I didn’t wake up in a glowing throne room or in the embrace of a celestial goddess. No, I came to in a waiting room. A waiting room so aggressively ordinary that it somehow wrapped back around to extraordinary. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige chairs—the sort of décor that might inspire furniture catalog captions like “Minimalism meets existential crisis.”
The air was filled with an odd buzz—not quite white noise, not quite silence—like the faint hum of a refrigerator or a secret whispered just out of earshot. Around me, an assortment of glowing shapes floated, bobbing gently like jellyfish in a slow-motion current. Their forms pulsed faintly—some with calm, rhythmic lights, others flickering like a loose bulb. Souls, I supposed, though they didn’t feel like the stuff of poems or ghost stories. More… functional.
I might have stood there forever, or floated—my concept of a body seemed nebulous—if not for the crackling intercom that cut through the haze.
“Now serving number… 247A at Window 13,” announced a voice that managed to sound bored and overworked at the same time.
I glanced—or thought I did—downward and noticed something in my grasp. My… grasp? Where my hands should have been, there were vague, glowing appendages, faintly shaped like my original limbs but lacking finer details. It was as if my soul had tried to remember what hands looked like and given up halfway through. In these appendages, I held a slip of paper, folded slightly at the edges and marked with the number 953X. There was no way to tell how far that put me from Window 13, but the numbers didn’t feel promising. I tucked the slip closer, or at least I thought I did, and turned my attention to the room.
It was packed. Souls drifted aimlessly or gathered in small clusters, some exchanging murmurs, others emitting faint tones that didn’t translate into anything comprehensible. No one seemed particularly excited to be here, but then again, it wasn’t exactly the sort of place that encouraged excitement.
A blob of teal with a jagged flicker to its edge floated by, and I decided to try my luck. “Excuse me,” I said, holding up my number—or pretending to, as my ‘hand’ still didn’t feel entirely functional. “Any idea what we’re waiting for?”
The teal soul paused, vibrating faintly as if considering the question. Then, without a sound, it floated off in the other direction. Right. Not much for conversation, these blobs.
Up ahead, the faint glow of a desk caught my eye. It stretched across the room like a barrier, with multiple windows set into it. Behind one, I spotted a clerk—a vaguely humanoid figure sitting beneath a flickering bulb, shuffling what appeared to be paperwork. They moved with the energy of someone halfway through an eternal shift.
Curiosity nudged me forward. I drifted closer to the desk, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. A shimmering green soul with antlers hovered in front of one of the windows, speaking—or perhaps emitting—something toward the clerk.
“What?” the clerk said, their tone clipped. “No, you don’t get extra credit for dying dramatically. Next.”
The antlered soul shrank slightly, its glow dimming as it floated away. The clerk leaned back in their chair, rubbing what might have been their temples. For a moment, I hesitated, unsure whether approaching the desk was even allowed. The lack of lines made everything feel oddly informal, though that didn’t make it less intimidating.
I glanced at my number again, the slip of paper suddenly heavier than it had any right to be. Around me, the murmur of souls continued, blending into the hum of the lights above. Behind the desk, the clerk was already gesturing for the next soul to approach, their movements efficient but tired. It was like watching the world’s slowest, least enthusiastic factory line.
I took a deep breath—or the soul-equivalent of one—and started moving toward the desk.
---
I drifted closer to the desk, the slip of paper still held in my vaguely hand-shaped appendage. The clerk at the window was busy with another soul, flipping through a stack of forms and gesturing occasionally to a chart on the wall. The chart had boxes and arrows that overlapped so many times it looked like the result of a confused spider spinning its web.
“Number?” the clerk asked, their voice flat and mechanical.
“953X,” I replied, holding up the paper.
The clerk stopped, looked up sharply, and blinked. “You’re out of sequence,” they said, gesturing toward the glowing board behind them, which displayed 247D in bright, flickering letters.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—” I began, stepping—or rather floating—backward.
The clerk raised a hand, cutting me off. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Might as well get started.”
They pulled a clipboard from somewhere below the desk and slid it toward me through the slot in the glass. The pen attached to it dangled from a chain so short it seemed almost insulting. I glanced at the clipboard, its surface blank except for a single line at the top that read: Full Name, Including Heroic Titles.
“Name?” the clerk asked, pen poised.
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“Simon,” I said, my voice echoing faintly in my head.
The clerk didn’t write. “Full name,” they said again, this time more slowly, as though I might have missed something.
“Simon Harper,” I offered, still unsure where this was going.
The clerk sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose—or where a nose might be, had their face not been obscured by a faint shimmer. “Full name, including heroic titles,” they clarified, their tone heavy with repetition.
“Heroic titles?” I repeated, baffled.
They jabbed a thumb toward a rack of pamphlets nearby. “Didn’t read the orientation material, did you?”
I grabbed one of the pamphlets, my appendages clumsily turning its glossy pages. The cover proclaimed: Welcome to Your Afterlife! Reclaim Your Glory in Just 47 Easy Steps! Inside was a series of diagrams that made the chart on the wall look simplistic, interspersed with unhelpful phrases like Maximize Your Potential! and Harness the Hero Within!
“I think there’s been a mistake,” I said, setting the pamphlet down. “I’m not a hero. I’m just… a guy. A dad. I live in the suburbs, I barbecue on weekends, and my daughter makes me watch cartoons with unicorns. I really just need to get home.”
The clerk didn’t flinch. They stared at me for a long moment, then said, “Line 7.”
“What’s Line 7?” I asked, trying to make sense of the glowing signs and chaotic room.
“Verification of Heroic Intent,” they replied, as if that clarified everything. “Go down the hall and take a right. Can’t miss it.”
“I don’t have heroic intent,” I said, gripping my paper tightly.
“Then it’ll be quick,” they said with a shrug, already waving the next soul forward.
I hovered in place, torn between pressing the issue and simply walking—or floating—away. Around me, other souls moved past, their murmurs blending into the faint hum of the room. A shimmering blob of yellow light floated up to the clerk, holding what looked like a glowing scroll, and began emitting a sound like static.
The clerk nodded, scrawled something on a form, and gestured toward another hallway. I took a hesitant step back, but the clerk glanced at me again. “Line 7,” they repeated, this time with a hint of finality.
I turned toward the hallway they’d mentioned. It loomed ahead, impossibly long, its edges faintly glowing like the horizon at dawn. A steady, low hum emanated from it, rhythmic and unnerving. The sign above the entrance flickered faintly, its letters twisting between Line 7 and something unreadable.
Behind me, the intercom sputtered to life. “Now serving number… 248A at Window 2.”
I clutched my slip of paper, the number standing out sharply against its surface, and moved toward the hallway. Whatever Verification of Heroic Intent meant, I had the distinct feeling I wasn’t going to like it.
---
The hallway labeled Line 7 seemed to stretch on forever, fading into a haze of soft, golden light. The hum I’d heard earlier grew louder as I moved closer, though it didn’t sound mechanical. It was more like a low chant or maybe the distant sound of waves, rhythmic and steady. The edges of the hallway shimmered faintly, as though it were carved out of glass, and the air carried an electric charge that prickled faintly against whatever passed for my skin.
I hesitated at the entrance, glancing back toward the waiting room. Souls drifted here and there, none of them sparing me a second glance. The intercom sputtered again, announcing, “Now serving number… 248B at Window 9.” There was no going back, not unless I fancied starting this whole interaction over. And frankly, the thought of dealing with that clerk again wasn’t particularly appealing.
Taking a deep breath—or its spectral equivalent—I stepped—or floated—into the hallway.
It wasn’t quite like walking. I had some semblance of motion, a rhythm to how I moved, but my body—or soul, or whatever—seemed to adjust to the space as if guided by an unseen current. The hum grew softer as I advanced, blending into a faint whisper, like voices just barely audible. I strained to hear, but the words slipped away as soon as I tried to make sense of them.
Doors lined the hallway on either side, spaced irregularly and glowing faintly. Each was marked with a symbol that seemed to shift when I looked at it, twisting between shapes and letters that I couldn’t quite grasp. One door pulsed with a slow, steady rhythm, its surface rippling like water. Another emitted a faint hum, the sound deep and resonant, vibrating through the air. I kept moving, unsure whether I was supposed to interact with any of them.
The air around me grew thicker as I continued, like wading through a dream. My paper slip glowed faintly in my hand—my appendage?—and seemed to pulse in time with the hum of the hallway. I wondered, not for the first time, what exactly I was supposed to be verifying.
Ahead, the hallway narrowed slightly, its walls pressing closer together. A faint light shone at the far end, flickering like candlelight. I paused, glancing at the doors nearest to me. One was ajar, its light spilling into the hallway in faint streaks of green. I edged closer, peering inside.
The room beyond was impossibly vast, a sprawling space that didn’t match the size of the hallway at all. Shelves stretched toward a ceiling I couldn’t see, filled with objects that glowed faintly—jewels, weapons, books, and things I couldn’t even begin to name. The air smelled faintly of something sweet and metallic, like rain on stone.
“Not your stop,” came a voice, low and calm.
I turned sharply—if something as nebulous as my current form could be said to turn—and saw a figure standing just beyond the doorway. They weren’t quite human. Their shape flickered, edges blurring like a mirage, but their eyes were steady, glowing faintly as they regarded me.
“What is this place?” I asked, my voice soft.
“Not for you,” the figure replied, gesturing toward the hallway. “Keep moving.”
I hesitated, but the figure didn’t move or speak again. Finally, I nodded—or thought I did—and stepped back into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind me, its glow fading slightly.
The light at the end of the hallway grew brighter as I moved closer, and the hum became a steady pulse, like a heartbeat. The walls narrowed further, and for a moment, I felt a faint pang of something—fear? Apprehension? I gripped my paper slip tightly, its glow steady in my grasp, and pressed forward.
Finally, the hallway opened into a wide chamber, its walls smooth and shining like polished stone. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, its surface glowing faintly. Above it, a swirling orb of light hovered, its colors shifting and twisting like an oil slick in sunlight.
I paused at the threshold, my pulse—or its equivalent—quickening. The air here was heavier, thrumming with energy. I didn’t know what I was meant to do, but as I stepped into the room, the orb brightened, and the light seemed to reach out toward me, curling like tendrils of smoke.
Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard the clerk’s voice echo faintly, their words distorted and overlapping: “Verification of Heroic Intent…”
The light surrounded me, and the hum grew louder until it filled every corner of my awareness. For a moment, everything else fell away—the waiting room, the hallway, the clerk, even the slip of paper in my grasp. The orb pulsed once, twice, and then everything went white.
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