Well, isn't this just the cherry on top of my already bizarre day? One minute, I'm on a foggy boat ride to who-knows-where, and the next, I'm waking up to the calming sound of waves like I've just arrived at a tropical resort—minus the resort part. The beach is pristine, a perfect postcard of white sand, but something tells me I'm not here to sip cocktails and work on my tan.
I glance behind, half-expecting the black fog to give me that mysterious, "you'll never escape" vibe, but no. It decides to clear up, leaving me with an endless stretch of ocean. Oh, and look, my watch is still on my wrist. Yay? Except the swirling whirlpool it once had is gone. Just a black void now—totally not ominous at all.
Just what I needed, a wrist-sized reminder that this little "journey" isn't done playing tricks on me.
I get off the boat, because what else am I going to do? Naturally, I start my own personal episode of Survivor: Where's Amy? Spoiler alert: she's nowhere to be found. This island is barren—no trees, no rocks, just a white wasteland with a side of a creepy wooden cottage. I circle the place, calling out for Amy like she's going to pop out of a cupboard or something. But surprise, surprise, she's not here.
Starting to think my day couldn't get any better? Think again.
Cue the dramatic entrance: a ball of light just appears out of nowhere. Grows bigger until it's human-sized. And then, a metallic creature steps out of it. It speaks, and of course, it's got a name. "Checkpoint."
So, Checkpoint here gives me a chipper "Welcome to Sandbox," like I'm checking into some twisted amusement park. "A place between the worlds," it says. Oh, lovely, so I'm stuck in some inter-dimensional purgatory.
I respond with the classic "What?" because, really, what?
And then Checkpoint drops the bombshell: "You died."
Yep, just like that. Casual as ordering a coffee. I, naturally, have some questions. Like, "Wait what? I am dead?" And, "Who exactly are you again?"
"Yes, you died. And I am Checkpoint. Follow me, Ma will see you soon."
As I try to process the fact that I'm dead, I ask about Amy. I mean, priorities, right? "Did she die too?"
"Ma will explain everything," Checkpoint reveals. It's comforting in the way that getting a tetanus shot is comforting—necessary, but not really what I'm looking for right now.
As we stroll toward the cottage—Checkpoint practically dragging me along like it's showing me to my room—I ask, "What will happen now?"
Checkpoint's response? "Ma will inform you of what happens next." Oh, fabulous. Just keep the suspense going, why don't you?
Naturally, I'm curious about this Ma.
"Who is Ma?" I ask, hoping for a little more than vague reassurances.
Checkpoint delivers, in its usual monotonous fashion: "Ma is The Maker. She created you."
Well, that's some answer. "She made me?" I ask.
"Yes, she's Ma, The Maker," Checkpoint confirms.
We finally get inside the cottage, and guess what? It's empty. Perfect. Just what I needed—a deserted, dusty old house to mull over the fact that I'm dead. Checkpoint, continuing with the script, tells me to relax.
"Be comfortable, relax, and clear your mind.
You have lots, and lots, and lots of time,"
Oh, yay, because having all the time in the world has never made anyone go insane, right?
As Checkpoint turns to leave, I'm bursting with more questions. But before I can even get them out, Checkpoint has to drop a little poem on me.
YOU ARE READING
Serenus - Sarcastic Newcomer Edition
FantasySo, here we are, all of us, lost in this mystical realm with zero memory of where we came from. It's like we all took the world's worst vacation, and now nobody can find their way back home. And guess what we have to guide us? A poem. Because why bo...
