Terence Davis yawned, stretched out, and rolled over, but as he did so, he realized that he was lying on something that was considerably less comfortable than his bed at home. Wondering if he had somehow rolled off his bed and onto the floor without waking up, he opened his eyes, but when he saw his surroundings, he knew he was far, far away from home.
Grey stone walls rose up from a marble floor and extended into the sky, where they disappeared in a haze of pearlescent clouds. Grand, arched windows looked out onto a bright but featureless void. There was no sound or movement anywhere besides the sound and movement of him getting to his feet. Terence wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. It was serene enough to be heaven, anyway. And if it was heaven, then surely God would be around somewhere, right?
The place was like an infinite hall. Terence could see walls to his left and right, but in front and behind him, the marble floor continued until it disappeared into the distance. Not having any way to distinguish between the two directions available to him, Terence picked one at random and started walking.
He walked for a long time, but his feet never tired and he never yearned for anything to eat or drink. He had noticed some time ago that he was completely naked, but the golden light which filled the hall lent a pleasant warmth to his skin, so he didn’t much mind. Besides, what use was modesty when you were all alone?
Eventually, Terence happened upon a strange deviation from the hall’s architectural consistency: a curiously half-finished brick wall which came up to chest height. Stepping around it, he wondered who could have possibly begun (and then halted) the wall’s construction, given that, as far as he knew, he was the only person there.
Suddenly, a human-like figure was running towards him from the hazy distance. “You’re not allowed past that wall!” yelled the man, waving a scroll of parchment in his hand. “The Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers no longer admits Canadians!”
“What?” Terence asked, for nothing the man had said made any sense to him at all.
“You heard me,” the white-robed, Latin-complexioned man said. “I’ve got orders from the Overseers. No more Canadians.”
“I’m from Mississippi though,” Terence replied. He was still trying to figure out what “The Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers” was and how he had ended up there, but one thing he knew for sure: he wasn’t Canadian. He sort of wished this man would leave him alone. It had been much more peaceful just by himself. “Besides, your wall’s not even done.”
The man gestured at a nearby stone bench, where an old-school black and white television was showing the Super Bowl. Terence wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. “I was busy fulfilling my American duty, not like a Canadian like you would understand,” the man said. “And I didn’t think the NBA was going to schedule any games today, so I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“Who are you, anyway?” Terence asked, wondering why this man was so possessive of the place.
“I’m Carlos Delfino, the appointed Guardian of the Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers,” the man replied. “But I won’t be for long if you don’t get out of here right now. The Overseers are starting to question my ability to be an effective gatekeeper.”
Terence was starting to piece together the information that was being given to him. He was in some kind of magical realm that was only accessible by those who had scored thirty points in an NBA game. A realm of serene contemplation, as long as one wasn’t being harassed for being Canadian. “Nah, I think I’m gonna stay,” he said, pushing past Carlos.
“Fine, but I’m not giving you your complementary robe,” Carlos retorted. “And once I get this wall finished, you’ll be banished for good.”
Terence ignored him and kept walking. Soon, he came to a bench that was next to a pleasantly splashing fountain. Sitting on the bench, being warmed by the golden light, he closed his eyes and relaxed. Nothing, not even a power-tripping bouncer with xenophobic tendencies, could disturb his contentment.