Between Worlds

Chapter 1: In the Void

Yep. I'm dead. Don't know how, why, or when it happened, but here I am, waiting for ol' God to show up. What a way to start, huh?

Oh, wait, I'm being rude. I didn't even introduce myself. Hi, I'm Sky. I'm 24. I know, I know- "Sky, 24, dead." Real original. Look, if you're judging me for dying at 24, that's on you. I didn't write the script for this. Actually, wait. Who did write this? Author? You got something to say about this? No? Alright then, moving on.

So, if I had to describe the place where the Author dumped me, it's basically a giant, empty white void with a table and three chairs. Why three chairs? No idea. Maybe it's symbolic or something. Anyway, I sit down in one of them because-what else am I supposed to do? That's when a hologram of God suddenly pops up in the chair across from me. And what do I do? I immediately fall off my chair. Yeah, let's call that "grace under pressure."

God sighs like He's already tired of my nonsense. "Hello, I'm God. I've done a lot of these today, so let's just-"

"Wait, how many people die a day?" I interrupt, because priorities, right?

God gives me this look-the kind of look that makes you question every life choice you've ever made, especially interrupting God. "Enough to annoy me if you interrupt again. Let's cut to the chase. You've got three options. First, you can go get judged-heaven or hell. Judging by this interaction, though, I'm leaning toward hell for you."

Well, that escalated quickly.

"Second option: you go back to Earth and live as an animal of your choice. You can't be human again, obviously. You'll live through the entire lineup of animals until you run out, and then you'll get judged."

Did I just get a cosmic zoo option?

"Last option: you live in a simulation that you control. You get to call the shots on everything-except your death. When you die, you go get judged. Same deal."

And here I am, reader, wondering why I can't just skip the whole judgment thing entirely. Like, what's the return policy on this? Do I get store credit?

"I'm gonna go get judged," I say with a shrug.

At this exact moment, somewhere in the multiverse, two branches of reality split off: one where I pick the animal route and end up as, like, a slug or something, and another where I live in a simulation and try not to go insane with godlike power.

But hey, that's not your problem... yet.

I find myself falling through the fucking floor. Yep, just falling. What did I do to deserve this? No clue. I tumble through the void like a sock in the dryer, arms flailing, desperately hoping my life choices didn't lead to this eternal whoops, gravity's broken situation. Then, out of nowhere, I spot a figure. Not God, thankfully-oh hell no, not God. Trust me, I'm not about to start that conversation. Anyway, sue me-actually, please don't. I'm broke.

So, this guy-let's call him "Budget Angel"-gestures toward this pedestal like it's some sort of magical fix-all. He goes, "Put your hand on this pedestal," and I'm like, "Sure, what could possibly go wrong?" Spoiler alert: everything.

But a pedestal rises from the ground like it's auditioning for a Vegas show, and I slap my hand on it, feeling more like a game show contestant than a fallen soul. Somehow, by the skin of my teeth (or, wings? Nope, no wings yet-don't jump ahead), I barely make it to heaven. Yeah, I know, I sound arrogant, but hey, I was a cop, so silver linings, right? Or maybe golden linings, since, y'know, heaven.

Cue falling again. But this time, it's worse-longer, more dramatic. I mean, if there's a theme here, it's that heaven has terrible flooring. Finally, wings sprout from my back and a halo just pops out like it's standard issue. Real subtle, Heaven. Real subtle. I float down, feathers everywhere, which, by the way, is so cliché it physically hurts.

As I land, there's a staircase in front of me. Two, actually. One leads up, and the other down. Gee, I wonder which is which. Before I can even make a choice, I hear this obnoxious laughter. It's unmistakably God (the capital-G one this time). "You really thought you'd get in without a staircase?" he says, between fits of laughter. Oh, and then there's the kicker: "You could also walk into hell. It's easier." Real motivational speech there, God. And then, in what can only be described as the most passive-aggressive muttering in divine history, he mumbles, "More suitable, too."

"I HEARD THAT!" I shout back, because yes, I will yell at God. Is that blasphemy? Eh, add it to the list.

So, after what feels like an actual eternity-but is probably like, I don't know, 10 minutes, because time has officially lost all meaning-I finally make it to the pearly gates. And wow, are they predictable. Gold, shiny, the works. Just like every cheap motivational poster from Sunday school. I'm not even mad, just... disappointed.

"Of course," I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes so hard I swear I pull a muscle. "Author," I cough, glaring up at the invisible force writing this disaster, fully breaking the fourth wall because, at this point, what's another broken thing in this journey?

And there I am. At the gates of heaven. No fanfare, no party poppers, just me, my wings, my attitude, and the vague sense that I'm definitely in the wrong story.