This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3ri6InceAr
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Jane scoffed. “No way. Do you know what I was for most of my life? I was—”
“—a project manager,” Death finished for her. “I know.”
“Why on Earth—”
“We’re not on Earth.”
“—would I ever continue doing that now that I’m dead? What kind of stunt is this? You’re supposed to take me to my promised reward!”
Eternity had given Death an infinite amount of patience, and they were putting it to good use as they spoke with candidate number 142,507,289. It wasn’t that she was particularly bothersome or annoying, just that repeating the same conversation enough times became more of a chore than a delight. They’d stopped counting the number of times they’d been asked, “What’s the meaning of life?” as though they too didn’t just exist here. “As a project manager, you undoubtedly have had much experience with employees that don’t pull their weight, correct?”
“What’s your point?”
“Do you feel particularly motivated to do anything now that you’re dead?”
“Of course not!”
“Exactly. Now imagine that the creation of the afterlife, and all of its supposed wonders, pleasures, and infinite joys for those who have earned them, was delegated to literal deadheads who keep telling you, ‘Don’t worry, it’s on schedule, I’ll definitely have it done by tomorrow.’”
Jane scrunched up her face, just as Death knew she would. She knew all too well.
“That’s right, Jane. There currently isn’t a reward for you. Just as life is what you make of it, so is unlife, though without all the pesky rules that things like ‘physics’ demands. The first humans to ever die were tasked with creation of the afterlife, but once you die any motivation you might have had is gradually sapped from you. What’s the point of doing anything—even having fun—when you’re dead? It’s not like it matters. Only when you’re alive can you truly experience things, but the afterlife only allows you the memory of those experiences. True, there is pain, but the souls on the other side right now would gladly feel pain than nothing at all if you were to ask them.”
Jane rubbed her knuckles against her forehead. “So that’s it? Go back to my life of drudgery or feel nothing at all?”
“Firstly, your unlife. It’s good to stop thinking in those old terms now. Secondly, yes. More or less. You’ll be standing around in a field with everyone from Joan of Arc to Joseph Goebbels, all mixed together. Someone, bless their still heart, tried putting together a kitchen a couple centuries ago, but the most they could summon food-wise was some thin porridge that they thought tasted like chicken. I’m told its rather bland.”
She quieted, staring at Death with one hand covering her mouth. Death waited patiently for her to speak again. “And what do I get out of this?” she finally said.
Death grinned. They were always grinning, but this moment felt more real. “You get to build your ideal afterlife, along with everyone else I choose for this project.”
Her eyes twinkled with sudden interest, but ever the discerning one, she asked, “And what about yourself? What does Death get?”
Death leaned back in their chair and settled their palms in their lap. “A vacation would be nice. It gets terribly exhausting ferrying every soul to the other side, especially when you look like a walking Halloween prop. Everyone’s terrified of you. Everyone asks the same questions over and over. But nobody ever asks me something as simple as ‘How are you doing?’ They sometimes fight me, too, or challenge me to a game, which I’m obligated to accept. It’s terribly lonely, irritating, and inefficient. Which is why I’m hoping for a more human touch from those such as yourself.
“So, help me accomplish this initiative to gather more reapers and I promise you that not only will you have a hand in designing heaven—literal heaven—but you will also be one of the first on my list for reincarnation as well should you ever come to desire it.”
“Reincarnation is real?”
“Yes, and a real pain in my bony ass. It forces twice the work. I’ve had to severely cut my quota back given the number of new souls that have exploded in recent times; yet another thing I need to delegate.”
Jane stared down at the desk between her and Death, shaking her head at the countless files, ledgers, and… “Good Lord. Are those abacuses?”
Death tilted their head. “What of them?”
Jane took in a deep, tired breath, but she had a fire in her eyes when she looked up. “Ok. Step one, we organize this mess. Do you know what a computer is?”
ns 172.69.7.145da2
→ Request update
and then Add to home screen.