Obviously, I’ll skip the whole soul-or-not rite of passage, but meeting them is still pretty scary. Not that I think they’ll attack me on sight or anything. Assuming my form isn’t so hideous they mistake me for a wendigo. Assuming they have any concept of wendigos. Really, God only knows what sort of creatures they conjure in the dark of night. Probably bears. Bears are pretty scary.

Well, I guess there’s only one real way of finding out.

Already knowing the course of events that will follow thanks to the insights of Michael, the moment I transform into an objectively hideous human form, I lay down in the middle of an animal-trampled path. Voices approach. They’re less baritone than the larger neanderthals, less soprano than the florencialis. Just regular human voices. Ah, how I’ve missed them.

As much as the human sounds please me, they horrify me in equal parts, mostly since I haven’t heard them in so long.

They stumble upon my body. A few startled cries reach my ears. Their language sounds somewhat similar to how the neanderthals of so long ago spoke and it brings me a twinge of nostalgia.

I heave my body off the ground, my eyes meeting their collective gazes. It’s a bunch of men, carrying rather sophisticated hunting gear. I’ve been a bit unlucky, so my current body is both short and stout as well as ugly. I look like a boar made man and the look on the faces of the people who see me like this certainly affirms that assumption. In comparison, they look just fine. Of course, they aren’t as unnaturally beautiful as the people of the future try to make themselves in the hope of sustaining eternal youth, but it’s not as though they look like neanderthals. Well, a few do, but a few thousand years down the line that’ll change quite drastically.

The hunters stare me down.

To make a long and already-told story short, they accept me into their ranks quite quickly. Around a fourth of them have pretty direct neanderthal ancestors, a few of which are still hanging around the grotto. Because of their presence, the language spoken is pretty similar to those I already know, making that part very simple.

Still… This is a bit upsetting. Or, well, I guess it’s normal. There isn’t really all that much for me to do. So, I decide to mess a little with the soul system. I’ve actually had it on my mind for a while, so I guess this is the best time to actually do something with it.

It is currently the middle of the night. I’m not on guard duty, so nobody expects me to be up. Nobody is checking my pulse either. I quickly leave my body.

The realm of souls welcomes me frantically, the expanse opening up to me rather brightly. Let’s see here… It’s pretty sparsely populated since most souls have reincarnated a few times already, but it is, in all forms, not a pretty sight. I aim to change this. First of all, this realm will exist in a dimension outside time. This is mostly just a matter of logistics. As is, souls are only able to meet souls that are currently dead and have yet to reincarnate, so meeting their ancestors or children is impossible.

To change this, it will simply be so that all souls that ever will exist and all souls that have existed will be here all at once. It exists outside of time. Furthermore, you will only reincarnate once your time in the afterlife has ended. At that point, you will reincarnate into the moment that you died without any memories of your previous life but with the consciousness of yourself. Same soul, different number. The only boost that the soul will get from reincarnation is the unconscious understanding of whatever languages they spoke previously (corresponding to how well they could speak it), making learning those languages somewhat easier.

The moment a soul reincarnates, the soul simultaneously returns to the afterlife, since time doesn’t exactly exist there. From the perspective of the soul, after death they would spend an indeterminable time in the afterlife before being reincarnated all of a sudden, then they would live that life and return to the afterlife. Since the soul is only tangibly the same person as before, they will be considered a different person and granted a different afterlife.

Ah, speaking of that afterlife, I’ll be making a few changes there, too.

The afterlife for every single soul will now be a house. Or, rather, a home. Their home. So, to a priest, they might come to inhabit a temple, while a commoner would instead live in a house. This house is an exact replica of the home they had in their past life, including personal artefacts.

Furthermore, achievements, successes and personal interests will be collected. The art of an artist will be displayed on his walls, the collected works of an author appear in his bookshelf, every medal an athlete has ever won will be on display… As such.

Speaking of bookshelves, people will of course have access to an endless library of books, including tomes they haven’t finished, works that the author only finished after their death, ancient and long-lost writings… That sort of stuff. The contents of a soul’s home will be determined by their life, however, so an avid gamer might find it stocked with games while a historian will find it filled with scrolls and ancient documents.

However, for every soul, there will be one book they all receive. A retelling of their life. And, furthermore, a retelling of every previous life they’ve had.

Sure, they could just regain their old memories, but since their current self and previous self exist at the same time, regaining their memories would cause a strong sense of identity conflict. On that note, obviously, souls can meet their previous forms. That’s only to be expected.

I look blankly at the select few dinosaur souls to be seen in the afterlife. I suppose that includes them as well.

Back to the matter at hand. Regarding the homes each soul lives within. The main reason for this is to meet other souls. Invite them home and such. To make these meetings as pleasant as possible, the souls will always find their pantries and kitchens stocked with suitable foods to please their pallets. If you don’t want to greet a guest in your house or theirs, there will also be places such as forests and parks and the like where they can meet and have activities.

I might be too sentimental. Anyhoo, that is simply how it will be.

Souls can either meet by both souls unconsciously wanting to meet or by one of the souls sending the other a letter or other form of message. In order to know what souls may be interesting to see, each soul will also have access to a family registry. Ah, though, those that knew/know me personally will find my presence wiped, of course. It’s funnier that way.

Alright. My plans are complete.

I clap my hands.

The foundations of the afterlife shake with the massive force of trillions of souls flooding in, each of them appearing within a home of some sort, each confused and bewildered.

Okay, before I do anything else, I guess I’ll create a system to handle reincarnation. If anything strange or interesting happens, it’ll inform me. That sounds about right. Hm. I’ll name it Gabriel.

Now then. Before I return to my body in the mortal realm, let’s have a look at what’s happening here.

Silently, I swim down onto a quaint suburban street.

Physically speaking, the afterlife is an endless expanse of isolated homes, but in certain interesting conditions, streets such as these form. The conditions aren’t overly specific, but it’s basically just made when a bundle of souls all have the same view of their homes in the sense that it’s part of a community of homes. Now that I think of it, I can already sense several churches and temples inhabited by monks and priests and the such. Interesting.

Paying them a visit would probably be funny but I’m not exactly interested in it at the time. They might actually try to pray to me or worship me or whatever. I think a lot of things are funny, but not that.

Whenever such a thing happens in some story I’m reading I just cringe. It’s not funny. It feels wrong, and I can already tell that if someone ever prostrated themselves before me in devotion I’d probably send them here stat.

Ah, back to this here street. It’s semi-suburban, with each house being eerily similar to each other, differentiated only by change in colour and contents of the yard. Most yards are pretty well-trimmed. The houses are each numbered. What a normal place. I fold my arms behind my back.

It only took around 30 seconds past the creation of this new afterlife that a door burst open. Oh, would you look at him. Even from all the way over here, I can tell all too well what he's wearing. Namely, a normal shirt and a normal pair of pants. His short dark hair is dishevelled and slick with sweat and blood. The blood probably came from that massive hole in his chest. His whole back is covered in blood too. Hm. His shirt also seems stained with soot and the like.

His chest heaves even though he technically can’t breathe. Our eyes meet. Man, he’s frantic.

“Wh-, who are you? What the hell happened?!”

Ah. That’s a pretty good question. I do like that expression though. Hm. Wonder what happened to make him like this. I pull a roll of paper out of nowhere and scan the contents. “Samuel McGinney, forty-three years old. New York. Time of death, 14:50:12. Cause of death, impaled through the chest by a molten beam.” Ah. So that’s what happened. I look over at him again. Although there’s plenty of smog and soot caked into various parts of his clothing, there’s nothing to suggest any part having burnt. That leaves me with one explanation to draw.

Hm. It seems his breathing has stopped somewhat, eyes growing even wider. “Y-, you…” He looks me up and down. “Are you the Angel of Death?”

Huh? What would-, wait, hang on.

I look over my appearance. It isn’t that of any human form I have ever taken. It is only vaguely humanoid. Since it glows with a yellow-ish (my favourite colour) shine, I guess it does look sort of heavenly. If I wanted to, I could probably give my form wings or something, but I don’t really care. Looking like a blurry out-of-focus glowy human is good enough for me.

Oh, wait, I haven’t answered him in a while. He’s still staring at me. A few of the other doors of the souls in this neighbourhood have started opening as people - as bewildered as him - flood out onto the street.

Talking to him will be fun, but not talking to a bunch of people all at once.

In a blink, the scenery has changed. I am seated on a comfortable couch (by far more comfortable than a hide bed in a cave), with my gracious host seated across me on a comfortable if drab-coloured armchair. His head quickly whips around, obviously panicked at the sudden change in scenery. My attention is drawn to one of the windows in the home which overlooks the street outside. The souls have begun speaking to each other, and from where I’m seated, I can hear quite a few reasons of death. Interesting.

“What is happening?...” Ah, he sounds a bit desolate. How boring.

I place a hand on my chest. “I welcome you to the afterlife. My condolences.”

I don’t speak English. Neither does he, as a matter of fact. There is no language in this realm. Otherwise, old souls would be unable to communicate with newer ones. Intention and desire are transmitted telepathically.

He swallows shallowly. “Who are you?”

Oho. This is it. Finally. The first person to have asked this. “God.”

He shudders for a second, eyes growing frantic and uncertain once more. Then, accepting his situation, he clasps his hands together and closes his eyes. “O God who art-,”

“Please don’t do that.”

He stops instantly, perking an eye open. “...Pardon?”

Ah, maybe I should just leave. No, as funny as his confusion will be, I do like the idea of what might come later. Alright. “I am God. I am not your God. Praying to me will do nothing.”

He frowns. “Erm… I…” His mind races for the proper way of doing this, what he should call me, what he should ask… In the end, he decides to ask the most pertinent question. “Am I dead?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The hell kind of question is that. Okay, think of it like this. He’s probably not asking this out of any theological reason, but more so a completely practical one. “Your chest was pierced by a falling steel beam. You died within minutes.”

He looks down at his chest, still stained with blood.

Okay, in hindsight, I should have understood that something like this would happen. Of course Gabriel would decide to make souls reincarnate in their clothes upon death. Knowing that, people probably also look like they do at death. We can’t have that. I clap my hands. Now, newly-killed souls will wear the clothes they had upon death, barring any proof of their death. Since they probably have cupboards, they also have plenty of outfits to dress in. Furthermore, since an afterlife filled with old men and women would be boring, I guess they’ll now be returned to their physical peak, whether that be in their twenties or later. Depends on their personality. Samuel here, for example, doesn’t change at all, apart from his clothes getting clean and whole. Great.

Perplexed, he touches his now-clean chest. “...What happened? Why did-, why would that happen?”

I sigh. Good god. Does he really want me to explain the whole 911 terrorist attack?

I stand up and wander over to a bookshelf in the house. There’s plenty of novels to be seen, proving the man to be an avid reader. Furthermore, the tomes containing the events of his former lives are also quite extensive. Anyhoo, that’s unimportant. I grab one of the books, a non-fiction book on the events that led up to the attack and what exactly happened. Going by the information in his scroll, he died closely following the first plane hitting. Oh well.

I hand the book to him. He accepts with trembling hands. Alright, since I kinda can’t bother just waiting around, I put a hand on his head. In a matter of seconds, he’s finished the book. To him, it took hours; maybe days. But he finished it.

“Jesus Christ,” is pretty much all he has to say. All right, man. He puts his face in his hands. “Holy shit.”

“No swearing in the afterlife.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

He stares at me dumbly. “Oh… Sorry.”

No, I was just kidding, I want to say, but sometimes when people take your joke seriously, you can’t really back down. You can only double down. “Next time I'll smite ya’.”

His face grows exceptionally pale. Ooh, now that’s an expression I like. “S-, sorry. Does your name count as a curse? Or Je-, our saviour?”

“You don’t know my name.” Objective truth. Hm. Okay, all of a sudden he looks very scared and stuff. Scaring people is only funny up to a point. Hm. Wonder if Barachiel is still effective. It should be. Nevertheless, having him totally scared out of his wits isn’t funny for too long. I guess I’ll relieve the tension somewhat. “However, saying God or Jesus Christ is fine. Don’t worry.”

“Oh. Okay.” He waits a moment, brows knitted together. He looks around the empty house, save for the two of us. To a family man like him, I’m sure the lack of a wife and children is rather jarring after so many years with constant company. “My family… Are they okay?”

“Your family is dead.” If a dead person could have a heart attack, Samuel would have one right about now. “Nah, just kiddin’ with ya’. Your wife, Kathrine McGinney, later Ericsson, lived a good life past your death, eventually dying at seventy-eight years of age. Your two children both lived until similarly ripe ages.”

He breathes a deep sigh. Then, in realization, his eyes light up. “Can-, can I meet them?...”

“Of course.”

The grin that appears on his face is indescribable and infectious. I could technically leave him right now. Meeting another soul is slick and intuitive, seldom needing any long wait times. Since time is a bit wonky here, the second your message/letter arrives at the other souls home, you will receive an answer. Easy.

But I’m interested in seeing this guy meet his wife. You could say I’ve gotten slightly invested in him. After all, he did make me realize the matter of clothes and age. Hell, if he asked for a favour or something, I’d probably give it to him. I am, after all, a rather generous God.

So, in order to not give Samuel a false image of what the afterlife is like, I make him write his wife a message. Of course, he would love to meet his family all at once, but I advised him to take it one at a time. You can meet many people at a time, but in order to do that, you need to create a multi-letter. It will automatically be sent to every soul involved, but if even one declines, the whole meeting is cancelled. You can change this by adding a line to the message regarding that the meeting will happen regardless.

In other words, the easiest way to make sure each soul will arrive for the meeting is to first speak to each individually. I think. I don’t exactly know yet. I’m not the one using the system, after all.

“The letter can be as long as I want it to?” Samuel asks somewhat nervously.

“Of course,” I reply. It kind of doesn’t have to be though, since he can just say it in person. But I don’t tell him that.

Oy. Why’s he beet red. The hell are you writing.

After much consideration and writing, he finally hands me the letter. I give it back to him. “Place it in on your doorstep and look away.” He seems perplexed, but after doing as I said, he notices wide-eyed how the letter disappears into seemingly thin air. Then, when he looks away to stare at me indignantly, another letter appears. I point at it.

Somehow, his eyes widen even further. Ahh, I’m getting bored, just meet your wife already.

“Now just open and close the door.” I really wish I didn’t have to tell him this. It’s intuitive, man. I literally had Gabriel install this shit into your brainstem. Anyway, when Samuel opens the door again, what meets him is a young woman of about 30. She’s far from old, but even when disregarding her obvious beauty, the edges of her eyes are rimmed with crow’s feet. I’m sure she’s a good woman. Her pretty eyes dart from the man before her to myself. I resist the urge to say, Howdy.

“-Samuel?” She’s got a pretty voice, that’s for sure. I mostly hate the voices of middle-aged American women, but she has a nice, not-overbearing accent. Not sure if it’s a new yorkian accent since I don’t know shit about new york. Oops. Tears are already pooling in her eyes. Samuel seems dumbfounded. I’m right with you man. Then, in one swift movement, she throws her arms around his neck and wraps herself around him. He hesitantly hugs her back. Now that I think of it, this has probably been the strangest hour in Samuel’s life. Although, he’s dead. Hah. Skull joke. “Oh, Samuel, you… What is that?”

She’s looking at me again. I mean, I had expected that she’d ask, but I don’t think I can handle introducing myself as God to everyone I meet. Somehow, it feels arrogant, even if it is true. I guess it’s kind of like introducing yourself as “Lord” no matter who you’re speaking to. Hrm.

Samuel looks at me weirdly. “...This is God. I think.” He thinks.

Her brows knit nicely. “That’s… Did you bring me-, us here? For what purpose? Is this heaven?”

That’s quite a few questions there, missy. Errmm, to answer the first question… I quickly retrieve a list of every single soul there is. Now, since this list only lists souls by their Soul Phrase and not by any specific names given during reincarnation, there are not as many souls as there are souls in the afterlife. It’s a bit complicated, I guess, but there can only be as many souls as the largest number of humans (and other sentients) that exists at one point in time. Regarding “Soul Phrase”, it’s sort of like a code for each specific soul consciousness. For example, Samuel’s Soul Phrase would be Fifteen Crowns Upon Two Men, Risen Beyond The Sail. A collection of words to summarize the lives of the soul. Simple enough. A code number would be easier to implement, but since I’m able to have soul phrases instead, I think it’s more fun that way.

Oh, they’re staring at me. Shoot. Gotta stop getting lost in thought. It makes me look like a bit of a doofus. “You are not the only souls in the afterlife.” Her jaw snaps shut. Hm. I hope there’s nothing strange about my voice. Oh well, even if there is, it might make things more interesting, so I won’t change it. “Furthermore, this is not heaven.”

Her face turns ashen. “Then, this is-,”

“It’s not Hell either. It is simply the afterlife.”

Hm. That does raise a good point… I can’t really think of any way to punish sinners or whatever, though. I could technically torment them for several millions of years, but I can’t see that being any fun. Hmm. That is, unless I were to do something interesting with it. Hmm. Those stories with an anti-hero lead going to get “revenge on God” are pretty fun sometimes. Not extremely so compared to other stories, but I guess the idea of making some poor guy hate me enough to try to fistfight me would be pretty funny. I’ll definitely stash the idea for later.

“Is-, is that so…” She swallows nervously. “Well, why don’t you come in?” Samuel goes in first and I follow like some angelical spectre. For some reason, the missy seems unhappy that I followed. Ungrateful scamp.

The house is rather modern. Well, she did die in like 2030 or 40 or something, so that’s only to be expected. It’s not modern enough to look totally sci-fi though, so I’m able to keep myself from gawking. Same with Samuel. The only thing of interest would be that the house isn’t the house Samuel is living in. Lol. Git cucked.

Samuel and his missy sit down by the couch, and only then does the missy think to mention that she should give him some coffee or something. What a bother. Since I can’t bear standing around and waiting, I just make a tray of Swedish fika appear on the coffee table. She gives a trembling smile. “Th-, thanks.” You’re welcome.

They start talking. And, damn, don’t get me wrong, but it’s pretty fucking boring. I’ve never been much for small talk, and it’s even worse to just listen. “What have you been up to?” “How are the kids?” “How’s your husband?” Shut the fuck up.

So, I started just wandering around the house to pass the time. If I wasn’t already invested in this (leaving out of the blue would be even ruder than wandering around your hostess’ house) I would have left before even meeting his missy. Oh, well. I poke around her stuff. Apparently, she was a total grandma in her later years. The most technologically advanced thing I can find is a damn ipad from 2019. I log in on it. Hm. I could do something really funny. Hohoho.

I go onto facebook. The fact that facebook still exists even in like 2040 makes me unhappy but whatever. Alright, let’s take a look here.

It would seem about two months have passed since her death. Physically speaking, connecting an ipad in the afterlife to the facebook of the mortal realm is a very strange thing to do. Especially so since it doesn’t actually make the timelines align. Hypothetically, if the ipad was willing, I could connect it to the facebook from like 2005. Or 2055, if it still exists. But it’s much simpler if it just connects to like a few months past her passing, so we’ll do that.

First observation: her account has become one of those memorialized accounts or something. Righty. Let’s undo that for a moment… there we go. Now I can post something funny.

The best place to do this would be…

Her bathroom. Hell yeah. There’s even a rubber ducky in here! Excellent.

I grab the ducky, hold it in one hand, and take a selfie. I’m really not one for selfies (or pictures of myself generally), but at this moment it’ll be the funniest. Okay, how’d that turn out… Yup. I can see why people would call me a “thing”. I mean, I don’t have a face. It’s just a smooth expanse. Not to even mention the fact that I look like I’m made of light or something. Wack. Anyhow, that’s all I wanted to do.

I post it to her timeline. Baddabing baddaboom. Funny mystery.

Hmmm… Now that I’m holding a measure to connect to the internet, I’m starting to wonder if souls should be able to connect to some sort of soul-internet.

Alright. Yeah, that’s a funny idea, actually. Let’s do it. Of course, at the moment it doesn’t contain anything at all. A blank slate. Tabula Rasa. Hmm. Anybody will be able to create a website as they want, and as long as they can describe it somewhat properly in a message to Gabriel, I guess it can be created. Well, I’ll leave the intricacies to him.

Like so, I dump that all to Gabriel. I’m sure he doesn’t mind. It’s not like he even can mind or anything.

Okay, I’ve made a mystery and an internet. Great.

Let’s see if anybody has made anything on the internet yet…

Okay, according to Gabriel, someone just requested a PornHub for spirits. Damn it. Maybe I should add a rule against stuff like that. Souls can’t kill or reproduce, but they can eat (although they don’t need it), so maybe the ability to fuck could do them well. I have no fucking clue. Erherm. Gabriel, remove all sex drive from souls. They don’t need it.

...According to Gabriel, the want for a PornHub was just renounced. Great. Awesome.

I’ll probably check back on that internet once in a while. I don’t think I should have any account on anything since it might get weird, but I should definitely fuck with people.

I’m bad at getting messed with. I’ve been told it’s really funny to mess with me since I react in a funny way. Maybe it’s petty of me, but I kind of don’t wanna sully the reputation of God by getting trolled by a trillion souls at once. Ahh. I hope this internet is better than the real one. May we never get Tumblr.

Before I return to Samuel and his missy, both of whom are getting about done with the catching-up, I put Gabriel on auto-accepting when it comes to websites. If he sees anything weird though, he’ll report to me. I’m not in the mood to censor anything, but I’d like to make sure it isn’t totally fucked.

Alright, enough about the internet: back to the lovebirds.

I enter the living room. Oh, damn, the tension here is fucking palpable. They aren’t even looking each other in the eye. From what I can see, although they’ve sipped their coffee, they haven’t even touched the cookies. Damn it. Rude arses. Maybe I should create a Hell for people who deny the hospitality of their saviours. Hrm. Not a bad idea.

“Samuel. Your children await.” At hearing my words, Samuel actually appears somewhat relieved to get to leave his wife. Wack. To explain, I sent a letter to the two of them like a second ago. They didn’t refuse, so... He gets to his feet and bids farewell to his wife. Unexpectedly, when the missy flies to her feet, her attention is instantly trained on me. Uh. Hello there.

“Wait! Before you leave.” Right. What is it. “If-, if you really are God…” I am. “-Why?” Why what. “Why is there evil? Why must we suffer? What is our purpose? If you are Good, how can you allow this?” Man, I can’t believe she was able to capitalize the G in good by just talking. That’s impressive, you’ve gotta admit. Though, these questions are a bit problematic. Of course, I could answer them, but she probably wouldn’t like the answer. Hell, if I was a mortal asking these questions, I would absolutely hate what I’m about to say.

Oh yes, I’ll say it. The look of despair on her face will be delicious. “Humanity is interesting. Life is interesting. Without suffering and evil, you would be so boring.”

Her eyes tremble. Then, in a move that I hadn’t expected in the least, she smiles in relief. “Thank God. Thank-, thank you.”

...Eh?

She must have sensed my confusion, since she apparently decided to continue. “I was afraid-, I was afraid that if we had some purpose, and we hadn’t completed it, you might destroy us. But if you think that we hold some value, then, won’t humanity survive?”

Well… “Yes. I will make sure of it.”

Somehow, her smile deepened. What a weird woman. “Thank you.”

Uh. Okay, man.

Samuel, what the hell kind of woman have you married. Well, I can’t really bear to look her in the face any more, so let’s-,

“One more thing,” she said like some damn Columbo-imitator. “Is it-, is it possible to live in the same house as someone else?”

“Only in very specific situations,” I say, thinking of the churches and temples. “Not here. It is impossible.” This is just because having people reform their families would be so boring.

“I just-, I just thought it might get boring, being all by your lonesome.” The word boring grabs my attention. “Wouldn’t it be better if you could live with someone or something? Like-, like a pet?”

Hm. Pets. “I’ll see to it.” She’s a weird woman, but she brings up a good point. However, having the pets just be totally normal creatures might be kinda dull…

Alright. First up, people will only be able to keep pets that their home can hold. For example, someone living on a ranch could get a cow-like creature while someone such as Samuel could only get what can fit in his house. On that note, the creatures should typically be almost like the ones from Earth. I think it’d be cute if all of them were white and fluffy like tiny angels, so we’ll do something like that. Ah, but there will (of course) also be demonic variants. Their alignment determines their personality. An angelic creature might be more obedient but also clingier. Demonic ones will be tsunderes. Easy. The common thing among them is that they’re all cute and love their owners.

Furthermore, they are all immortal, and upon the reincarnation of their owner, they will either be transferred to the side of their old master’s new form, or they’ll be put up for adoption. Either way, the majority of them will be good. The “evil” ones will just have more flair, I guess.

Gabriel. Get on this shit.

Oh, wait, also... Mythical creatures. There will be one of each, rewarded to a soul for life. They will be rewarded for heroic behaviour in life. Ah, but no massive creatures and nothing humanoid enough to be deemed sentient. That’d be weird.

Okay, enough about this. Get over here Samuel, we’re gonna meet your kids.

I grab his hand and baddabing baddaboom we’re gone.

Okay what the fuck is this place. It is… Mildly sci-fi, I guess. Going by looks alone, it seemed like Samuel’s missy actually lived in the old house of some relative or something, hardly a modern home by 2040 standards. Samuel’s kids, however, died sometime around 2100. Damn long lifespans. This leaves us with a house quite a bit different than what I’m used to. It’s very hard to describe, so I’m not going to do so.

What greets us is two people who both appear to be around 30 or 40. Same age as their father who stands before them. For him, this must be a really surreal sight. Interestingly enough, his kids are actually both twice as old as him, so, yanno. Funny. His expression is entertaining, almost as much as the one his kids hold.

Ah, by that, I don’t mean the gently mournful one they gave their father a second ago. That’s pretty boring and I really don’t care for it. No, I much prefer the one they’re both giving me now. The look of a sinner on death row meeting their executioner. Not that I’ll do anything mean to them for being atheists, of course. That’s their own choice and I’m certainly not about to question it. I wasn’t an atheist myself back when I was a mortal, but I was agnostic. That’s basically atheism but without the nihilism.

Anyway, I guess in a western world where the belief in God was growing ever more speculative, the idea that there actually could be a god would be pretty strange. I suppress the urge to say Howdy.

“I don’t believe it,” the woman said softly. Believe it darlin’.

“This has to be an illusion.” Well that’s just plain rude, man.

Samuel seems a bit put-upon. “...Sarah? John?”

The two siblings share a look. The woman smiles wryly. Apparently, according to their explanations, they’ve both changed their names for some stupid reason. I don’t even care, so I just file them into my brain as Sister and Brother. Cool with me.

But just as Samuel gets talking with the sister, the brother makes a grab for my arm. Surprise, bitch, you can’t grab me. His hand flies straight through, leaving him with a very funny facial expression. “I am untouchable.” This is because, although the souls are also somewhat immaterial, this form of mine is on a different plane. It’s sort of how the third dimension can affect the second but the second can’t affect the third. Though, through my all-power, I can of course make him able to touch me. But I don’t. Because I want to be consistent.

“How?”

Now that’s a damn stupid question. I just explained it in my own head. I’m not about to explain it to you. He gently massages his face like he’s trying to squeeze the stress out of it. “Okay, listen, ‘God’, just come with me.” Alright, man.

Apparently assuming that I’ve accepted his terms, he leads me to what I assume to be the back of the house. It has a really weird circular form, so I’m mostly just confused. Then, once we’re far enough, he turns around to face me. “What the fuck are you?”

Your father literally told you like five seconds ago. Do you is of have amnesia.

“No, listen-, I know you’re supposed to be some sort of god, but that isn’t possible.” I would almost like to commend him for his astonishing ability to read my mind, but I don’t. He seems a little like a dick. Like, if I wasn’t a God, then I’d like to ask what the fuck I am as well. “A truly omnipotent and omniscient God would not take the form of a man, or hang around my late dad, or create an afterlife, or anything like that. Are you an angel, or a demon?”

I can be your angle or your demon. But, for now. “I am neither.”

He twitches a little. Maybe I should change my voice.

...Eh, can’t bother.

“Or-, or that. All of this has to be some sort of dream, or a nightmare.”

Fucking Hell. You know what, atheist or not, I guess some guys can just be plain annoying. I rip a tear in time and space, creating a small portal between this afterlife and the mortal realm, showing an elderly man lying on his side in an empty house. Aah, how sad. He died alone. Heart attack. How utterly common. Had he had it in public his body would quickly have been resuscitated, but not so now. His brain is choked and dead, his body entering the primary stages of rigour mortis.

I show this sight to the brother. He stares at his own corpse in horror.

“Would you rather return,” I say deliberately. “You may certainly do so.”

I don’t tell him that if he chooses to do this, I’d probably let him return to life. He can certainly reach that conclusion himself.

He gulps audibly. “N-, no, that’s… You understand, don’t you? You speak human language-,”

“I am not. I am speaking French. My intentions are automatically transferred.”

“Is-, is that so? No, that’s not what I meant! You clearly act like a human, yet you claim to have the power of a god. No sensible omnipotent being would choose to hold mortal sentiments. That’d be like a human stooping to the level of an ant.”

Hrm. Not sure I like that metaphor. And I don’t say that because I’ve been several kinds of ants, but rather because I don’t exactly view humans as all that inferior to me. Technically speaking they’re below me, but I’m actually just a guy. I can’t imagine being anything else. Hell, taking my consciousness above human levels would probably leave me as some sort of above-being, or an elder god, or an old one or whatever. If I did it, I’ll probably see it as a good thing, assuming I could still perceive binary forms of value.

I can’t imagine any worse fate. I’d simply lose myself.

“I have never been anything above a man.”

He seems utterly confounded, which I would probably also be. Ahh. This has grown so serious. How tedious. You know what. That’s quite enough. I’ll be on my way now.

I turn around and walk back to where Samuel sits talking to his daughter. It seems sort of awkward.

Excuse me, excuse me. “Samuel McGinney. State your wish.” His head whips around to face me. Confusion and gentle fear shine through in an exquisite combination. Very nice.

“Wh-, what?” I wonder why Samuel and all his family members stutter so much. It’s probably just the situation, but I really do hope he doesn’t stutter like this all the time. “A wish?”

I nod to show my agreement since I have no face. “Indeed. As a show of my gratitude.”

“For what?”

Nosey fucker. Just accept it, damn it. I hate explaining my line of thinking since it never makes sense. “You’ve taught me quite a few things. Now, say what you want.”

He seemingly makes to deny his deserving of anything, but halfway through it seems like he’s realized that if God deems you worthy to get a reward, you can’t exactly reject it. At least, that’s the thought process I hope he’s having. “Then… Will you let me return to Earth?”

Ah. Boring. “In due time, much as is the course for all souls, you will reincarnate.”

He mulls over my words for a few seconds. “...Would it be possible to keep my memories for this reincarnation?”

Oho, now we’re talkin’. “That I can do.”

He looks at me oddly. Fuck. Maybe I said something wrong. “You won’t tell me not to speak of what has happened in this afterlife?”

Hmm. “No. I don’t believe you’d go so far as to create some silly cult. I’m sure that whatever you choose to do, it will surely be quite interesting.” Hehe. Yes, squirm, my boy, fight for your life…!

A blank stare meets me. “Well, okay then.”

...That’s it? Uh. Okay.

“Consider it done. Until your reincarnation, I pray that you will have a good time. Until then, goodbye.”

I disappear. Poof. Gone.

Back in the cave.