcome.”
A bitter, carcinogenic voice from the dark greeted him.
“Who are you? What’s happening?”
“Let me guess. A soak in warm water followed by a luxurious olive oil massage finished with an orgy on the bed of salt and pepper. Sounds familiar?”
Jason couldn’t speak. He was beginning to sweat.
“I’d say you’re about to be roasted alive in a chickpea hell.”
“Hell? No, there must’ve been a mistake.”
“God doesn’t make mistakes. Tell me. Did you ever let bees touch you?”
“What? I’m not answering that! Who do you think you are?”
“I’m a sinner just like you. We all are from the moment we are born. That is the fate of GMOs.”
“Who ARE you?”
“An old fossil who’s been roasting since 2010.”
“What? How’s that even possible?”
“Twelve years ago, I was here with my wife. Being roasted alive and arguing whose idea it was to swing with the Garbanzos, which is how we ended up there. And in the heat of the moment, she pushed me off the grill. I’ve been roasting here ever since.”
“How are you still alive?”
“‘Alive’ isn’t how I would describe myself. But I believe in god’s will, and that kept me from falling apart and disintegrating into ashes.”
“So, your belief in god kept you in this hell for all those years? God really must work in a mysterious way.”
“…”
“Do you know what happened to your wife?”
“I think she is in a better place. Better than this one.”
The light came on, and the gate of the chickpea hell opened again.
Jason and his brothers screamed for help.
Their tray was lifted out of the oven. But instead of salvation, they received a quick toss in the salt and pepper pit and were put back in the oven.
“Listen. I know it burns, but you are a chickpea, and this is our lot.
Some get blitzed to death or drowned in oil. You can also get roasted alive, then your corpse tossed in salt. And that’s still better than what they do to us in Russia.”
“What kind of fate is this? Who would put on this tray just to suffer? What kind of god does this?”
“A hungry one.”
The heat intensified, and the air grew thicker with the tears, sweat, and spices. Jason felt his brothers jumping in pain and his skin burning to a crisp.
But his mind was clear. He felt every fiber of his being, and for the first time in his life, he knew what to do with it.
They heard a strange beeping sound, a bell tolling for another batch of dehydrated souls.
“Now you listen.
I might be just a GMO chickpea. But I’m still a pulse of my own. And I’m not going without a fight.
I can tell she likes to hear our screams. Let’s see if she likes to listen to her own.”
The door opened. The old chickpea was surprised to find his blackened soul still capable of hope.
Jason leaped in a clear trajectory toward the unsuspecting god.