Becoming Death: Part I-II (Chapter 1-6)
PART I
CHAPTER 1
I didn’t even know I was dead.
It felt sudden and quick—probably hit by a truck or something. Pretty standard as far as deaths go. I figured that was it, the end. Unfortunately for me, a new job opened up upon my passing, and I woke up as Death incarnate. Or colloquially, the Grim Reaper.
Sucks, right?
No training, other than those useless onboarding videos. Oh, and the sudden realization that I would have to watch everyone I know and love pass away. That was hard. The infinite knowledge of all existence was tough to swallow, too. It was all a bit overwhelming.
Other than that, it’s a job. Since I no longer have my mortal coil, I don't need to sleep. Or eat. Or anything, really. I am the optimal employee, considering it’s now been so long that I don’t remember any of my hopes and dreams, wants, needs, name, bank information, or my sexual preferences. I’m never late, because, well, I only had to clock in once. That was as soon as I died. I was late for that, though, I’m told.
I gave up a long time ago on asking “why?” I’ve found that it just confuses things. What is, is, and I have to exist. I can’t quit. I was told there aren’t any other jobs. That it’s “just the market” right now. Not really sure what they meant by that.
I collect souls. I am the last thing people see, the bridge to the most important part of existence. Yet, I feel so empty! My job is important, but I can’t help but to not give a shit. Maybe I’m burnt out? I don’t know. Did I struggle with this as a mortal?
Being immortal looks great on paper: live forever (even though technically I am not “alive”; I simply am—the idea of being alive exists only in the material world) and keeping your consciousness instead of melting into the void…when all of that's said out loud, it sounds pretty cool, right?
That’s until you realize you miss out on all the good parts of that. Sure, you can “live” forever, but you’ve already experienced mortal death (not fun). Also, as I stated previously but cannot emphasize enough, you have to watch every single person you know and love die. Bummer. Guess the apathy can be funny, at least. Gallows humor keeps me going, although the jokes fade away too. It just becomes.
The Greeks called me Thanatos—that’s a cooler name, I think. You can call me that. I don’t remember the name my mortal parents gave me.
I decided to start journaling because, well, there’s nothing else to do. I wasn’t sure where to start, but I think I want to share some experiences. I do believe whatever I end up scrawling out will be my last shred of humanity. My final cry into the universe. Very human indeed.
I want to share my first time guiding somebody across to Oblivion.
The case seemed simple: a suicide.
At the time, I thought of suicides as weak, broken souls, and I didn’t feel much sympathy for them. I’ve grown to respect them. I got the report and headed down to the mortal plain.
My job isn’t to entertain anybody’s preconceived notions of death. I just take them where they need to go. I didn’t get that back then. I learned later that I had residual sympathies and other stuff sticking to me from my life.
He was a young kid. Probably mid-twenties, right around the age I was when I died. Seemed fitting for a first job.
The work site was in Barstow, California. It was a dusty town that served as a pit stop between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Known for its meth and gas stations. Surprisingly enough, it was an overdose case.
I showed up at the gas station the kid worked at around 3:30 in the morning. The bathroom was locked, so I went behind the counter and found the key attached to a wooden stick.
“Pretty dirty bathroom,” I said to him, propping open the door with a stopper. “Didn’t clean much, huh?”
He looked up at me with a dazed face.
“Am I dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh...”
I felt pretty bad after that. I helped him up and got out the script I had to read to him, which sounded like a corporate training video.
“Sorry, first time. Uh, so, yeah, you’re dead. You are no longer in the physical realm. You may be asking, ‘How did I get here?’ Let me explain to you what the Next Step is now that you’re dead…Who wrote this shit…”
I trailed off and didn’t notice he was trying to make a break for it.
“Aw shit…buddy, there’s no use! You’re dead! Dammit.”
I ran after him. I was told that this exact scenario would happen, but you’d be surprised at how many people actually do it. He got to the door and tried pushing it open to no avail. He was making a really peculiar noise, almost like a balloon slowly letting out air. It was pitiful.
These days, nothing really gets to me, but back then, with my humanity still fresh and not at all faded, I did empathize with him.
I walked up and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, man. It’s gonna be alright.”
“WHO ARE YOU!? GET AWAY! IT’S A DREAM!”
Then the tears came.
I suddenly remembered all of the social workers I knew in my past life and felt a kind of somber respect for them. Seeing souls process the fact that they left the material world is pretty emotionally taxing. I wonder what my job was in my human realm.
I tried to calm him down.
“Hey…buddy…uh, it’s gonna be alright. I mean, it can’t get much worse, right?”
He wasn’t really listening.
“Alright, well, I have some other appointments, it looks like...”
I took a crumpled-up schedule from my pocket. It had 6,000 other names. They told me it would be a light day.
I sighed and put it away.
“Um…look. I don’t like doing this, but we gotta go now.”
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he said pitifully, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I didn’t know…”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t know what else to say. It was all so dark! I felt like I didn't really have the training for dealing with the gravity of what these dead people were saying. But also...there was something else. Normally, I would've been crying with him. I was a very sensitive guy. But I couldn't even squeeze a tear out. In fact...when I thought about it, I didn't feel anything. I felt nothing. Not just for this guy, but...in general. I just remembered feelings, and I thought I should be feeling sorry for this guy. But I didn't. And I thought I should feel bad about that.
I read him the terms and conditions, making sure he signed everything after he accepted the fact that he was really dead. I offered him the post-mortem warranty option in case he wasn't fully satisfied with his experience in the afterlife. He looked a little hopeful when he read that there was an afterlife, but I had to reiterate that it wasn't anything like he probably thought. He said he was an agnostic, so that was cool.
Then I took him in to get processed.
It was a bright white room, that kind of nasty fluorescent lighting that makes your head hurt. I always feel nauseated whenever I enter the offices in Limbo. I think it's that vague memory of doctors' offices and job interviews from my mortal life that makes me want to puke. Then there's Cerberus, a really fucking annoying dog. He's not at all like what he was in Dante's Inferno and Greek mythology, the giant two-headed beast that struck fear into the hearts of the deceased at the Gates of Hell, the literal jaws of Oblivion. No, not that. He's just a Pomeranian. Yeah.
After Cerberus is done yapping at us as we exit the elevator, he takes us over to the check-in table.
"Nice to see you, Newbie. Getting used to the gig yet?" the dog said without moving his mouth.
"I guess so."
"You'll get used to it, kid. At least you're out there on the front lines, getting in on some of that sweet action."
He licked his chops.
"At least you're not like me, confined to this office like some kind of desk jockey. I'm an outdoor dog; it's humiliating! I used to be someone, ya know, HUGE! Big dog. Then I got in trouble, and corporate sends me down here. It's pathetic. I hear the new guy they got at the Gates don't even bark at people. Always on his phone. Kids these days just don't know how to work. Not you though, you'll do great, bud. You got big shoes to fill though. Don't forget that."
The dead guy (his name was Dan) cleared his throat.
"Oh yeah, you. Recently departed. Or whatever we're supposed to call you now, you come with me. We got some business to handle. Alright, run along, Death. You got 5,999 more souls to bring me today. Make it snappy, too; I'm getting hungry. And most people don't choose the 'getting eaten by me' option for the Next Step."
Cerberus walked Dan over to sign some more paperwork and ultimately decide the eternal fate of his soul. I didn’t stick around for that. It felt a little invasive, and I learned more over time that most people weren’t satisfied with their options, and the situation could escalate. I hopped back in the elevator.
It was one of those see-through glass elevators where the lights from all of the cubicles of Death&Co scattered along what seemed to be an infinite amount of space. I hate this ride. It takes forever. On the screen inside the elevator was the weather person for Limbo. I really don’t get why they have a weather person. It’s the same every day. Perhaps the mundane nature of this place is the low-level torture the designers were going for. Nevertheless, I reached the top and exited back out onto the Plains.
That was my first experience in being the Grim Reaper. I collected 5,999 other souls that day: parents, kids, doctors, lawyers, sanitation workers, social workers, soldiers, rich and poor...I took them all to their destinies. And I became less and less interested in the job at hand.
That was until I got the first work order to take the soul of somebody deeply connected to me from my mortal life...
My Father.
CHAPTER 2
Not sure how much time had passed since I took that gas station employee to the other side, but by the time I was faced with the burden of guiding my mortal father to the afterlife, it wasn't long at all. In fact, for me it felt like the same day was repeating itself endlessly; it could have been five minutes, an hour, or a thousand years. It didn't make much of a difference to me, though. I wasn't as jaded, still felt sort of human.
I'd just dropped off a trucker I found outside of a massage parlor at HQ. I was holding the freshly printed work schedule, walking out of the elevator and through the labyrinth of offices that make up our headquarters. It was customary for me to check my schedule as soon as I stepped outside onto the vast, desolate plains of Limbo. Looking up into the cavernous sky, I always felt a deep sense of wonder, gazing up towards the glimmering crystal stalactites that speckled the dark, black subterranean roof that closed us off from the mortal realm. They seemed to be mimicking the dead stars that cast their shadows down upon the surface of the Earth.
Limbo is the shadow of the mortal world. It lives in your shadows, familiar shapes and forms, but an eerie imitation of reality nonetheless. For that reason, the people who lived in the middle of good and evil reside here. To me, these people are almost worse than the wicked. Too chickenshit to pick a side; an amalgamation of souls with weak auras.
Of course, they make good workers for the Underworld, which counts as low-level torture. Most of them just have to stand all day or shred documents from our headquarters. I prefer my job, I guess.
As I headed to the exit portal, I finally saw the picture. I was supposed to take a Mr. Jason Hall to get processed. Suddenly, I was struck by a memory.
I was heading to school in the middle of winter, my father struggling to buckle me into my seat. That particular day was the coldest on record for our town, and the car hadn't quite warmed up yet. My father was a methodical person; he shoveled the snow in a precise cadence, so it was all the more surprising and hilarious when he slipped and fell down the driveway, cursing the whole way down.
Our driveway was steep, which prolonged his fall. He said he never felt the same after that day, but throughout my life, we always managed to get a laugh out of it.
As time passes, so do memories. And time is relative, especially when you're Immortal. I remember that scene as clear as day, but my memories prohibit me from going anywhere before or after. I remember the driveway, I remember the scarf I was wearing (it was blue and woolen), and my dad hadn’t shaved. But I do not remember where we lived, what our house looked like, or my mother's face; so many details have been washed away with time.
Yet, I remain. I do wonder about my mortal life. How could you not?
He was living in a trailer park somewhere near Spokane, Washington. Was I from the Pacific Northwest? Or had hard times pushed him there? Impossible to know.
I walked into the living room of the trailer home and found him trembling like a small dog in the corner of the so-called "living room."
The place was disgusting. It looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in years. A myriad of TV dinners, lottery tickets, and empty cans littered the floor. I guess he didn't take my death well.
"What happened to you?" I said, kicking a can toward him.
"Who...who--er, you?" he managed to slur out.
"Hey, Dad."
"What?"
He didn't recognize me. That was to be expected.
"Never mind. You've passed away. Your report says from alcoholism...I'll be taking you in so we can process everything."
A dull look came across his face, and his eyes started to dim.
"No...I think I'll stay here for a while."
"That's...impossible. We have to go. I'm sorry."
His eyes were welling up. Watching anybody cry was tough, but seeing your mortal father cry at the face of death stirred the remnants of my soul.
In fact, I thought I would’ve felt more. I thought I would’ve had some revelation, found some meaning in the absurdity of my situation. But instead, in that moment, I found that I just felt repulsed by it all.
In that moment, I felt that the Fates were against me, making me play this demented game of mental chess before they pummeled my consciousness back into oblivion.
That's what I wanted really; to be nothing.
The root of my dread was that although my feelings were fading, I was left with the "why" of it all. Like a child, I toddled about, taking souls into this fantastical land of the recently departed, all the while the question of "why" burned through my mind like a wildfire.
But I realized then, with tears in my father's eyes, and the word "why" branded into his corneas, that there was no answer.
Or rather, we don't even want the answer.
The fear in his eyes betrayed his soul. There is the fear that there is nothing after death, and the fear that there is something after death. That is the paradoxical existence of a mortal.
All we know are tears and flesh.
In my line of work, I have seen the most pious folk try and sell their souls for a few extra minutes under the sun. Rarely do I see those absolute in their own convictions.
My father wasn't a holy man. Even before my passing, he never went to church. Never an outspoken atheist, but never committed to any certain God or ideology. I was never quite certain of what he believed.
As a child, I asked him as we drove past a church if there was a God. He took a long pause, then turned toward me in the backseat and simply said, "It's up to you to decide."
I didn't understand the profundity of that statement as a child, but now I understand why he felt like that. He didn't know, and he didn't want to pretend like he did.
I admired him for that later in my life, to live in the unknown, but at the same time, I pitied him. Perhaps that was because I had my own convictions.
As I stood before my mortal father, as the sole mediator between life and death, I realized I still pitied this man. He still didn't know. He still didn't want to know.
All he knew was flesh and blood, and what is, is, and it was in that ambivalence he wished to remain.
"Son, let me go back. Please, let me feel the warmth again. It's so cold."
He recognized me?
I could feel my face contorting and tears falling down my face.
Despite that, I took him in to get processed.
CHAPTER 3
After my father’s death, I carried on as usual. I had work to do. I wanted to feel bad—I thought I should—but I couldn’t. Something inside me wouldn’t let me. It was as if my human soul was locked away in a vault, sealed forever.
I spent my break beneath a skeletal tree on the endless white plains of Limbo, the cracked earth below serving as a canvas for my introspection.
My thoughts were usually scattered. Sounds from my previous life—car horns, the click of typing, the smell of rain—fragmented and littered the streets of my mind.
Absurdity runs rampant in this realm. Human and supernatural elements are stitched together in an unholy tapestry. Why did I even need a break? The concept seemed absurd here—a vestige of human Order bleeding into the afterlife. It felt unnatural. Strange.
I sighed and checked my next task. A soldier’s soul had just been added to my list. Another casualty of human Order.
The soldier had a slow, painful death. Shot in the gut and left to die in the field. By the time I arrived, the heat was oppressive, the air thick and humid. I was already annoyed—I hate the heat, and I hate wearing shorts. I look stupid. I still have my vanity.
When I got to him, he wasn’t quite finished dying. So, I sat down across from him and fell asleep.
I woke up with a start. The soldier was gone.
"Shit!"
His trail was easy to follow. I found him hiding in a small cave, like a wounded animal. Quietly, I crept toward him.
His eyes were wide with fear, his shirt stained with dried blood. A part of his small intestine hung from his stomach. I couldn't stop thinking about how hot it was.
"Are you Death?"
"Yes."
"You've come for me?"
"Yes."
"I can't go now. I'm not dead yet."
"You are. Let's go. Be brave. Don't be like everyone else."
At this point in my career, if you couldn't tell, I had completely given up on humanity. Their fear of death disappointed me. I could not fathom the illogic of it. Why cling to a rock that feels nothing for you? A rock that, eventually, will be consumed by an exploding sun? Humanity’s fate is sealed. The logical conclusion is obvious: existence is futile. And yet humans persist. If they were truly rational creatures, they’d all kill themselves.
From my observations, humans don't want to live. They just want an experience. Yet most of them waste their time scrolling through videos of other people’s experiences instead of having their own.
The soldier glared at me, annoyed. He felt as if I challenged his bravery. He was looking at me with narrowed eyes. For a second I thought he was going to pounce on me.
“Bravery is for dumbasses,” he spat. “The coward survives.”
“Profound,” I replied dryly. “But is a coward’s life worth living?”
“There’s no difference between living or dying as a coward,” he said. “We’re all cowards in the end.”
He was fumbling with his intestines, trying to shove them back into his gut.
“None of this is real anyway,” he muttered. “There’s nothing after death.”
“I didn’t take you for an atheist,” I said. “But for all their supposed logic, humans will never know what happens when they die. Only the dead know—and they can’t tell you.”
The soldier narrowed his eyes. “Then tell me this, Grim: what happens when you die?”
“Beats me.”
That gave him pause. He stopped messing with his stomach and stared at me.
“You don’t know?”
“Nope. Now quit stalling. This isn’t a movie. I’m on the clock, and my job is to deliver you to Headquarters.”
He leaned back, exhausted but defiant. “I’ll go. I’m not trying to escape. I just want to understand the point of it all.”
“It seems like you already know there isn’t one. You existed; soon you won’t. Or maybe you will. Either way, it’s none of your concern. Take it from me—ambivalence is the only thing that’ll get you through this journey to the End.”
He studied me for a moment. “How don’t you know? Aren’t you Death?”
I almost told him the truth—that I’d never crossed over myself. But I stopped short. Why was I entertaining his questions? They all tried this—challenging me, stalling for time. Chess matches, footraces, arm wrestling—they’d tried everything. And they always lost.
The guilt I once felt, the sorrow I’d searched for in myself—it was all fading.
But then, an idea crept into my mind: What if I let him go? What would happen? Would the threads of reality unravel? Would the universe collapse into chaos?
I remembered an onboarding video I’d seen.
The narrator, Cerberus, was wearing a tie. The video had that grainy VHS aesthetic, like a late night public access program that felt like a fever dream.
“So, you might be wondering,” Cerberus droned, “what happens if you fail to report all your souls? Short answer: nothing good. You’ll get fired. You’ll lose all your benefits. Then, you’ll be sent to the last circle of Hell with all the other traitors. And trust me, Judas Iscariot is not a good hang.
“Your essence will never be released back into the universe. You’ll never realize the meaning of life or death. In short, you’ll be stuck in perpetual ignorance—the nature of life itself. And that, my friend, is true damnation.”
I tied the soldier up by his feet and dragged him behind me. I started this new thing of blindfolding and gagging them because I couldn't stand the sound of wailing anymore. It just reminded me of everything I lost.
I tossed the soldier at Cerberus's feet. He looked up from his desk smirking.
"It's finally getting to you now, huh, kid? You're becoming Death."
"When will I be able to cross over?"
"You probably never will. Sorry, guy. It's the lot you drew.
"Is there no way out?"
Cerberus scratched his ear. “Well, I heard about a janitor down by the Styx who wanted to put in his two weeks. No idea what happened to him. But don’t get any ideas, kid. Your job’s way more important. You’re the force that keeps everything in balance.”
Balance. Easy to have a collective attitude when you're not the one getting fucked for an eternity.
Cerberus yawned, his jaw stretching wide. His mouth transformed into an enormous bronze door, inscribed with runes from every mortal and immortal language. After fumbling for the key, he unlocked it, revealing a deafening abyss.
I wasn’t allowed past that threshold. I tossed the soldier inside, and Cerberus slammed the door shut.
“Bad egg,” he muttered. “Killed kids or something. See? Sometimes you are the good guy.”
He belched and waved me off. “Alright, get out of here. You’ve got work to do. I need a Pepto."
I had about 3,000 souls left for that particular day. But then my mind kept drifting to that janitor. Was there truly no way out for me? I was sick of existing, sick of death, sick of life. I wanted to get rid of it all. I felt like I knew how Sisyphus felt pushing that boulder. Or Atlas, holding the sky up. I was one of those forces. The Immortal Ones.
Then it struck me. What if I brought Death to the undying? Forced the Immortals to the other side? It would collapse the Order humanity clings to. Chaos would reign—true, natural, divine Chaos.
Death, I realized, is just an idea. And ideas can be destroyed.
That was my purpose.
To destroy the idea of Death itself.
PART II
CHAPTER 4
Okay, you're probably wondering what my plan was to unravel the truth of what lies beyond Death. To be honest with you, I had no idea. Work carried on as usual, but the thought never left me. First, I had to discover what exactly Death is. In short, it is an extension of Life. They are one in the same, the sun to the moon, different sides of the same coin. Would that mean I need to destroy Life too?
From what I remember feeling as a mortal, and the millions of souls I've taken to the other side, Life is painful. It hurts. Disease, famine, war, filing taxes, all of these things are inextricable parts in the machinations of Life. At the same time, Life is incredibly beautiful, and that is why we cling to it. Sunrises and sunsets, the birth of a child, putting your face into a cat's fur, all of these things bring joy to Life and a general apprehension to Death. That is where the concept of the Afterlife comes in. Eliminate all of the seemingly tragic and dark aspects of Life, and replace them with endless joy and love. As for the wicked and evil, an eternity of tragedy. To be honest, as I've told you before, I have no idea what lies beyond my headquarters. It could be an endless void. It could be the line at Starbucks. Perhaps it is God. Or maybe it's just a bunch of numbers.
With each Life, there comes an archetype. Within that archetype, like a caged animal, lies the human spirit. Desperate in its desire to escape the shackles of its mortal coil, it manipulates the user toward its unsure escape through Death. Upon Death, it is rudely confronted with the reality that after mortal Death, lies more bullshit. That is when the human spirit ceases to exist, its hope is forever extinguished. Or so they think, before crossing the threshold.
I figured I should start with working through the structures already in place. I submitted a request to tour the other side for work related purposes, which prompted Cerberus to call me into his office. He was chewing on a devil shaped toy when I sat down across from his desk.
"So what's this all about? What're ya trying to see?
"I think it would be beneficial to me to know the ins and outs of my job. You know, for continuity's sake."
"Continuity. Hm." He seemed to chew on that sentence for a minute.
"Kid, the more you know, the more trouble it brings. It's best to just keep your head down and do your job. Don't trouble yourself with knowledge. The forbidden fruit is what got humanity in trouble to begin with. Seems like you've forgotten that. I can't blame ya, but there's nothin' there that's gonna help you with your job. If anything, it might make you worse at your job. I just can't approve it."
And that was it for trying the right way. So, I had to rebel. I found out that Cerberus was astute in his analysis that human curiosity was one of the few traits that clung to my being after Death. I became obsessed with it now, and in that way, it gave me meaning. Having meaning is having hope, which unbeknownst to me at the time breathed purpose into my otherwise bleak and hopeless world. So, I hatched a plan. I had to break in, and cross the threshold. I needed to see what goes on behind those doors.
Cerberus may be immortal, but he was still a dog. I figured if that was the mortal form his spirit resided within, I could work with that.
Cerberus just finished consuming a politician who was crying out for his mother.
A disgusted look was on his dog-face. "Jeez, it's always those types who cry when they have to go. Bums. He tasted horrible."
He was fumbling around for his keys to lock up the door in his mouth. That was my chance. I pulled out a red rubber ball I picked up on one of my jobs. His eyes grew wide and his mouth salivated. The door was still open.
"Kid, now listen to me. I know what you're thinking. Put the ball down, slide it over, and let me give it back to you. But do it very slowly---" He started barking and frothing as I moved the ball from left to right, before putting it right in front of his face. He couldn't resist, and his mouth opened wide, which was when I threw the ball into Oblivion.
"Oh no! Sorry, I'll get it for you!"
"No kid wait!" he gargled, but before he closed his mouth, I dove into the abyss.
Everything went dark. It felt as though the atmosphere inside was attempting to tear me apart. The air was thick, and hot, and smelled like a wet dog. I was falling fast at first, but then gradually as the atmosphere thickened, I fell slower, and slower, as the temperature continued to rise. I passed the time by recalling everything I could about my mortal life. All I could see were faint particles that reminded me of lightning bugs, which triggered a memory of catching them as a child in the summertime, collecting them in milk jugs. I remembered the feeling of wonder, followed by remorse when they would all be dead the morning after.
Finally, I hit the ground as gently as a feather. It remained black, and cavernously silent for a moment, until I heard the subtle cries of the politician who had just passed through. I followed the sounds of sobbing until I finally saw the light of twelve doors, each inscribed with symbols representing the human archetypes.
His door was that of the Ruler, which is a soul that seeks power and control over others for their own personal benefit. The door was scarlet red, and inscribed on its surface were portraits of monarchs and tyrants. A crazed tiger with fearful eyes held the handle in its mouth, and the politician was clinging onto it.
I stood behind him for a while, watching him. Pitiful. He didn't seem to know I was there. Finally, I broke the silence.
"Open the door."
He didn't seem to hear me. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder, but my hand simply passed through him. Puzzled, I spoke again.
"Open the door! Your fate is sealed."
"I just wanted to make a difference...I'm a sinner...O God! I'm sorry!!! Please!!!!"
Suddenly, the door slowly pushed open. The politician tried to close it, but to no avail. Three hooks came out from the jaws of Oblivion and snatched him up. He was screaming and flailing as he was dragged into the darkness.
Now was my chance. Through the door and into the darkness, I could see a red trail of smoke following the politician, and his cries confirmed that I was on the right trail. Finally, I could see some light.
Before me stood an amphitheater of pure white marble. The politician was confined to a pulpit in the middle, still pierced by the hooks of the figures that dragged him to his judgement. The seats were filled with beings in red cloaks. None of the faces were visible. I stood at the top, curious about what was unfolding.
One of the cloaked figures was standing opposite of the politician with a large tome.
"The soul presented today, RP-1977-9005, had underwhelming general scores. Although he consolidated power, he never reached the potential to complete the full realization of his archetype. In accordance with Revision RC.777 of the Assembly of Rulers, this soul is subject to reeducation and reinstatement to the Lesser Realm, in order to continue the Trial of Mortals. Reeducation is to go into effect as of immediately, and reinstatement is to become final upon completion. If he fails the general exams, he will be terminated. If anyone of the Assembly objects, they can submit a formal request for an Appeal to the decision made by the Assembly today. This concludes our session."
The figures holding the hooks dragged the hapless politician toward a gated corridor which seemingly went underneath the amphitheater.
The figures dragging him had badges like mine (the only difference being theirs were red instead of white), and used them for access to the corridor. Great, I thought to myself. Now I need to steal a badge.
More bureaucracy, more bullshit. We still haven't reached Death. I couldn't sense a trace of it here. I had a surreal thought that they had it chained up somewhere, depriving it of reaching its final evolution, which is Freedom. Maybe it's imprisoned wherever the gods tied poor Prometheus to be consumed alive for an eternity as punishment for stealing fire from the gods; his gift to mankind. Honorable, but stupid. I didn't get the idea to destroy Death and bring Freedom back to the mortals. If anything, I'm doing it out of pure boredom. Selflessness isn't gifted to things like me. I barely even am myself. Maybe somewhere inside my humanity is pushing me on this quest, but frankly, I don't really know, or care, I just want to understand the point of my existence. Maybe I'll end up like Prometheus. But at least I'll know. The forbidden fruit beckons.
One of the cloaked figures was looking in my direction. I strained to see the face, but all I could see were beady white eyes looking through me. I waved. If it saw me, I might as well act like I belonged there. It turned toward the gate, and turned back to me, and without skipping a beat, dropped its badge on the ground and followed the other cloaked figures out. So this is luck!
Whatever that figure was, it seemed to know what I was up to. I put that thought aside, because despite the implications of that moment, I was another step closer to knowing.
CHAPTER 5
As I descended into the darkness, down the stairwell, I followed a trail of glowing dust (similar to the effect of fireflies on a summer night). I could feel a heavy weight in the air, and a sensation that I believed to be fear; human fear. At the stairwell's base, a hellish glow kindled, burning brighter as I neared my destination. Finally, at the bottom, a dilapidated neon sign flickered incoherently above the cavernous entrance. It read:
"All hope abandon, ye who enter here."
Below hung a PDF printout with the modern translation, probably tacked up by management to be contemporaneous:
“Forget about hope—that’s what got you here.”
Seemingly on cue, a prerecorded message began to blast from speakers along the ceiling:
“Welcome to a new path, a path toward your new life. One with meaning, and filled with purpose. Having a new life can be confusing, but we here at Death&Co only have your best interests in mind. That is why we designed our cutting-edge Reeducation System, or RES for short. I know you’re probably teeming with questions, but it is best to leave those questions for your past life. We do hope you have a meaningful experience. Goodbye.”
The words hope and meaning stuck out to me. Had I abandoned hope? I thought so, but it seemed I was still obeying the last shred of human essence that was stuck to my shoe like gum.
The way I see things now, as an Immortal, having meaning or purpose with your existence is clinging onto hope; but if you abandon hope and meaning entirely, you can free yourself from despair. And feelings. Anything, really.
This place adapts to humanity’s current era: its tropes, inventions, and beliefs can shape its landscape. After all, the afterlife is a human construct. Your journey here depends on who you were and what you believed would await you.
I entered an enormous waiting area teeming with souls, all clutching seemingly important documents. Windows spread infinitely along the back wall, each attracting its own line of defeated figures. Overhead screens displayed numbers, evoking a familiar mortal purgatory: the DMV. They even had a robotic voice calling out “J-196, P-298” etc. The lines didn’t budge. I approached the line designated for rulers and politicians, and found the soul I had just seen at the amphitheatre, still sobbing, and I took the opportunity to glance at his paperwork. The first page, scrawled in a dark red substance, read: “SOUL REGISTRATION.” The text beneath itemized his entire lives—hopes, dreams, regrets, beliefs, TikTok algorithms, joys, crimes. Everything.
I noticed all of the lines were serviced to different archetypes. I was drawn to a particular window that served the Sage archetype, usually reserved to priests and ministers who devoted their life to a particular religion.
I drifted toward a soul being processed at Window J-316. The robed clerk glared up at me with glowing red eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Research. Job-related.”
“Hmph.” He turned back to the soul before him. “Father John Lorens. Occupation: Priest. Cause of death: Suicide. An interesting combination. You cited ‘discontent with vocation’ as your reason. Elaborate.”
The priest stared blankly ahead, mouth slack. Finally, he spoke:
“I realized I was wrong.”
The clerk leaned forward, like his answer had piqued his interest. “Yes, yes—go on.”
“I was wrong. I couldn’t bear the lie. We invent gods like children stitching dolls from rags—pathetic talismans to mute the silence. To be human is a desolate thing. But it appears that my Ego was my demise. Death was not the end. What more do I have to suffer through before I can be at peace? I wonder what Christ felt at Golgotha, when he was alone and forsaken. I talked to many in my life who felt abandoned by God, and I was to bring the lost sheep back to the flock. I was lying to them. I had doubts in my heart. And I died a fraud.” He turned to me suddenly. “Harbinger of Death—you can tell me. Is there a God?”
“I don’t know.”
“Death doesn’t know! Ha!” He fell down and started to laugh. Kinda awkward to sit through.
The clerk slammed his stamp—a sickening thud—onto the paperwork. "Enough. You will be reeducated for the imperfection of Fraud. You should find familiar faces during your reeducation. Next."
Interesting. The priest would be my ticket deeper into RES. I followed him to the elevator.
“Death himself as my guide?” he muttered. “What comes next?”
“That’s your prerogative.”
He stared ahead, hollow-eyed, the brief spark of hysteria spent. “I see.”
Silence swallowed us as the elevator plummeted into Death&Co’s Reeducation System.
CHAPTER 6
The elevator ride was pretty boring. The priest had given up his antics and retreated into his swirling thoughts. The elevator pinged when we reached our destination. The priest cracked his eyes back open, then shut them again. He was going to drag this out as long as he could. Taking a better look at him, he seemed middle aged; thinning hair which was slicked back, and he seemed to always be perspiring. After several moments, he ran his hands through his hair, leaned back against the wall, and clasped his clammy hands together.
He looked up at me. "I guess this is the only way huh?"
"Yeah."
He looked up at the ceiling. "You know, I wasn't really sure if anyone actually believed. I thought we all were pretending. And the more one would pretend, the more holy they seemed. Hmph." He pulled a handkerchief out from his coat pocket and started dabbing his forehead. "But I guess we were right in a sense. There is something after death. I'm not sure what it is, but it is something."
I nodded and helped him up.
We stepped out into a heavily adorned cathedral. There were other shades seated in the rows, none of the faces particularly discernable. An organ bellowed a somber tune. As soon as we stepped forward, the organ stopped, and the shades in unison rose, and turned towards us. I could feel the priest trying to move back to the elevator, but I held him there, knowing that there was no way out.
One of the robed figures was in the pulpit. It gestured for us to come up to the altar. As we walked down the aisle, the shades heads followed, but looking closer I realized that they had no faces. The priest was profusely sweating by now. His handkerchief was soaked, but he continued to dab himself in vain. We finally approached the altar. The robed figure motioned for us to get on our knees, brought over a silver platter with bread and a gilded chalice with a thick, red liquid inside. Wine? Blood?
"Father John Lorens, you did not take your communion before you ended your own life. Matthew Chapter 26:26-28: "And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body."
This figure had a woman's voice. She gave Father John Lorens a piece of bread, which instinctually he accepted, but as he was going to eat it, he hesitated. He was looking at the bread with a newfound sense of horror. I looked at it again, and realized it had transformed into a literal piece of flesh.
The robed figure loomed over him. "Eat."
He looked back down at the flesh. As soon as he saw it again, he started to vomit. Luckily, since he's dead, nothing came out; but the retching sound he made wasn't pleasant.
I helped him back up.
"Look, if you think about it, it really can't be all that bad. Just imagine it's a piece of beef jerky or something. This is what you Catholics believe, right? That the bread turns into flesh and the wine into blood? What's the difference?"
He looked back at me enraged. "The difference was it wasn't real!"
The robed figure suddenly loomed over us. "Was it not?"
"I…" The priest's eyes widened, and his mouth hung open.
"...I can't take communion…because…I don't believe…I…I can't. I can't see God! I can't feel God! I can't lie…No…"
As soon as he said that, the Earth began to shake, and thunder rumbled. Lightning struck through a stained glass window and hit the crucifix on the altar. I turned toward the pews, and the specters were gone. In fact, it wasn't a church anymore. A great abyss had opened up, black as night, and souls of the damned were screeching from inside, trying to claw themselves out from their eternal damnation. I turned quickly back to Lorens, and got him off the ground. The robed figure was staring into the abyss, completely still. Then, as if she decided it had been long enough, she pulled her work badge out and walked over to the altar, unlocking a trap door along the bottom. Crawling inside, her hand reappeared, gesturing to us to join her. I basically had to drag Father Lorens over and threw him into the crawlspace. I turned one more time toward the abyss. Right then, staring inside, I thought I saw someone. A woman, waving at me. A house. A cat. I felt something stabbing my insides, pulling me toward the abyss. Maybe…maybe that was it. Maybe I'm in there…
I felt someone pull my ankle, and drag me into the crawlspace. The door shut, and all that remained was pitch black silence.
Crawling on our stomachs, we reached another door. The robed figure pulled us out into an all white room, with some chairs and a table in the middle. A monitor with "RES" on the screen hung on the wall.
"What just happened? Where in God's name are we?" Father Lorens cried.
The robed figure motioned for us to grab a chair. Then, very calmly, she lowered her hood. She had short, pure white hair, but her face indicated a person in their twenties. High cheekbones, piercing red eyes, and a sharp nose made her both terrifying and beautiful.
"That wasn't supposed to happen," she said steadily, "what you saw in there was not a part of our Reeducation System. You were right in refusing the sacrament, since in your heart you didn't believe. After that, the realm we were in was supposed to take you onto your next trial. I am not really sure what happened…perhaps a malfunction in the software… I have to inform management at once. Excuse me."
"Wait!" I started. "Let me come with you. Whatever that was in there, that mass, felt different, almost primordial. Raw. I saw what was in there…I saw humanity…I saw myself…I don't know how to describe it."
She studied me closely. "You are not authorized to be here Thanatos. Why are you going AWOL? You could be terminated for this intrusion. In fact, you could be what caused that to happen, by not following your duties and not taking souls in for processing. I'll report that to management too."
She started to turn out, but I grabbed her arm.
"Get your hands off of me, you stink of Death."
"Just hear me out. One of your coworkers gave me their badge. Whoever they were, wanted me here, and they wanted me to see whatever it was we just saw. I'm a part of this story now, I can't be erased. You might as well take me with you. I'll tell them myself. I need to know."
Her face softened up. She studied my face for a few moments.
"If I am to trust you (which one should never trust Death), if I do, you must swear to tell me the truth. Why are you here?"
I thought about telling her the same thing I told everyone else, for work related purposes, but I knew she wouldn't believe me. I can't tell her that I want to destroy the concept of death…I'd reckon to guess she probably wouldn't like that. So I told her a part of the truth:
"I just want to know. I want to know what happens. I was never allowed to fully die, which is why there are pieces of me still stitched into the seams of my being. I just want to see, to experience… maybe that would satisfy whatever it is that's driving me."
She now had a serious expression on her face. "The words you said are not false. I know that. But I also know you have ulterior motives, Death. However, I could use you. I won't sacrifice you, but the fact that you were there when RES was infiltrated by some sort of virus proves that you have something to do with it." She walked towards the exit, turning around once more.
"Don't make me regret this."
"What about me?"
Father Lorens had somewhat recovered.
"Oh, yeah. You can either sit here and watch training videos with a quiz at the end of each, or…I suppose you can come with us. Since you are a witness after all. Don't forget you're dead though. You will not be yourself by the end of this journey, regardless of what you choose to do."
Father Lorens was shivering, but he mustered up the courage to speak:
"I'm going. I can't stand training videos. If I had to choose fear or boredom…I choose fear."
"Very well then. Let's go."
She went over to the wall, and flipped a light switch.
The room disappeared–dark grey clouds were all around us. We're falling; those were the only words that echoed through my mind. After that, there were winds lashing me, I couldn't move anything, I was being whipped around like a ragdoll, all across the sky. Falling at a speed I'd never felt, pummeling towards whatever Earth awaited me. Closer, and closer, I felt myself smile. Maybe this will be it. I felt a warmth glow inside of me. Maybe…this is where Death dies.
PART III COMING SOON.