“Curating perfection for your soul.” -Slogan of the Inbetween

The Afterlife was not what he expected.

There were no pearly gates in the sky, fiery pits of hell, or even a blank nothingness. Instead, it was an office. The walls were gray, the floor was covered in gray carpet, and the furniture was a bland shade of gray that felt as uncomfortable as it looked. The only things that weren't gray in the room were Simon and the mounted TV informing him of his death.

DON'T WORRY, YOU'RE JUST DEAD.

Simon sat there, soaking it all in, his thundering heartbeat at odds with the quiet waiting room. He never anticipated opening his eyes again after closing them before the crash. The sight of the gray waiting room had been a shock, but after a few minutes, his heartbeat calmed. Simon felt more curious than anything as he surveyed the room, noticing a closed door to the left. Couldn't they have chosen more comfortable chairs for us, he thought shifting in his seat. Before he could grumble any further about the uncomfortable furniture, the TV screen changed, and a cheerful tune began to play.

Is that a commercial?

"Hey, hey, hey! Souls, are you ready for your next journey? Well, calm those nerves and traumas from just dying because you're about to decide on your next stage in life. Oh, did I say life? I meant Afterlife! An associate will be with you shortly to help guide you during your time in the Inbetween. Don't worry, folks, death isn't the end," said an upbeat woman in a white robe, a floating golden halo hovering over her ginger head. She spoke in front of a crowd of seated people in the familiar gray waiting room. The extras appeared to come from all walks of life as the angel rambled on, oblivious to their perplexed expressions. Winking at the camera for her closing statement, the video began to loop again.

Is this the best the marketing team could do? I have a bone to pick with whoever thought "Don't Worry, You're Just Dead" was a good idea!

Still trying to grasp the absurdity of the situation Simon found himself in, he barely noticed the door to the room opening. A halo’d head peeked in as a woman with ginger hair and a white suit entered, her eyes fixed on a clipboard in a bored manner.

"Simon Everland?" said the office worker as she looked up at his astonished face. That's the woman from the commercial, he thought, staring at her golden halo. Staring above her head, he forgot to respond to her question, and without thinking, he blurted out. "I can't believe you're real."

"Real?” she asked quizzically before her face lit up. “Oh! You must be a fan. I know it's hard to believe that an actress is right in front of you," she said a smug smile on her face, lost in her own delusions of grandeur.

That is a severe leap in logic, he thought. Deciding to play along with her, Simon said, "Um, yeah... I totally meant that. So you’re an angel?"

"Well, duh. Peep the halo," she said, pointing at it. "Also, you're Simon Everland, right? You're up next. I need you to follow me," said the ginger angel, waving for him to follow her through the doors.

Still confused about what was going on Simon decided to follow along. Walking through the door he decided to ask, "Up next for what?" Glancing down at her shiny nametag, he added, "Sandalphon."

"My friends and fans call me Sandy. You must've been distracted by my amazing performance to not have listened to the video,” she said tossing her ginger hair back. This angel is very full of herself, he thought, starting to admire her confidence. “We're going to find you a choice for the Afterlife," said Sandy as she guided them through a maze of gray cubicles.

No way, the priests from Sunday church were actually right.

“Woah woah woah, you mean I can choose? My priest always said they’d count our sins or something when we died. Why do I need to choose between Heaven and Hell?” asked Simon, as they walked further.

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“If only it were so simple, I’d have more time to act. No, Heaven and Hell aren’t the only options. There’s more to the afterlife than those two routes. Just take a look at what my colleagues are doing?” Sandy said, indicating for him to look inside the grey cubicles.

Simon glanced into some of the cubicles they passed, spotting halo’d angels working at a small desk talking with clients. All of the angels wore office attire of some variation but they were all wrinkled in some way like they had been worn for a long period of time. They sat before a sprawl of paperwork, with dark bags under their eyes, clearly tired as they interacted with a variety of customers. It was odd; the clients looked like the people from the video, seemingly taken from all walks of life. He saw a beggar wearing old clothes, a child in a uniform, a frail old woman, a young priest, a firefighter, a baby wrapped in a blanket, and so many more. They all look confused or were racked with emotions as they spoke to their angel associates. Simon noted that the sound of the interactions didn’t reach past the cubicles.

“Are all of these people dead too?” Simon asked, beginning to feel pity for those he spotted.

“Oh them?” Sandy nodded to the people in the cubicles. “They’re dead just like you. Oh look, that salaryman looks like he’s choosing to reincarnate back to Earth. A boring choice if you ask me.”

Stopping to get a better glimpse, Simon saw that the salaryman in his white button-down and tie was signing a form handed to him by the angel. When the man had finished signing a bright light enveloped the cubicle and Simon was left blinded by the sudden illumination. Spots filled his vision as he rubbed at his eyes looking away from the brightly lit cubicle. When he could see clearly again, the salaryman had vanished in thin air from his seat.

Where’d he go?

“He’s…” Simon looked questioningly at Sandy the angel. “He’s gone.”

“That’s what happens when you choose your route. The angel who helped him specializes in cases of workplace deaths, his cubicle is flashing more than any of ours lately,” said Sandy, arms crossed as she continued moving forward.

Specialization? I wonder if she specializes in acting deaths. Following her, Simon asked, "What’s your role in all this then?"

"Whenever I'm not acting for Corporate or running errands for Azzy, I'm jammed in one of those cubicles. My specialty is in processing unborn souls," said Sandy over her shoulder. "I haven't had a proper vacation since the '50s. We've been backed up since the world's population grew," she complained as we stopped in front of a doorway in the corner of the office.

Corporate? The thought of Jesus wearing a suit, holding a meeting with overworked angels, and discussing the overpopulation crisis was so absurd it brought a smile to his face. Simon had hated the notion of being crammed in a cubicle for the rest of his life, having been raised on movies like Office Space. Waking up in the grey waiting room had felt like Hell’s idea of punishing him. His curiosity about his absurd situation had helped to distract himself from any existential dread of dying but he knew it wouldn’t last forever.

The office they had stopped in front of had a nameplate titled 'Manager' on it. Sandy knocked on the door, and a low voice from inside called for him to come in. Simon couldn't stop staring at the nameplate, pondering the idea of who might be an angel's boss. Wait a second... if these are angels, then couldn't this be God? He subconsciously straightened himself up and tried to fix his mess of blonde hair to appear somewhat presentable. Sandy stepped aside, turning to him with a smile.

"You look just fine. Oh, hold on let me slick that cowlick back.” She tried pushing down a particularly defiant strand of hair but it wouldn’t cooperate. “You know what, the boss won’t mind. Okay, don't be afraid. I swear the Manager doesn't bite. It was nice meeting a fan. Good luck in whatever Afterlife you choose," said Sandy, bidding him goodbye and disappearing back into the maze of gray cubicles.

Simon watched the angel walk off and turned towards the door. He cursed his past self for not attending church more regularly, now that he was faced with the possibility of meeting God. He was what some might call a 'Holidayer,' only showing up for the major events. Okay Simon, you got this. The bread is the body and the wine is the blood. I can totally wing this. How bad could it be anyways? Turning the knob, he walked in, prepared to meet God, and instead saw several odd things.

It was an overcrowded little office space. Files were stacked everywhere, from floor to ceiling, while a large oak desk was covered beneath a mountain of papers. Motivational posters were taped haphazardly all over the walls, with one even depicting a cat clutching a tree and the words 'Hang in there, death isn't the end!' But that wasn't the oddest thing in the room. Rather, it was the Manager he was supposed to meet.

Behind the desk sat a figure in a long black cloak with the hood up, covering skin that looked unusually pale. A large scythe rested against the wall behind him, as it gleamed under the fluorescent lighting. The figure leaned forward in his black office chair as his hidden gaze studied him intently. Simon felt goosebumps spring up on his skin as he stood frozen in place before the one he was supposed to meet. It was not God, but Death.

“Have a seat Simon,” said Death in an icy tone. “Let’s discuss your fate.”