I walk into this room. It's long infront of me. To my left there is a long stretch of steel rollers, the kind you attach together to make a sort of conveyer belt. To my right is a side room, where some of my christian friends are gathered. I go to my friends.

There are three billboards. On each billboard is a couple dozen photos of either people's faces or of animals. Infront of each billboard is one friend, and one person who seems to be in charge. He says, "Grab a photo and try to line up its silhouette with another one, this will determine if you're guilty or not." So, with the help of half a dozen people, and under this strange supervision, I start puting photos against each other. And some remarkable things happen!

First, some photos changed. Once two photos lined up they would change their appearance and become the same black blob on both sheets of paper. Some of them even swirled into the same piece of paper and locked together. I realized then that the photos on the wall were deeds done by my friend, and that by determining if he was guilty or not really meant if he's going to hell or not.

We finished putting his photos together and the ringleader guy takes off, but my buddy is left standing there, not knowing his fate. So we move on to the next billboard where another friend's deeds are pinned up, and we help go through them.

As I see that we're nearing completion on my second friend's billboard, I look over to the third to anticipate the work ahead, but am immediately griefstricken. It's my billboard.

Just as expected, I become very anxious and start pacing. My friends come over and they are comforting me but I'm still high strung. Then the ringleader for my billboard comes and the matching of photos begins.

They are busy hustling about this when I notice, even farther to the right from the beginning of the room is a second room, where another friend of mine is sitting. I recognise him to be my Sikh friend, and he looks very confused. I approach him and he says, "Where the hell am I?"

I answer him, "No, not hell. This is what we Christians call the afterlife, where the deeds of our lives are recounted and we are judged by God to enter heaven or to not." He gave me a look of understanding, but it was an understanding that went beyond a comprehension of words. It seems he understood and accepted since I had evangelized to him, and he had not accepted then, now that he sat in a judgement hall belonging to my faith he is surely doomed.

I pace back to my billboard where they were finishing up. "So, is it bad?" I ask them, but they are all silent. I mean silent. I turn around to see the rollers again, and back to the billboard, but everyone, including my friends are gone. Photos. Everything.

Someone pipes up from the rollers, "If they're packaged and ready to go, throw them in the fire!" He is referring to a selection of objects on the rollers. There are bamboo rods, lasagnas and caseroles, cotton swabs and q-tips--that I can remember. The fire he talks about is this tiny wood stove, the kind that is like a bubble with a little grate to open, and a smoke stack going up out of the room.

My thoughts are, "Surely, all of these things can not fit in here. There is just too much to be burnt. Am I ever going to find out about my trial?"

Then I woke up, much to my disapointment.