The Gooloos have a common saying among their species that is spoken upon one Gooloo meeting another: love thy neighbour. Another one they like to use is: glove thy neighbour, which is spoken when a Gooloo reaches a high point on a hill. Thirdly, and less popular is: I can materialize fish and turn water into wine. This one is spoken by a crew of Gooloos, simultaneously, if they are about to face certain death, say by falling into a blackhole. None of these had any meaning to the Gooloos, the Gooloos, after all, being devoid of freewill.

Walt, along with thousands of other sayings, had kept these all in his reincarn soul, for he thought fondly of his many millennia trapped inside a Gooloo form. Every morning and every evening, and at every hour of the day, and when he brushed his teeth or washed his face, Walt recited these Gooloo phrases, keeping them as faithful to their original context as he could recall.

When another human jostled past Walt in the market, he would say after them, “love thy neighbour.” Before sitting down for dinner, if goulash wash on the menu its smell would trigger him to say, “an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” One day Walt bought a ticket to watch a theatre performance and upon arriving at his seat – the tallest in the theatre house – Walt noticed the zenith he was on and exclaimed, “glove thy neighbour!”

Walt’s quotations were getting out of hand and unrest was brewing in his small town of Jerusalem where he’d moved to from his home town of Singapore. The government, which was medically advanced for its time, and acutely aware of psychological traumas, decided that someone such as Walt being alive was a great burden and they decided it was only humane to end this burden. A letter was sent to Walt, written by a man who was head of the government and by position called himself The Emperor. The letter read:

Dear Waltus,

How do you do? Or as you might say, “let the one among you who is without sin be the first to cast a stone,” whatever that may mean. Walt, you’re gift to have come to this great empire and lent us your hand in labor, to have shared with us your voice, is a welcome one. That time you stood by to motivate our surgeons as they healed Tyrus of his paralysis was certainly noble.

The empire and I feel indebted to your offerings, so indebted in fact that we wish to offer you a holiday. Take some time off from all of the worries in life – having to barter food down at the market just to not starve, or worrying about getting a veneral disease in the public baths. All expenses paid – you deserve it!

The holiday I have in mind for you is considered one of the greatest offerings by The Roman Empire. Some of the more barbaric you might talk to about this will call it a ‘sacrifice’, but it is nothing of the sort! If I didn’t have so many people relying on me up here on Palatine Hill, hell, I’d do it myself.

The holiday deal I’m offering you is called ‘Crucifixion’, which is a lot of technical babble for saying we hammer you to two planks of wood until you die. You’ll be appointed two guards who will treat you merrily in your final days, feed you, wash you, and protect you from those who might be enraged by jealously.

Anyway, have a think on it, friend. I’ve enclosed a brochure outlining more of the details involved, how to prepare loved ones and friends for your holiday, and who to contact should any questions or concerns rise up. Your choice in the matter, but I would be heartbroken to not see someone like celebrated in our land.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

All the best,

Tibby xoxo

Tibby wasn’t being sly or coy or beating around the bush. He did send exact carbon copies of the same letter to hundreds of people a year, hundreds of people the empire cherished, but were concerned were not living the happiest of existences. The letter was like a nudge from a parent who tried to subtly tell their child they didn’t approve of their partner, but wouldn’t use any physical force. Just a nudge.

Walt had taken the letter with him to the plaza gardens where he liked to sit and mull over his prior lives. He’d had so much time, he thought, being a Gooloo as well as various different sedimentary rocks. How it felt to be able to move oneself through the matter world with intention, to grab a bowl of soup and drink it down if one smelled it, to take a dip in the sea if one willed it, to yell a phrase to the air if one wished it. His immobile lives had taught him many lessons, like his time as a rock when he was sat on by a large hairless beast as it hibernated for the cold season. How much richer those lives made this one now. He drank some soup in the plaza and opened the letter to read it.

Honored undervalues the emotional upwelling that Walt experienced upon finishing his soup and the letter. He said, “I am the resurrection. I am the life. Everyone who believes in me will have life, even if they die.” which was not a Gooloo saying but a silly reincarn nursery rhyme that young reincarns liked to sing. It was common for older reincarns to say this when they knew they were passing on to the next life. Walt penned his reply.

Both guards were gentlemen about the entire process. They hammered the nails swiftly so as to minimize the shock of the pain, they positioned him so that the sweltering midday sun wouldn’t be on his face, they sanded the planks when Walt complained of splinters near his ankles. And they fed him soup every morning when he woke and every evening before he passed out, and on the hour every day. Walt didn’t have much to say during this time because his body was so short on fuel supplies it didn’t want to move its lips. He felt nostalgically familiar in that state, like a Gooloo without the freewill to speak on command.

After five days on the cross, Walt felt the end coming. He let the guards know with a nod of his head and a rustle of his feet, for his throat had dried into a tube of sawdust now. The two guards were respectful, they removed their helmets, placed them on their chest, and bowed their heads. As the end drew in, Walt felt his vision collapse like he was falling into a long tube. Like he was falling into a blackhole. How much more enjoyable death was, he thought, when one knows it isn’t the end – one can be curious about the whole experience without fear. The tube became thinner and thinner and when Walt thought it was so thin he just wouldn’t fit, he found some moisture in his throat to say his final words, “I can materialize fish and turn water into wine.”