Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Death · #2146056
Note: This is FICTION. It's not an opinion, and I don't mean to offend anyone religious.
I walked to the kerb and looked carefully left and right - you must understand, it wasn't my fault. It was all him, nothing to do with me.
I was careful.
The driver, though, was not.
It was a pedestrian crossing! I checked the road! I did everything my mother drilled into me as a kid!
That is what I told them, later.
I flipped a hand in thanks at the driver of the car that stopped and waited for me to cross.
I began to walk.
Another car came barreling around the corner and raced forward, crashing into the back of the car that waited and sending it skidding forward.
It smashed into my hip and I felt a crack.
The other car was trying to push it's way past with sheer force, and I could hear sirens.
It was neither of those cars that killed me, though.
It was, ironically, the police.
I learnt later that they were a young, inexperienced, newbie.
They didn't see me, on the road.
I won't go any further, instead I will take you forward in time, to What Came Next.

It was... white.
Not clouds - apparently, that's a myth - just... white.
It seemed to be a room.
A man, still dressed in white, walked up to me.
'NEW ARRIVAL!' he hollered, shattering the stillness.
I had a suspicion I was dreaming, so I just went along with it.
After all, if something happens to you in a dream (car accident, for instance) you just wake up, right?
I was taken to another all white room and told gently what had happened to me. The briefing went like this:
'You're dead.'
'What? Wait, what? Carry on talking! WHAT?'
'Take her to the next guy.'
See? Broken to me gently.
By this time, I just wanted something with color. Any color. Even if it was putrid green.
But no. Only white my eyes did see.
The next guy looked like an orangutan, and smelt like one too.
He led me to a room lined with tanks.
And in these tanks... were bodies.
Real, human, bodies.
And one of them looked like Einstein.
There was a queue in front of this one. Eight or nine people, dressed in white clothes, lined up in front of one that looked like Einstein.
'Right.' said the orangutan. 'Would you like a high level - in which case the maximum you'll be here is 1007 years - or a low level, which would mean you could leave now.'
I couldn't stand another hour of that white, let alone 1007 years of it, so I told him low level.
I should have just waited.
The took me around and showed me various bodies with no queues, and I picked this one.
I was grafted to the conscience, and sent down to earth.
That is when this body was born.
As soon as the light of day hit me, I was supposed to forget.
But something must have gone wrong with the grafting, because I remember everything.
And, probably, as soon as they find out I remember they will find a way for this life to end.
So you might not hear from me again.
Don't let my story die with me - spread the word.
But not too loudly, or they might come after you, too.
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