Heaven. I’ve been told all my life that I must be a good girl so I can join my mother up in the sky. So I was. I got good grades, graduated college, did my service, raised a kid, and died. I sit in a white room with a black door across from me. A painting of a circle hovers over me almost glowing. Everything smells fresh. Like walking down a flower shop. But something doesn’t feel right. There’s no parade, or god, or mom. It’s just me in a white room. I get up and put my handle on the knob of the black door. When I begin turning my hand trembles and I get the instinct to turn back. What if this is the test? I must not open the door and let my curiosity get the best of me. But maybe I must go through and prove my bravery. I debate in my mind the different options until a clicking sound come from the door. It unlocks and opens dramatically as a person walks out the door. I can’t tell if they are a man or a woman. They wear a white long robe, short light hair, and have lips as red as blood.

“Sorry I’m a little late Rebeca” they says while looking down on me.

I fall to the ground and begin bowing down. This must be god. This must be it. I’m in heaven.

They raise their brow and extend their long glowing hand towards me.

I grab onto their frigid hand and they lift me up.

“God, I’m sorry for all my sins” I say trying to get back to my knees. I must repent from my sins before they sends me to hell.

“I am not your God Rebeca. But I can be if you want.”

I raise my brows and squint my eyes. “Who are you then?” I ask

“I’m every one, and everything Rebeca. I’m you, your children, your childrens children. I’m the trees that give you air, and the animals that give you food.”

Their words hit me like a bullet and I fall back to the couch.

“Don’t be scared Rebeca. I am you and every one else. I am peace and war. I am love and hate. But I won’t harm you. Because harming you is harming myself and everyone else”.

They squint their eyes and looks at me as if they know everything about me.

“Rebeca, are you ready to join us” they say.

I begin shaking my head, screaming in terror. I don’t want to be part of them. I want to be me. I want te be with mom. But before I can run I feel myself leave my body and enter theirs.

Inside their is heaven but not like I imagined. Mom is there, my children are there, but we are all somehow the same. I’m at peace, harmonized with the others. But a part of me always wants to go back to earth and warn people, when you harm others, you harm yourself.

When Linda first died, her atheist beliefs shattered, but she didn’t land in hell and heaven. She appeared on a game show called, “Don’t Die In Lava!”

At this point, full well knowing that she died, she wanted nothing to do with the lava that flowed below the obstacle course. She’d fallen several times and had her new body burnt and then replaced.

This American Ninja Warrior nightmare threw contestants into a gauntlet with three challenges.

1. A balance beam with missing sections.
2. A thorny lattice fence covered in roses to climb.
3. A section of three trapeze to swing from while dodging a giant red crocodile that snapped at moving targets.

She stared at the trapeze. “If I could only avoided the crocodile.” She felt her stomach. “I’m just so hungry!” Looking beyond the crocodile, she saw the prize. A buffet stacked to the brim for the victors.

She ran across the balance beam quickly. She eyed the fence and braced herself before she stared climbing. Her hands stung from the thorns; blood trickled from her fingers and feet as she scaled the fence.

Reaching the top, her hands and feet felt weak. Her body’s lack of nourishment played a bigger role in the trapeze. She grabbed the first one, swung to the second, and while swinging to the third, the crocodile’s bite came up as she pulled her body up higher on the trapeze for the first time.

The crocodile bit off the rope and handle, but she still had momentum as she released her hand and reached for the third trapeze handle. Her fingers barely reach the handle as she swung towards the prize buffet.

She cried out. “Bacon! I love you!” She always believed they would have breakfast food.

Her body almost reached the goal when she felt a shadow behind her.

The crocodile jumped back out of the lava and targeted her, his eyes sparkled with tears of joy as he almost captured his meal. His jump ended short. He fell back into the lava with a splash.

She released the trapeze and her body landed face down on the goal platform. She stood up and ran into the meal hall, and grabbed a plate.

Looking through the food, she found herself finally full but never quite satisfied. She decided, although knowing it neither heaven or hell, that it was close enough to hell because the buffet didn’t serve any form of pork.

Embarrassed by the administrative leave he was forced to take, the Grim Reaper found difficulty adjusting to the free time that now filled his days. He couldn’t recall the last time he took a vacation and, with nothing to do, felt disconnected. He missed the days spent observing others, waiting for that precise moment to intercede so he could introduce himself and bid farewell with the same haughty voice. Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, the workaholic lifestyle finally caught up with him.

“You don’t want to work yourself into an early grave,” his doctor advised.

With all the world’s destinations available, the Reaper decided to visit an old friend, one he hadn’t seen in a number of years. He locked away his scythe, changed out of his hooded robe, and headed for the door.

When the Grim Reaper first entered Purgatory, he stood off to the side and watched as each soul arrived. It was a unique perspective. Under normal circumstances, he only interacted with people at the outset of their transition into the afterlife, to guide them towards their eternal destination. More often than not, the deceased were reluctant to accept their demise and pleaded with him for more time but that wasn’t his department.

Purgatory was a weigh station, a temporary layover for souls. The transgressions committed when alive were addressed before standing in judgement before whatever higher power each believed in. At least that’s the way it was explained to the Grim Reaper when he first started working in the afterlife.

The prevailing sentiment there was different than he was accustomed to. He couldn’t put his finger on it, at least not right away, but something was off. A few of the souls he recognized but couldn’t recall all their names. There were far too many to keep track of. He considered approaching but feared that any interaction might disrupt the serenity each displayed. A smile appeared on the Reaper’s face when he realized what was amiss. There was a contented peacefulness amongst the masses.

Elsewhere in Purgatory, God sat on a park bench tossing scraps of bread to His flock. The nearby pigeons cooed with gratitude. A part of His daily routine, God often found that the simplest tasks provided the greatest pleasure.

Twenty feet away, in the center of the park, sat a row of concrete tables and benches. Marble game boards were inlayed atop each table for playing checkers or chess. Before walking towards them, God reminded the birds not to defecate indiscriminately. It was rare that they obliged. A few minutes later, His chess playing challenger arrived.

“You are late again, my friend,” God chided.

Devoid of emotion and unapologetic, Satan asked, “Why do you always call me a friend?”

“You’re my friend even if I’m not yours.”

The two had a standing appointment. Once a month, God and Satan met to play chess and discuss whatever came to mind. Their relationship was cordial, more than most believed, stemming from Satan’s brief stint as a cherub in Heaven. That was long ago, before Satan was banished for believing his will was greater than that of God.

When the Grim Reaper, in search of his friend, stumbled upon the pair, he was surprised by the spectacle. His path sometimes crossed with God and Satan but never both at the same time. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and approached Satan from behind.

Leaning in, the Grim Reaper winked at God and whispered into Satan’s ear, “Your time is up. You need to come with me.”

It was the same line he recited to millions of souls upon their initial ascension into the afterlife. He hoped the distraction would provide God an advantage in the game. Satan rolled his eyes, unamused by the attempted humor.

“I didn’t realize you two hung out,” admitted the Grim Reaper.

“Like the Bible says,” God began, “I’ve spoken with Satan in the past and will continue to do so until the end of time.”

“Yeah, but you can’t believe everything that you read.”

God replied with a discontented sigh. The Grim Reaper sat down and waited for the game to finish so he could play the winner.

Someday, Amanda vowed, I’ll be in control of my life. Then she conjured an orb to launch at a nearby goblin, a harpoon from Mike’s gun succeeded in piercing its hide. Lucky escape … for the goblin.

Brushing off her cloak, Amanda rose to her full height to survey their situation. The goblins had managed to scale the tower, pulling whatever materials they could find to build a makeshift apparatus to climb. Jeez, goblins are dumb.

“How do things look out there? Should we expect any more?” Mike called out, half-focused on yanking his harpoon from an ex-goblin.

“They’re still coming in fast, and, by the looks of things, strong.” she replied, turning around to face him. “I don’t know how much longer the two of us can hold them off - my orbs won’t last forever.”

“Yep, and I’ve got a harpoon gun with … one harpoon.” Mike concluded, sounding defeated as he finally removed it from the goblin. “Make that … no harpoons.” he added, after closer inspection.

Just then, another wave of goblins burst through the corridor and into the room.

“Mike?” yelled Amanda, “Don’t let them eat my intestines okay?” “ “Okay!” was Mike’s nervous reply.

With that, Amanda summoned an ice-blue orb in each palm, rolling them gently over in her hands.

“Right then, you bastards, who wants some?”

A goblin nearer the front leapt daringly forward, crawling onto all fours and hissing intently, never taking its eyes from Amanda’s glowing palms. Its guttural growl encouraged other goblins to creep closer towards her. In response, Amanda screwed her eyes and concentrated on summoning a bigger orb.

“Amanda!” Yelped Mike from somewhere to her left.

Oh, this is all I need, Amanda thought as she brandished a sharp column of light to scorch the goblins brave enough to clamber at Mike’s feet. But as she tried moving closer to help Mike, more goblins seemed to fill the space, driving a wedge between them.

“Mike sweetie - don’t panic – we’re gonna be okay. Okay?” she tried to reassure him, but the goblins must have sensed his panic because they were pawing playfully at his legs, their claws drawing weeping lines of blood through his jeans.

Mike seemed to be dealing with this latest development by bashing desperately at the goblins with the butt of his gun, but he wasn’t doing much more than briefly stunning them. Mike was indestructible, sure, but how much goblin poison could his body stand? Amanda didn’t want to have to find out.

“AMANDA!”

The sound of her name attracted her attention to the elevator shaft that, until just now, had been brimming with goblins. In the eerily empty space stood Finn, clutching a flare and looking pissed off.

“You’re going to want to duck,” he spoke calmly, giving Amanda just enough time to comply before he threw the flare right into the heart of the goblin hoard that was clambering over his husband.

The flame burnt brightly, singeing all the goblins within proximity to Mike, effectively freeing him from their mischievous clutches. After the few remaining goblins had scurried away, Mike carefully patted out any flames trying to eat their way through his clothing before he was swept off his feet by Finn and pulled into a desperate kiss.

After a few moments, Amanda coughed politely, and the couple broke apart.

“Well, that’s certainly one way to make an entrance.” Mike murmured a little breathlessly and Finn grinned proudly, reaching out to hold Mike’s hand.

Amanda had to draw her eyes away from the adorable couple to survey their current situation. They were stranded atop the skyscraper with next to no weapons and certainly no plan. Yet against these odds Amanda realised she was smiling. It had been a while since she’d had this much fun.

“Finally,” he thought. “I’ll be able to see them again. I only wish I didn’t have to leave my sister behind.” He had lived a long and fulfilling life and was ready to see his family again after so long. He wasn’t scared. He closed his eyes for the final time.

His eyes slowly opened to see bright light. He looked around to see his family, but it wasn’t the family he had expected. “Look he’s opening his eyes!” He didn’t understand. Where was his family? Why wasn’t his family there? Suddenly he remembered something he hadn’t remembered in a long time. A promise he had made a long long time ago. Why had he forgotten? He couldn’t hold it in he started to cry. He would never see his family again. Instead of a peaceful death he would always be reborn.

As night advances upon the horizon, darkness reaches into the sun’s last rays like death’s long, bony fingers about to snuff the life out of what’s left of the long summer’s day. All of earth’s colorful beauty will soon be hidden in the grays of the night. The darkening shadows stir me to rise with a purpose not yet known to me. I have to go, and in that direction. Gliding effortlessly along the shrubbery that lines the sidewalk, I feel a distant lure towards the tall trees that cluster inside the crumbling stone wall. I must go there.

Moving closer, I recognize my kind – their energy, as I don’t yet see them. I feel their presence become stronger as I come nearer to where they congregate in the darkening of the day’s end. I enter through the gate and search for someone familiar to me… anyone. Many are elderly and middle age, few are young adults and teens, and fewer still are small children. Some take notice of me as I approach, turning to face me for a moment. A rather aged man slowly lifts and extends his long arm to point to his right side. I turn to look and find myself moving in that direction as I’ve willed it… or he’s willed it for me. I realize I’m floating.

Following along the stone wall to the north corner, I turn to look back at the aged man. I shudder in surprise to find he’s now next to me. He looks down. I follow his gaze to a freshly dug hole and, without speaking — as if by mental insertion, he lets me know this is where I will rest forever when the living bring my body here. Sadness overcomes me with a pulsing vibration throughout my essence. I feel hollow, empty. This isn’t “life” on the other side, but rather a void of all life, of all that’s beautiful.

This can’t be how it ends.

There’s fog all around me, smoky, wispy tendrils that form together to obscure my vision. I don’t know where I am, and the further I wade into the cloudy unknown, the less sure I am of whether I’m supposed to be here at all.

The last thing I remember was the steering wheel slipping from beneath my alcohol-lubricated hands and the blaring lights of another car. I must’ve crashed. But, that would mean that I’m dead … and that this is … heaven? That can’t be right. I can’t be dead. Where are the pearly white gates, the angels with halos of gold above their heads?

I think I see someone else, or at least the skeletal impression of a hand, and I start to run towards it, yelling for them to stop. But soon any remnant of them is gone, and I’m in an even darker fog. It’s like being in a storm before it strikes.

Is this how it all ends?

I woke with the strangest sensation that I was, I don’t know… young? Nothing hurt or ached, no congested sinuses or dry eyes, no muscle fatigue. It had been forever since I just woke up and jumped out of bed without having to stretch or let my eyes adjust or any of the other myriad checklist items that come with being in my forties.

Part of it was age; Most of it was my fault. Motocross is a young man’s game, and I was about a decade-and-a-half past when I should have retired. The tautological quandary was that it was my overall excellent fitness that kept me able to do the very activity that seemed to have such a negative impact on my overall fitness. It also paid well, and I have no real grownup job skills. The X-Games was my retirement plan. I was going to be the first to land a double-backflip-twist, name it after myself, then ride the endorsement deals into bankrolling something I could do as my “second act.” Clothing line, maybe? Start a gear company? Something rad.

But here I was, getting out of bed and feeling amazing when I started wondering where the bed came from and why I had been in it. It looked like a normal bed, but everything was sort of dyed—no, that’s not it, maybe “washed”—in gray. The small room I was in, the linens, even the light coming through the window: all gray. Even my clothing—clothing I did not own and would not normally wear—was like a gray set of those pajamas that doctors and nurses wear.

Gray isn’t even the right word. It was like everything was monochromatically the same, but not the same. Like it retained it’s distinctness while being devoid of anything distinct.

I wish I was better at wording things like I want to. But, hopefully, it makes sense.

I went to the door to see if I could figure out where I was—assuming it must have been a rager if I didn’t even remember partying… but then, I’d feel horrible, not amazing. A wave of fear went through me. Wait, did I join one of those cults? Or worse, did I buy into one of those MLMs? Am I experiencing the true power of BCAAs or Alkaline Water or Copper Bracelet Technology. Oh no! Essential oils!

Okay, the fear was replaced by jokes, but that’s always been my go-to. It can be pretty intimidating and terrifying to be looking down the barrel of a three-story-high ramp or standing at the edge of a plane door thousands of feet high waiting to jump or racing a modified through the Sonoran desert. I do a lot of dumb shit. So, humor became a way for me to cope; To put myself at ease in the moment.

What I found on the other side of the door was anything but evidence of a killer party or a multi-level scheme.

It was just more gray.

The room was a stand-alone thing: Four walls; Window; Door; Bed. Outside was like a forest, but not. Like, have you ever been to someone’s house who lives way the hell out in the boonies and it’s sort of a mix of like trees and rocks and nature but also like manicured bushes and a grass lawn and those creepy-ass fountains where naked kids piss on stuff?

It was kind of like that. But not really.

This is so frustrating. I wish I could have taken a pic or something, but I didn’t have my phone. It was more than just how it looked, though. It smelled gray, if that makes sense. It felt and sounded gray. I’m sure it would have even tasted gray if I tried to eat a rock or a tree or something.

“You lost?”

I turned to see a man or woman, or, I’m not really sure, standing near a gate. He—I’ll call him he because, to me at least, he “felt” like a masculine presence—was about my height and build, wearing the same gray pajamas—Scrubs! That’s what they call them, like the show! Anyway, he smiled at me and I felt like I should introduce myself, so I approached.

He wasn’t attractive or unattractive. He just was. Same with his voice. It wasn’t loud or quiet, it just was.

“Yeah. I guess I am. I’m Robbie Riggles,” I said, with the customary two second pause to see if my name registered with them at all. “I gotta be honest, I don’t even remember being here, much less where here is.”

He smiled. “Here is everywhere, and nowhere.”

Shit. A Yoda wannabe.

“So, is it everywhere enough that I can call an Uber. I got stuff I need to do.”

He motioned toward the gate. “All you need is through here.”

“Sweet. Thanks, man. What’s your name, anyway?”

“You can call me Dux.”

“Ducks?”

“Dux.”

“…Ducks?”

“Close enough. Please.” And with this, he waved me through the gate.

Instantly, the entire world around me came alive with colors and smells and sounds that were so overwhelming that Duck had to keep me from collapsing under the psychological weight of it all. That, and I stumbled over a tree root.

It was sublime. No, that’s not enough word. It was past anything I can describe. It was like Willy Wonka and Salvador Dali had a baby and it was raised by Walt Disney. Everything was beyond: The sky was beyond blue; The grass beyond green; The smell of pine in the air was beyond pine. It was all-encompassing, total.

I looked at Duck, as if to say, “you seein’ this?” but even he was different. The gray scrubs were gone, replaced by flowing robes that seemed to alternate colors as they flowed. There was no breeze; His robes flowed on their own!

I looked down at my own clothing and… still gray.

Before I could ask, “You have not changed yet. You cannot change yet. You must choose to be here before you can be here completely.”

“Damn, bro. How do I even do that? Sounds amazing! Can I do it now? I’ll totally move here.”

He walked toward what I can only describe as the town square. I followed. As we approached, I started to see other people doing people things. Some were eating, some painting, some playing sports in a field. The “town” was full of people doing all the the kinds of things people do during the “side effects” part of a pharma commercial: riding horses; singing in a jazz band; playing fetch with a dog; riding bikes. It looked like paradise.

“I totally want to live here! This looks amazing. What are real estate prices like?”

“To live here costs nothing, and everything.”

“Ok, Kung Fu, I get it. You don’t have to be all mystical, bro. Is there an agent I can work with, or…”

He kept walking, until we came upon a food cart. Self-serve cotton candy! I was starving—I think—so I went crazy. I made the Bob Ross of spun sugar. So much cotton candy that I thought it might collapse under its own weight. “You want some?”

Duckster shook his head.

“Your loss,” I said, taking an enormous first bite.

And let me tell you, it was… empty.

Devoid of everything. No smell, no flavor, no anything.

I took another bite, assuming I was still coming out of my post-blackout period.

Nothing.

“Dude, what’s up with this—?”

The Duck was was walking again. So, I followed, dropping the candy in a trashcan along the way. As we walked, I spotted the most attractive woman I’d ever seen, and I live in LA. She was amazing. Every thing you could rank she got perfect scores. I was immediately smitten and decided, what the hell? I walked up and introduced myself. (Don’t tell my girlfriend about this, though.)

Nothing.

I waited a second. Sometimes that happens, woman know they know me from somewhere, and they sort of freeze. (It’s usually the modeling thing I did with Lebron and Bodie that they’re thinking of.)

Still, nothing.

“Hey, I’m sure you get hit on and stuff all the time. I was just trying to—“

“It’s no use.”

“What?”

“She won’t hear you?”

“Won’t? You mean ‘can’t?’”

“No, I mean won’t.”

I wanted to ask more questions—and I certainly didn’t want to leave such a hottie behind—but my buddy was strolling again, so I followed.

As we walked, I saw things differently. From a distance, everyone looked like they were beautiful, happy people doing beautiful, happy people things. But when we got closer it became clear that none of it was registering on their faces at all. There was nothing there. No joy, no sorrow, no… anything.

I wanted to ask more questions, but Sir Duckington was on the move again. So, I followed.

As we walked along we came to another gate. “Do you wish to enter?”

“Enter what? What’s back here?” This gate looked terrible. It was sort small and broken, with one hinge missing so that it dragged along the ground, furrowing an arch through the grass.

“The other side.”

“Other side of what.”

Duck just looked at me.

“Fine. YOLO. Let’s do it.”

We had to crouch down, almost crawling to get through. When I stood, everything was back to normal. Well, not normal. But, like, well, okay, yeah… normal. Like, the air smelled normal, the colors were normal, and I noticed that even my normal aches and pains had come back. “What is this place?”

Of course: He walked; I followed.

As we came to what, again, I’ll call the town square, I saw none of the fun play-time stuff I’d seen in the other town. Here, everything felt like fatigue. People were tired, slumped, gaunt. There was a bad smell in the air, putrid almost. I felt it in the back of my throat. It smelled of suffering.

“Why are we here? Can we leave? This place looks terrible.”

“You must choose to be here.”

I was about to say that I absolutely chose not to be in that broken town when I realized Duck’s wardrobe had changed again. It was covered in filth and blood and stains from things I don’t want to imagine. And he smelled like ass. Hate to say it, but for real though. Part of me really wanted to go back to the other town, to play with a dog, to hit on that girl again.

But another part of me felt compelled to learn more.

I looked for Duck—to repeat the lead/follow thing—but he was behind me, totally still. I tried a subtle “so, we doing this?” head nod, but he only looked straight on, into the heart of the town.

So I walked alone.

As I approached, I started to see the realness of what I was looking at—feeling it more than seeing it. As though all of my senses were working together to bring it into full realization, this wretched vista. An old woman was in front of me, she had fallen out of a nearby wheel chair. I approached her without thinking. “Hey, sweetie, let’s get you back into your chair.” She smelled of death and old tabacco, but smiled up at me as I lifted her nearly-weightless frame back to her chair. “There you go.”

Before she could respond I had already moved on to a man bleeding in the gutter. He’d been cut or hit by something. Blood was pouring from a wound on his head. Just as I thought that I needed my trusty first aid kit, I looked at my hand and—you won’t believe this—there it was. I gloved up, opened the nylon bag, and found some compression gauze. “Here, hold this, lots of pressure. Believe it or not, I’ve had to do a lot of self-treatment in my line of work,” I said with a wink. I finished up the work and was about to ask him what happened when I noticed an elderly man trying to push a massive cart full of goods up a slight incline. I told the bleeder to keep the pressure on and see a doctor before running toward the man with the cart.

“Let me help you with that.”

He smiled, and together we pushed the cart for a good quarter mile.

After what felt like hours I was exhausted, sweaty, and smelled of all things foul. I sat back against a leafless tree and wished I had something to drink. It was then that my buddy Duck, suddenly standing at my side, handed me a cool glass of water. “What is this place? Everyone seems so downtrodden. It’s like everywhere I look, someone needs help.”

Duck sat next to me. “It does seem that way. Yes.”

“What about the people in the next town? Why can’t they help these people?”

“They can.”

“Why don’t they?”

“Choice.”

“They choose to ignore it? To ignore this?” I said, waving my hand across our shared view of the anguished.

Nothing. Duck just looked at the people shuffling along. There was so much more to do. I took a long drink. It was the best water I’d ever had. I didn’t know if it was the water that was righteous, or my thirst for it. I wanted to sleep. I also wanted to get back to work. To help more people. I rested the back of my head against the tree and it came to me. The two towns, what it all meant.

I finished the rest of the water, got up, and started walking back toward the people in need.

Just as I approached the closest person—a young woman, eyes red from crying—my foot caught the curb and I tumbled.

Blackness.

Silence.

A beep.

Then another.

Another.

A steady, slow beep-beep-beep-beep.

A voice: “I think we got him back.”

I became aware of commotion, of quick movements, clinks and clangs of metal objects, the sanitary smells of an emergency room. I had been in so many.

“Hey, buddy. Hey, there. You still with us? I think he’s coming around. Keep that Normal Saline wide open, he lost a lot of fluid.”

My eyes started to flutter open, the light from the overhead lamp fighting my desire to see what was going on around me.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw that I was indeed in a hospital. A normal, everyday hospital. There were people all around me. They all wore scrubs, many with splashes of what I assume was my blood.

“Thought we lost you there partner. Good thing I’m a fan. I came to see you nail that double-spin. Maybe next time, huh?” The doctor smiled at me. He was still wearing his street clothes—and one of my branded t-shirts. His name tag read “Eric Dux, MD..”

It was a few hours later when Amiko finally got to come to my room. She was in a too-familiar state of relief and anger. She yelled at me that my time was up, no more X-Games, no more riding bikes, no more any of it. It was over or we were over.

“It’s okay. I think you’re right,” I said. She was stunned into silence. I had called her bluff so many other times.

“Really?” she asked, tears forming,

“Yeah. Really. I think I know what I want to do next.”

“Shit.” I said. I rubbed my head before I realized it didn’t actually hurt, which I might have expected it to do after that fall. I looked down to check my legs and it didn’t take me very long to realize that I was NOT on a ski slope in Aspen, not by a long shot. I still wore my bright red ski pants, though there didn’t seem to be much need for them. Not that it was hot, really, but it wasn’t cold either. It was…I wracked my brain but the best I could come up with was that it was the absence of temperature. Not in the zero Kelvin sense where molecular movement stopped, but more like temperature had ceased to matter. “Am I dead?” I asked nobody in particular, patting myself down as if I might find the presence or absence of corporeality. Could ghosts, or spirits, touch themselves, I wondered? I looked around for the first time and all I saw was gray. Not a fog, the entire landscape was just a monotone gray, nondescript surface. The ground was an undefinable substance and stretched endlessly unto the horizon, where it merged with something just barely lighter, more insubstantial, that might be sky. Stacked in neat rows were box-like structures, like a square forest. It too stretched eternally into the distance, the boxes getting smaller and smaller until they were indistinguishable from the ground. I don’t know what I expected from the afterlife but it was undeniably not this. I would have accepted fire and brimstone or multi-eyed, multi-winged angels, or even the sensation of floating timelessly in a golden cloud, but this…the overwhelming dreariness of it…Malvina Reynolds must have had a near death experience one time. <i>Little boxes on the hillside…little boxes made of ticky-tacky…little boxes on the hillside…little boxes just the same</i> I started walking, the sensation of time and distance dulled either by some fundamental quality of eternity or by the overwhelming sameness of the landscape. It was quiet, the other occupants perhaps in their homes—mausoleums? Nothing moved or changed. I walked for a moment or a millennium before I sighted another human—ghost? Soul? Spirit? Who knew, really. He was a gray man in a gray work suit, skin that might once have been peach, hair that might once have been salt-and-pepper, a long, philisophical beard. He could’ve died yesterday or during the Roman Empire, there was no way of knowing. “Am I…?” I asked him, hesitant to finish the sentence. “Almost certainly.” He said. I narrowed my eyes, looking around. “You looking for the big guy?” “God?” I asked. “Sure…or anything…I dunno…familiar.” “He quit.” The man said. “I’m sorry, he what?” “Quit. Buggered off. Gave it up for a bad job.” “Can he do that?” I asked. The man shrugged. “He’s God.” He said, as if that answered anything. “So now what?” I looked at the row after row of ticky-tacky boxes in front of me. “He took all the magic with him, but you’ll know which one is yours.” “Oh good.” I sighed. I didn’t even say goodbye, just put one foot in front of the other, through the rows of gray. It was going to be a long eternity.

The afterlife is a dark place, very calm and easy to reflect in.