How I ended up back on Earth, or why I was sent back, is a mystery I couldn't solve.

It's probably just

a cruel joke ('cause this is exactly the type of shit that St. Matthew likes to pull). If I was sent back
with a mission, wouldn't they have told me what I was supposed to do? I tried prayer and every other
method of communication I could think of. But it was silent.
I knew I needed to get home, and I eventually realized that I could only do that through death.
Suicide wasn't an option. That would be the easiest, of course. But everyone knows that suicide is a
sin, which wouldn't get me back into Heaven. So, I had to find another way to end my life...
First, I tried extreme sports. Scuba diving, skydiving, bungee jumping, rock climbing, the works. I
even tried this "extreme ironing" fad. Everyone kept trying to give me safety equipment, but I just
laughed. Being dangerously reckless wasn't the same as suicidal. I love technicalities! But alas, these
sports weren't dangerous enough. Tons of fun, but no injuries.
Next, I tried to find a more dangerous career. Did you know that the most dangerous careers are also
the most boring? I mean, who would have thought that fishermen faced more danger than a
stuntman? I tried being a pilot, but the most dangerous thing that happened to me was spilling
some hot coffee. Being a logger was OK; lots of fresh air, but zero bear attacks. Eventually I realized
that maybe workplace hazards weren't the fastest way home.
So I became a vigilante. Best of both worlds, right? Cops hated me and bad guys hated me.
Eventually one would shoot me, I figured. I stopped crimes and beat up criminals. I waltzed
miraculously through shootouts completely unharmed. Probably St. Matthew, fucking with me again.
Damn his blessed protections. I became so infamous in the city that the cops gave me a medal, and
the bad guys were too afraid to ever come after me. Some of them even left town! It's incredibly
frustrating to be so well regarded.
Where else could I constantly face death? Of course: the Army! I signed up immediately, and they
had me over to Afghanistan in 2 months. Finally, some action, I thought. Roadside bombs, snipers,
insurgents: this place had it all! I volunteered for the most dangerous jobs, and was always in the
thick of the firefight, but no luck! All I managed to do was to protect a bunch of critical infrastructure
and schools. So what? I'd never been more disappointed than the day I received the Congressional
Medal of Honor.
Eventually, I made up my mind: the only way to die was to become President. Did you know that
America has had 8 presidents die in office, out of only 44 total? That's an 18% mortality rate!
Definitely the way to go home. So I worked my way up the ladder. House of Representatives, Senate,
Attorney General, Secretary of State. Finally it was my turn. The primaries were a cinch, and the
election itself was a breeze. At my inauguration, I was sure that I was just on the cusp of going home!
8 years later, and no such luck. Sure, we reformed education and had a balanced budget. Sure, we
worked out the Israel/Palestine conflict, and sure, inequality in America was at an all time low when I
left office. What did it matter? 0 successful assassination attempts.
Finally, I grew old and grey. I guess I'd be going upstairs just like all the other schlubs who died due
to old age. With friends, family, and admirers crowded around me, I finally kicked the bucket.
I was greeted at the Pearly Gates not by St. Peter, but Jesus himself. St. Matthew was peeking
through the fence behind him, making faces at me. Jesus nodded sagely and said "Well done, my
child. I knew I could count on you to do good works down there. The last three that I sent died
almost immediately."