Heaven ── TOM HOLLAND

01. A New Life

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      He was unsure of what to expect.

      A part of him believed he'd made a mistake, and perhaps he'd awake the next morning to feel the regret and tinge of sadness in the pit of his stomach of what he'd almost done. He'd feel the sunlight beaming down on his face, and embrace his best friend as he wept about why he tried to do such a thing. He'd lay in his bed, his dog cuddled beside him, unaware of the depression that'd begin to swallow him whole once more.

      But none of that happened.

      He'd always viewed himself as a good person, so he expected that if there was a life after death, he would spend his in heaven. There were many different perceptions of the unknown place, most involving a bright light shining down on you before you're welcomed into the warmth. Others believed you were to be greeted by past relatives who also resided in heaven, or perhaps you're surrounded by a plethora of your favorite things. However, none involved crashing onto the ground so harshly it'd most likely be leaving a bruise.

      His eyes snapped open, a groan escaping his lips from the impact at which he'd hit the floor. He eventually sat up, eyes taking in his environment, all too aware that he was not home anymore. This place looked nothing like home; in fact, all of the furniture was white, the walls bare of any photos like those that adorned his home. His eyes eventually landed on a screen that was propped up on a nearby table, the words "Hi Tom Holland!" displayed.

      Slowly, he rose from the ground, eyes still cautious of his surroundings. He advanced to where the screen was perched, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He tapped the screen, eyes widening as it switched to another screen. "Welcome to your life after death, please be patient and wait for your advisor!"

      That's when it hit him. He was dead. Either that, or somebody had been aware of what he'd done and played a sick joke. He stumbled away from the display, a sudden rush of dizziness hitting him. In a panic, he rushed to the window, his breathe catching in this throat at the sight. It was winter, so why was all the green green? Why were there leaves on the trees? Where were the skyscrapers and bustling crowds?

      "This can't be happening," He breathed, gripping onto a nearby table. He put a hand to his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected there. "This isn't real. It can't be."

      Then the door was thrown up, chatter filling the room. He quickly stood to his feet, getting in a defensive stance as three strangers stepped into the room. Their talking had stopped once their eyes landed on him, a wide eyed boy drenched in sweat.

      He immediately frowned as they stared at him, none of the three looking as if they were there to attack the boy. His eyes snapped to the tallest of the three, a tan male with a thick beard, as he spoke, "Wow, you are not as cute as the picture." He shook his head in displeasure, Tom instinctively taking a step back when the unknown male stepped forward. His reaction brought a smile to the man's face, and he turned to a girl with a clipboard in her hands. "Nervous, good luck with this one." He focused on Tom once more, waving a hand at him. "I'm Mateo Garcia; activist, model, and puppy lover."