Why did I agree to this?

From my seat at the bar, I did my best to look simultaneously welcoming of company and content being alone – two vibes that typically didn’t overlap. But despite their contrasting natures, they mimicked two aspects of my emotions, so I supposed they couldn’t be entirely mutually exclusive.

I must have been doing something right in my efforts to give off a ‘welcoming’ vibe, because a few seconds later a guy in his early twenties leaned against the bar next to me, giving me a small nod and a smile.

“HOW’S IT GOING?” he yelled in an attempt to be heard over the thumping music. It was country music, but the type of ‘bro-country’ music that had just as much bass as most pop or EDM, and the nearby speaker meant I could barely hear myself think, much less carry on a conversation. But despite the difficulty, I made an effort to reciprocate his attempt.

“HI! I’M CARLY!”

He looked at me confused for a second, before the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. He gestured forward, not quite making contact with a curly strand of hair that hung over my shoulder. “IT LOOKS GOOD! I’M ADAM. WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”

I sighed through my smile and attempted to raise my voice even louder. It was difficult – I wasn’t exactly practiced with yelling, not with where I spent the majority of my free time – but I figured I should at least try. If I couldn’t even manage to give a guy my name, I might as well call the entire night a wash.

“I’M CARLY!” I yelled – or at least attempted to – again. “NICE TO MEET YOU!” I reached forward and accepted his offered handshake, only realizing at the last second that my hand was wet from clutching to the outside of my glass. Thankfully, Adam either didn’t notice or ignored the wetness, not even wiping his hand on his jeans after our grip separated.

Adam’s brow was furrowed as he leaned forward to put his ear closer to my mouth. He was tall, much taller than myself, so despite the high barstool I was perched on, he had to bend over to come close. “CARLY!” I shouted again, to no avail.

“WANT TO DANCE?” he asked instead with a head bob toward the dance floor a dozen yards away. I glanced over to where both of my friends were engaged with men of their own.

Bernie was dancing with her fiancé; you would think that with their weekly practice they’d have developed some amount of skill, but they stepped on each other’s toes just as often tonight as they had on the night they’d met three years prior. Yet, just as it hadn’t on that first night, their clumsiness didn’t seem to bother them in the slightest, and they spent just as much time talking and laughing as they did actually dancing.

Dee, on the other hand, never seemed to stop moving. The absolute center of her partner’s — and a not insignificant number of spectator’s — attention, she moved with skill and rhythm, devoted entirely to the dance and her temporary partner. They rarely lasted more than a song or two before bowing out, typically asking her if she wanted to join them at the bar for a drink. She would always decline, though, leaving the guy disappointed before another inevitably filled his place on the floor next to her.

I may have been looking at my friends a bit longer than I had intended, because Adam started to pull away, taking my lack of response as rejection. “SURE! I’D LOVE TO DANCE!” I hurried to call, forcing enthusiasm into my voice, and he stepped back close with a smile as he held out a hand.

I hurriedly placed a couple of cardboard coasters over my drink, as well as Dee’s nearly untouched drink next to mine, before allowing him to lead me onto the floor. I winced as the newest song started — a two-stepping song. I didn’t mind that style of dance…but it typically required the dancers to stand a little closer than I liked, and I braced myself for more physical contact than I was usually comfortable with.

Luckily, Adam seemed to be a gentleman. He started to pull me close but didn’t try to force the issue when I held him at half an arms-length by his shoulders, and I followed his lead through the steps for the next few minutes.

It…wasn’t unpleasant. My friends had talked me into taking several dance classes during our time at university, and Adam was skilled enough for me to easily follow him through the steps. We were a bit further from the speakers, but it was still too loud to easily make conversation, especially with someone I had only just met. So we just silently danced around the floor, occasionally making eye contact and smiling before I would glance away. Twice during our orbit around the floor I noticed my friends dancing nearby, Bernie giving me an encouraging smile and subtle thumbs-up each time. Three minutes later, Adam gave me a twirl before dipping me as the song ended, and I smiled again as he pulled me back to my feet.

Perhaps tonight wouldn’t end badly, I allowed myself to think. It wasn’t my typical ‘friday night scene’, but I had to admit — begrudgingly — that the dance had been enjoyable. And it wasn’t like I’d have a lot of opportunities like tonight in the coming months.

“THANKS FOR THE DANCE!” I called to Adam as we shifted to the side of the dance floor. It was only a single, lower-energy dance, but I was already sweating slightly from the exertion; I had no idea how Dee managed to keep looking so good without any breaks to cool off.

Adam gave me a slightly stilted smile and nodded.

And then, without a further word or a glance back, he turned and walked to the other side of the bar and started making conversation with a different girl.

I sighed. It wasn’t like he owed me anything more, or that I had necessarily hoped for something different…but it was still disappointing. I looked around the bar, noting both Dee and Bernie were still on the dance floor, occupied with their respective partners.

And then, with only a small sigh to mark the end of an era, I walked out the side door into the brisk night air.

It was a sad and lonely ending to the last full day I would have with my two roommates, though I supposed it wasn’t inappropriate. I’d long been accustomed to my two friends dragging me out of my comfort zone, and this wouldn’t be the first time I walked home alone. It was a Friday night in a small college town just after graduation; there were enough partying students, many of them with their families, that I felt safe enough to walk the three blocks between the bar and our apartment by myself. Even so, I clutched the small canister of mace linked to my keychain as I walked.

The evening’s festivities had been going strong since Dee walked across the graduation stage six hours earlier, the last of our little group to accept her diploma — or rather, to accept the piece of paper that promised a diploma would soon be in the mail. Regardless, it had been a long and full day of fun with my friends, and my social batteries had long since dried up. I was more than ready to grab some tea, curl up under one of my favorite blankets, and read for an hour or two before drifting off in my familiar bed. It was my favorite way to end any evening.

Yet despite the anticipated comfort, why did I feel so regretful of each step that took me further from the bar?

It was normal to miss my friends on the last day we had together. Normal to feel wistful of the soon-to-be-in-the-past good times. Yet this was more than that, I knew.

I’d had plenty of time to come to grips with our coming separation. Each of us had had our respective jobs — or in Dee’s case, her plans — lined up for the last six months. Dee would be traveling across the world, fully embracing the nomad lifestyle, courtesy of her social-media following and the brands that believed her following to be market-appropriate for their products. Beatrice had a solid job lined up a few states over at the same company as her fiancé, though personally I didn’t think that would last very long. I didn’t doubt that her dream of becoming a stay-at-home mom would be delayed for much longer now that she was out of college.

As for me? I would stay here, in the same town I graduated from, librarian at the campus library.

It wasn’t a bad job. It was practically everything a younger me could’ve dreamed of; Mrs. Evergreen was planning to retire within the next five years, which meant I had an almost guaranteed shot at her head librarian position, provided that I didn’t do anything stupid to jeopardize it.

Which…wasn’t likely. Without my two roommates nearby to lead me astray, I was more likely to be magically transported to a fantasy land than poke a single toe out of line.

Which, I knew, was the issue. I sighed again.

It wasn’t just that I would be missing my friends. I would be missing them. But I would also be missing the chaos they brought to my life.

True, it wasn’t usually comfortable, and more nights than this one ended up with me walking home alone. But as miserable as the shenanigans could occasionally be…I never regretted them. All of my fondest memories of the last four years started with my two friends dragging me along on a wild ‘adventure’: Dee demanding a two a.m. Taco Bell run or Beatrice deciding that fourteen hours each way wasn’t too long of a drive to see the Grand Canyon. Even those ‘adventures’ that didn’t have as happy of resolutions, the ones that ended more similar to tonight, I usually ended up looking back fondly upon after gaining a bit of distance.

That was what I was mourning the end of. I was self-aware enough to know I wouldn’t be seeking out similar adventures on my own, not without the close friends nearby to drag me into them. And the odds of finding more friends like Beatrice and Dee…

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I shook my head. The fact that we went long enough without killing each other our freshman year to become friends was a minor miracle, a miracle I didn’t expect to be repeated.

No, once my friends left town the following day and I moved into my new, smaller solo-apartment, I fully expected to settle into a life much tamer than the one I lived for the preceding four years. A quiet life, filled with diligence in my job, polite acquaintances and coworkers, and safe and relaxing hobbies to fill my time. Perhaps I would find a romantic partner somewhere down the line; it was unlikely to be as spontaneous and fun as Beatrice’s, or as passionate as Dee’s various flings, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be its own kind of pleasant.

The Carly of a few years prior might have been satisfied with that life. Might have even seen it as the ideal life, the best option anyone could have hoped for. But the Carly of a few years prior hadn’t lived the experiences of the Carly of today. And the Carly of today found the future that was staring her down…less than optimal.

I frowned, startled from my thoughts as I realized that while I was metaphorically staring down the future, I was physically staring down something very different. There had been plenty of cars driving down the road as I’d walked, but I was now in a more suburban area, so it was unusual to see lights so raised off the ground, in a position typically reserved for eighteen-wheelers.

It was probably some kid driving the lifted truck their parents bought them, and I shifted a little further to the inside of the sidewalk in case their decision-making with drinking and driving was as sound as their financial wisdom. Yet the headlights were still pointed directly at me, and getting closer — fast.

By the time I realized I needed to dodge, it was too late. The fluorescent beams wobbled as the truck’s front tires popped the curb, turning the night to day as I futilely raised a hand in protest of the onrushing ton of metal.

And then all I saw was white.

----------------------------------------

“…where am I?”

It took me a while to ask that question. Or maybe it didn’t — somehow, the passing of time didn’t feel quite right in wherever I had found myself. Regardless, some amount of not-time had passed before I managed to gain my wits and ask the obvious question.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer you’d find satisfactory, at least not in the time we have,” the man(?) sitting across from me responded. I called him a man, but he was only a man in the same way that time seemed to be passing in this place — bearing a vague resemblance, but different enough that I was mentally searching for an alternative term. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find one that seemed appropriate.

In all the ways that mattered, he seemed like a normal, clean-shaven man. Yet beyond those most basic traits — the fact that he had eyes, ears, a nose, etc. — I couldn’t pin down anything specific about him. It wasn’t that those traits were changing; they were the same each time I managed to work up the courage to look directly at him. But my mind couldn’t seem to grasp what I was looking at, the specifics of his features, or even if he was a he, slipping through my fingers and leaving only a residue behind.

“Are you…God?” I asked with some hesitance. I came from a Catholic background, but I wouldn’t consider myself religious. But as one of the few graduates of one of the only four-year library science programs, I had of course read through the the most popular book on the planet, as well as a multitude of other religious texts. And while nothing about the man across from me especially reminded me of anything from those texts, the whiteness of the room around me did look similar to how popular media often portrayed ‘heaven’.

“Oh, no, definitely not,” the man(?) responded with an emphatic shake of his head. “I’m just here to help you along in your moment of trouble. You can call me Abner.”

“Nice to meet you, Abner,” I automatically responded. “I’m Carly.”

“I’m aware,” Abner replied with a smile.

But I just frowned. Because I’d covered the where and the who — all that was left was the why.

“…am I dead?”

And for the first time, Abner displayed something other than calm surety, as he hesitated before responding. “Not…quite.”

Not that I could exactly figure out how I could read his emotions without registering his features, but that was the vibe I got…somehow.

“Not quite? What do you mean?” It went against my instincts, being so confrontational with someone I had only just met. But I had had a stressful night; a little rudeness was warranted. “I was walking home from the bar, and headlights were coming for me. I was about to get hit by the truck.”

“And you are still about to get hit by the truck. You can think of this as a temporary limbo, outside the normal flow of time. If you so choose, I can send you right back where you were, a moment before impact.”

“I have a choice?”

“Of course. You always have a choice — you just may not see or like your options.” He leaned back in his chair, at which point I realized I was sitting in a chair of my own across from him, and folded his hands across his stomach. “I am managing a program. One to re-home certain people who would otherwise meet a premature end, were it not for my intervention. Not everyone gets this opportunity, though. Very specific conditions must be met for me to intervene — and, lucky you, you qualified!”

I wasn’t feeling particularly lucky, but I didn’t say that aloud. I was starting to suspect that Abner had a large amount of power over my future — something I probably should have realized much earlier — and it would be best if I didn’t antagonize him. “Re-home? What does that mean?”

“New body, new life, new world — basically, you get a fresh start. A clean slate, as it were, entirely divorced from your original life, in an entirely new world. I don’t have too much control over where you end up, and can’t answer any questions about it, so don’t ask; I manage the ‘intake’ side of things. But basically, if you accept, I’ll send you off to start your life over somewhere new.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll send you back to your body. There’s a chance you’ll survive — I’m not omniscient. But that truck was going over eighty kilometers per hour; you’ve got some serious hospital time ahead of you no matter what.” I frowned, though not for the reason he might’ve expected.

“Kilometers per hour?”

“Ah, sorry. I forgot you’re American. Fifty miles per hour.”

And now I was really annoyed. Bad enough that someone had been driving that fast on the suburban streets right outside my apartment the night after graduation — it was a miracle whoever was driving only hit me. But on top of that, whoever managed this ‘limbo’ place used metric units…

I shook my head, attempting to refocus on what was important.

“So I can either go back as if nothing happened…or choose to reincarnate in a new world?”

“No, not reincarnate. That’s not a thing. There are certain rules with stuff like this, rules I don’t have the power to bend, and that’s one of them — each person gets one, and only one. Life is for the living. Once you die, you move on.” He hesitated. “There are occasionally exceptions, but they are few and far between. And they’re not something I have the power or authority to approve.”

I frowned, glossing over that last ominous bit, and asked about the part that interested me. “Move on? Move on to where? What happens when you die?” It hadn’t been something I’d previously spent too much time considering, but I was suddenly finding the information much more urgent.

But Abner just smiled. “Sorry, no spoilers. That’s for the dead to know. Right now, you have to make your choice. Would you like to return to where you were? Or start over somewhere new?”

I rubbed at my eyes. I wasn’t prepared to make such a huge decision. A few minutes(?) earlier I was considering my future on Earth, and now I was being asked to consider leaving it all behind?

“It still sounds like reincarnation to me,” I commented to hopefully buy myself more time. I wasn’t sure if there was a time limit, and I didn’t honestly know what I was buying myself time to think about, regardless.

“It is a…nuanced difference,” Abner conceded. “But an important one. You’ll still have your memories from Earth. You’re still technically living the same life — just in a different body in a different location.”

“Each person gets one.”

“Exactly.”

I sighed. “Is it even a choice, then? Who would choose almost certain death?”

“You might be surprised. But I take it that isn’t your choice?”

“No, it’s not.”

“I need you to say it.”

I took a deep breath. “I choose a new body in a new world.”

Abner nodded and smiled at me, before looking down at something on the table (where did that come from??) in front of him. “Very good. Just give me a minute, and we’ll get you sent off. And for what it’s worth, I think you made the correct decision.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I leaned back into my chair as he worked on whatever it was that needed to be worked on.

I was still trying to get a hold of my thoughts and emotions. I’d already been off-balance from graduation and the impending departure of my friends, and being hit by a truck — or almost being hit — hadn’t helped. Frankly, I wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t some weird fever dream, even though it was like no dream I’d ever experienced.

I hadn’t been lying when talking to Abner. To me, the choice was obvious. A mystery life in a new world versus almost certain death — a hundred times out of a hundred, I would choose the former. Even if I by some miracle survived the accident, the best case scenario was that I’d be in a hospital for a few weeks, and my insurance was cheap enough that I’d likely be swimming in debt or the courts — most likely both — for months or years trying to get them to pay out. And that wasn’t even considering the odds of being permanently handicapped by my injuries.

I would miss my friends and my old life. But given the situation, the choice was obvious.

What was less obvious, however, was what I would choose if I weren’t about to be hit by a truck.

It was purely hypothetical, of course. There was no way for me to avoid the collision, not unless Abner was lying about…well…pretty much everything. But if it were possible…I found my decision wouldn’t be quite as clear-cut.

Which was its own sort of surprise.

When given the choice between my current comfortable life and a complete dice roll of a new life, why would I choose to gamble? I was no adrenaline junkie or gambling addict. I’d never gotten into the gatcha games that others found so addicting. What possible reason could I have for even hesitating to choose my old life?

Yet, as I sat, waiting for Abner to finish whatever he was working on, considering that hypothetical…I found myself more than hesitating.

Just minutes before, I had been staring down my future. I had been set to live an objectively good life, a life of privilege and comfort. One that, at one point, would have been everything I could have ever wanted. Yet now, after having that future forcefully yanked from me…I was feeling relief.

A chance to start over. A chance to, perhaps, point myself toward a future that wasn’t quite so boring. So safe.

“Abner,” I called, and he looked up from his desk.

“Yes?”

“You said you don’t have much control over the life I end up with, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“But you have some control, then?”

He hesitated, frowning. “I can make requests, but I cannot guarantee anything. Anything too specific likely won’t happen.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. I was pretty sure it was just my imagination, but in that moment, I thought I could feel two sets of hands on my shoulders, hands familiar from our years together as roommates, gently pushing me forward. Into the unknown.

“If it’s all the same, could you make the new life…challenging?” Abner’s frown morphed into something unreadable. “Not necessarily terrible, and I don’t want to be miserable. I’m not a masochist,” I hurried to add, babbling. “But I’d like to be pushed. To be challenged more than I was in this life…I’d like an adventure.”

I forced my mouth to shut and then slowly looked up at the man(?) across from me.

His smile was wide and ominous.

“Now that is a request I believe I can accommodate.”