Wilfred at long last died.  It was not the peaceful passing that he dreamed of for decades in a comfy bed with loving family and caretakers.  He was alone, ailing, on the garbage dump searching for, well, for anything to eat or sell in the freezing weather.© Y Lee Coyote

Then it was his Judgment Day.  No longer was he hungry, cold, filthy and in pain.  He made his pleas.  He blessed his first son and his daughter for their help but the tragedy took them almost two decades before.  Mostly though he cursed his second son, Rodrick, for abandoning him in his time of great need in his old age.

Wilfred was put into stasis until Rodrick arrived.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rodrick arrived in his own due time.  He too had passed alone because he hadn’t any family in the little one room he struggled to afford on his meager state pension and low paying pickup jobs.

The Presiding Angel looked over his dossier.  “Nothing of real significance here but as there is a complaint on file a hearing must be held.”

Suddenly Wilfred appeared and the Presiding Angel ordered “State your complaint about your second son Rodrick so that justice may be done.  You must speak only the truth; the complete truth.”

Wilfred went on at length about how he raised both sons the same and how the first was successful and generously helped him with the failing business even after his tragic passing.  That one [pointing] gave back nothing.  He left me to starve and die in the bitter cold.  He must be punished for he failed the injunctions to “honor and respect one’s parents”.

“And what say you, Rodrick?” asked the Presiding Angel.

“More abuse from that evil one.” started Rodrick.  “At first things were normal although he favored his first born from the beginning.  I was not as smart as him and started having significant problems in school starting in the Fifth Form.  What I needed was a tutor but what I got were inappropriate skimpy short trousers for the Sixth Form.  He decreed that I would stay in them until both my conduct and grades improved.  He examined every bit of school work and used the cane frequently even for minor issues.  One can not study properly when sitting is painful.

“It was worse at school.  My fellow pupils mocked me for dressing like a lower former leading to being sent to the Head and caned many times for arguing and fighting.  I was excluded from revision groups.  My pleas for long trousers were dismissed out of hand like it was normal rather than freakish dress.  My grades declined and I was expelled destroying any hope a getting into a top rated uni.  The replacement school didn’t give me a hope even for second rate uni.

“Potential employers saw my short trousers and didn’t want a little kid for they knew what Polonius said ‘apparel oft proclaims the man’.  I did tour of duty in the army but they sent me on.  I was frequently sick at sea so that my try at being a seaman was also brief.  I worked but the pay was always low and I could save but little for my own old age to supplement the skimpy state pension.

“Because of the abuse I never had money to give him.  It is his own fault that I could not help him for he sabotaged my life.”

The Presiding Angel spoke to render judgement.  “It’s nice to have an easy case.

“Wilfred you have sinned greatly and repeatedly refusing to nurture your second son and to accept that the world had changed although you did not by subjecting your son to dreadful conditions preventing him from flourishing.  For the term of penitence you shall be robed as a Second Form schoolboy and you best keep your shoes well shined and your socks up.”

Instantly Wilfred found himself in a skimpy, ill fitting schoolboy suit with short trousers.  The blazer badge showed the name “Schola Inferni” above and the motto “Fiat disciplina!” below a field of embroidered flames rising in gold and red thread.  Also a shirt with a scratchy, stiffly starched collar, sagging socks with worn out garters and scuffed shoes.

“You shall be thrashed frequently so that you’re in constant pain from the cane.  You shall perceive your former headmaster or your maltreated son as the disciplinarian using a cane to punish you.  Your first caning shall be now.”

A prefect resembling Rodrick appeared holding a pitchfork.  He prodded Wilfred to a door with a brass plaque Magister Maximus.  Behind it an old wooden desk had also materialized along with a headmaster in a gown holding a senior cane.  “Remove your blazer, drop your trousers and pants and assume the position over the desk, boy.”

When he was in position the Beak then proceed to apply six of the best.  Each cut raised a deep welt and Wilfred quivered as the pain reverberated in his body.  This was far worse than the canings he remembered from years ago when he was really a schoolboy.

Then the command to stand and dress.  “Get your socks up and shine your shoes right away.”  The Prefect took him to a door emitting a foul stench.  He required a painful jab from the pitch fork to enter for a less than pleasant eternity.

And you Rodrick, who was now clad in a pure white robe, may pass through the gates for a pleasant eternity.