I woke up lying on the street. My first thought was to yell at the bus driver. Everyone with half a brain knew pedestrians received the right of way. Since I left my car, I was definitely a pedestrian. If there was a sign with a phone number asking “How is my driving?”, I was planning to call it. But something about the street was different.

There was no bus. There were no cars anywhere. There weren’t really any buildings of note, either. There was just a street. At the edges of the street, as far as I could see, was a strange foggy substance. It was like those areas in a game that weren’t discovered yet, so they couldn’t be seen into.

Seemingly appearing from nowhere, a figure in a white suit appeared in front of my eyes. I still hadn’t even pushed myself up from the ground.

“Who the fuck are you?” I asked.

“An angel,” the figure said. This alleged angel appeared male. The white suit was perfectly tailored and immaculately clean. The angel wore a plain gold tie, sporting a full Windsor knot. His hair was a dirty blonde, but the tips were frosted platinum blonde. His appearance was of a teenager, or perhaps someone in their early twenties.

“You died,” the Angel said. “That’s rough, buddy.”

“Where the hell am I?”

“Nope, not exactly.”

I sighed. Standing up, I brushed myself off. No point in a conversation spent lying down. That’s when I noticed I wasn’t wearing any clothes.

“Do you mind?” I said, gesturing at my nakedness. “I was wearing clothes when I died. Put them back.”

“So rude,” the angel said. He snapped his fingers, resulting in clothing closer to a hospital gown than real clothes. “You’re not in hell, but you’re not in heaven, either. I’m here to help you move on.”

I asked a flurry of questions, which spilled out in rapid fire. “So you’re here to take me to somewhere? Is it the bad place? Was it the grass during college? Was it a premarital sex thing? Was it because I like to swear?”

“Yes?”

“You’re supremely unhelpful, oh great one.”

“I’m here to help you move on, Will. You live your life and then you’ve got to move on. I hear even George Washington knew when it was time to move on.” The angel’s smile shined. It was hard to be mad at the guy. It was hard, but I still managed.

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“Please, just explain what is going on. You’re giving me a migraine,” I pleaded.

“Alright, fine,” the angel said. “So it’s like this. You’re dead, like super dead. All that’s left over is your soul. Your soul needs to move on. You weren’t like, a bad dude, per se. That means you get to go to the good place, so don’t worry about that.”

“Phew,” I said mockingly. “The idea of eternal fucking damnation wasn’t weighing on my mind or anything.”

“You don’t have a mind anymore, you’re just a soul.”

I grumbled under my breath, crossing my arms across my chest. I sat down, cross-legged, and puffed out my chest. I went full tantrum. In my defense, I learned it from my six year old. Behavior is learned, so essentially, it was her fault. “Tell me what is happening!”

“Alright, alright,” the angel said. “Your file didn’t mention you were so sensitive. Basically, it’s like this. You’re going to the good place, but we can’t let you move on. You’re a little too irritable, a little too insensitive, it’s not a good look. It disturbs the other souls. I’ve been given special privileges to sort this little problem out. So it’s good, you’re all good. You just have to complete my game.”

“Did you say game?” I asked. The knowledge that I was going to move on, but wasn’t just quite ready yet, was really frustrating. I was still wrapping my mind around the whole being dead thing. I did not want to play games.

“Well,” the angel said sheepishly, “I guess I did. It’s really more of a program. You see, I’ve devised an experimental way to help you get along with people better. It’s a series of scenarios of escalating difficulty combined with a progression system that lets you know how far along in the program you are.”

“It’s a game,” I shot back. “You’re literally making me play a game. Like this is a damn horror movie or something.”

“It’s a game,” the angel admitted. “But I definitely won’t make you do anything. That would be super not cool.”

“Okay,” I said point blank, “I don’t want to play your game. What now? Can I go to the good place?”

The angel put his finger under his chin, entering the thinker pose and letting out noises to make it clear he was thinking. I found it to be incredibly annoying, because the thinking part was already obvious. This guy was performative.

“Well, if you don’t want to play the game,” the angel said. “You definitely can’t go to the good place. I’m actually not sure what would happen. I guess the Great Celestial Chorus would need to talk it out and you’d have to deal with whatever fate we decide.”

“So my options are play a game or accept whatever fate a chorus of angels comes up with. Fine. What would you be voting for?”

The angel answered immediately. “I would petition to make you play the game.”

My rage boiled over. I was getting real sick and tired of the angel being evasive. Now, the angel was straight up lying to my face. If I didn’t agree to play the game – they were going to vote to make me play anyway. What the hell happened to good old free will?

“I thought you said you wouldn’t make me?” I asked, gritting my teeth.

“Oh easy,” the angel said. “That wouldn’t be me. That would be the whole Chorus. Totally different.”

“I’ll play the fucking game,” I said. “What now?”

The angel replied animatedly, “Character creation!”

***

Our hero is being offered the opportunity of a lifetime! Well, not a lifetime, precisely, since he’s dead. In order to make it to the good place, he’ll just need to make his way through the game. Nothing to worry about there, though. He’s got a guardian angel on his side! Well, maybe not his side exactly...