"Hasta la vista, baby."
Yeah... that was my final line.
Kinda anticlimactic, huh?
When you're about to die at twenty-eight, you'd think your brain would flood with flashes of your past—laughter, love, regrets, or some dramatic montage like in the movies.
But for me?
Zilch. Nada. Nothing.
Maybe because I didn't have much to rewind. My life? A highlight reel of crap.
Bullied at the orphanage like I had a sign taped to my back that said
"Kick me emotionally."
Then came school—same crap, different uniform.
And adulthood? Let's just say I clocked into a world that had no intention of letting me clock out happy.
Was I a good person? Eh. I've lied. I've stolen. I've definitely been a jerk.
But was I such a "son of a bitch" that I deserved this?
Stage 4 cancer at 28.
Lying on a hospital bed like a ragged doll waiting to be tossed out. I used to think, "Maybe it's better if I just die."
But even then, I never imagined the end would be… this.
At first, it felt gentle. Like floating in warm water.
Then I realized… I wasn't floating. I was lying down.
And there was nothing. No sound. No light. No up or down. Just… void.
If you're wondering how I know I was lying down—well, let's just say existential horror hits harder when your butt tells you it's on a flat surface.
How long had it been?
Hours? Days?
I estimated three days since I first opened my eyes in this… blank space.
To stay sane (or at least pretend to), I started narrating my own tragic documentary.
"Welcome to The Miserable Adventures of Hal Miller. Watch as he slowly loses his mind in HD!"
…
Time passes weirdly in the void.
I thought I'd been walking for three days. Turns out it was more like six. Or maybe sixty. Who knows anymore?
No hunger. No thirst. No sleep.
No landmarks.
Just steps.
And fear.
...
I screamed every curse I knew until my voice cracked—though I don't know if anyone could even hear it.
"IS THIS PUNISHMENT?! AM I PAYING FOR SOMETHING?!"
No answer.
Just the echo of my own voice bouncing back like a cruel laugh track.
I wanted food.
I wanted a voice—anyone's voice.
I would've traded a kidney for a hamburger.
Wait. Scratch that. Cancer already beat me to it.
…
My name is Hal Miller.
Hal.
Freakin'. Miller.
I chant it like a mantra, as if saying it enough times will anchor me to what's left of reality.
...
ARRRGHHH—
...
Still here? Great.
Dear imaginary audience, thanks for sticking around.
I don't know if I'm walking or standing still anymore. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
Gaps in my memory keep getting worse.
It's like I'm losing time.
And honestly? I'm not sure if that's a blessing.
I'm not hungry, but I crave the sensation of chewing something.
I miss flavor.
Even the cheap instant noodles I used to eat while binge-watching anime in my rundown apartment.
Ah, the peak of human culture.
…
Then… something happened.
A flicker.
A glimmer.
Blue light.
At first, I thought I imagined it.
But no.
It was real.
And it was calling me.
I ran.
I ran like I had somewhere to be. Like if I didn't reach it in time, I'd vanish for good.
It felt like I was running forever.
But the light… never got closer.
"Please… please don't go out... please…"
...
And then—it was close.
Two lanterns. Either side of a door.
A door.
Here. In the void.
Suspicious as hell.
But what choice did I have?
I ran like a lunatic. Adrenaline was my fuel.
The fear of blacking out again my engine.
But when I reached the door…
I stopped.
Frozen.
Terrified.
What's behind it?
Is this salvation? Damnation? A sales pitch?
I raised my hand.
Knock knock.
No answer.
So I opened it.
And that's when everything changed.
The stone door opened with a deep, echoing THUD.
I froze.
Light—blinding light—flooded my vision like a thousand suns decided to flashbang me at once.
After what felt like an eternity in pitch
black, even moonlight would've been intense… but this?
I couldn't even see my own hands.
I threw my arms up to shield my eyes, but it was like trying to block a flood with a napkin.
"Ugh—what is this?! Heaven? Hell? A toothpaste commercial?!"
And then, a voice.
Low. Calm. Clear.
But loud enough to vibrate my bones.
"You…"
It wasn't angry. Not even surprised, really. Just... puzzled. Like someone finding a raccoon in their kitchen.
"…Who are you?" the voice asked.
My eyes were still burning, but I squinted through the light like a mole seeing daylight for the first time.
Who am I?
That's a fair question.
I should be asking you, sparkle-eyes.
But before I could form any words, the figure continued.
"My name is Lorath. Now… tell me yours."
Their tone wasn't aggressive. More like a schoolteacher who's done explaining and just wants you to sit down already.
"Hal. Hal Miller," I said, still blinking like crazy.
And when I could finally see this Lorath character—
I immediately regretted everything bad I'd ever said about anime logic.
Because Lorath?
Lorath looked like a walking contradiction. No, an angelic enigma.
Tall—like, two meters minimum.
Dressed in pure white robes that practically glowed.
Platinum blonde hair that flowed down their shoulders like a shampoo commercial on steroids.
And their eyes…
No, scratch that. Their eye sockets didn't have eyes.
They had suns.
Like actual miniature burning stars swirling in place.
Male? Female? Alien royalty? No idea.
But hot.
Objectively, cosmically, unfairly hot.
Even their confusion looked majestic.
Lorath stood up from behind a desk that looked older than civilization and walked over to me, each step echoing like it had purpose.
I stood still. Not out of courage. Out of sheer, undiluted fear.
"I apologize, I don't mean to interrupt your… paperwork?" I glanced awkwardly at the desk.
"Where… exactly am I?"
"You don't know?" Lorath tilted their head, the suns in their sockets narrowing ever so slightly.
Like a divine cat judging me.
"N-No… I just… woke up in darkness. Walked forever. Found a door. That's it."
Lorath took a step closer.
Then another.
Until they were right in front of me—so close I could smell something faintly like lavender and ozone.
Their gaze pierced into me, and for a moment, I felt like I was being scanned—body, soul, browser history and all.
"Lying is pointless," Lorath said, dead serious. "Now speak."
"I already told you!" I stammered. "I swear I'm not lying! I just… don't know!"
Then they turned, silent as a shadow, and walked back to their desk.
I followed instinctively. Either I was invited… or I was about to be smited.
Lorath flipped through some parchment—wait, no. Not parchment. It looked like pages of light itself, shimmering as they turned.
I tried to sneak a peek.
They were blank.
Completely.
'Poor soul,' I thought. 'Maybe they went crazy waiting for someone like me.'
Then Lorath made a sound. A disapproving tsk.
"Found it."
They didn't look up. Just read aloud:
"Hal Miller. Twenty-eight years old. Cause of death: Cancer. Karma: Balanced. Status: Lost."
I blinked.
"'Lost'?" I repeated.
That word echoed in my skull like someone dropped a piano labeled "TRUTH" on me.
"Ohhh. I get it now!" I said, collapsing to the floor in dramatic surrender.
"You're God, aren't you?!"
Lorath paused.
Then, very slowly, they brought both hands to their temples.
Clearly experiencing divine levels of secondhand embarrassment.
"Get up," they said flatly.
I shot up like a spring-loaded idiot. No questions asked.
"Listen carefully," they continued. "You were supposed to cross into the next realm. But… you got lost."
"Wait… you lost me?" I blurted. "Aren't you… y'know… GOD?"
"I never said that."
Okay, great. So now the maybe-God-but-maybe-cosmic-admin just dropped the ball with my soul like I was misdelivered Amazon Prime. I felt my patience crack like cheap glass.
"I am—" Lorath began, but stopped short. They looked tired. Ageless, but tired.
"As I said. Let's just send you to your proper place. That'll fix the problem."
They raised their hand—elegantly, like they were about to cast a spell.
And that's when I snapped.
Just as Lorath's glowing hand lifted, poised to do whatever divine bureaucrats do—
I lost it.
"YOU GODDAMN—!"
The words exploded from me before I could stop myself.
It was like a dam bursting. Except instead of water, it was pure, unfiltered rage.
"If you weren't so cosmically beautiful, I'd be pounding your perfect face into your even more perfect desk right now!"
Lorath blinked.
Not with eyelids—because apparently divine beings don't need those—but with a flicker in their sun-eyes. Like a server lagging.
"Do you even realize what I went through?!"
I continued, like a machine gun of pent-up suffering.
"I was alone! In pitch-black nothingness! FOR WHO KNOWS HOW LONG! I lost MY MIND—several times!! I argued with myself, with the floor, with imaginary viewers!"
I was practically foaming at the mouth.
Lorath, unfazed, glanced back at the floating sheets of light on the desk. They didn't even look concerned.
In fact, they looked… mildly annoyed.
And then they said the worst thing anyone in this situation could ever say.
"A millennium."
…
"…Excuse me?"
My voice cracked like a boy hitting puberty again.
"A millennium," Lorath repeated, calm as if discussing weather.
"That's how long you spent in the void."
I just… stood there.
Mouth open.
Eyes wide.
Brain buffering.
"…Wait. Did you just say—a thousand years?"
Lorath nodded.
I staggered backward like I'd been physically punched.
My mind tried to process it. Failed. Tried again.
And then… snapped.
I looked at my hands.
Not wrinkled. Not aged. Still twenty-eight-year-old me.
But the weight of those years—those centuries—felt heavy. Crushing.
And then, I laughed.
Soft at first. A tiny giggle.
Then louder. And louder.
Until I was full-on villain cackling.
Eyes wide. Face flushed. Hands on my face like I was in a horror movie poster.
Lorath tilted their head.
For the first time, they couldn't read me. Couldn't hear my thoughts.
Which—judging by their expression—disturbed them more than anything I'd said so far.
That was when I lunged.
"You… YOU LET ME ROT IN THAT VOID FOR A THOUSAND YEARS!"
I grabbed Lorath by the collar.
(Did divine robes have collars? Apparently yes. And they were very soft.)
I pulled them in close, my fist raised—
"I'LL—!"
But before my punch could land—
Everything stopped.
No sound. No light.
Just stillness.
Like the universe hit pause.
My arm was frozen in midair. My lungs suspended mid-breath.
Lorath didn't move.
They didn't need to.
They spoke, voice like a celestial chime echoing across a dead galaxy.
"You were lost. I did not put you there."
With a flick of their finger, time restarted.
I stumbled back, suddenly lightheaded, like all the air had been knocked from me.
"Then whose fault was it?!" I demanded.
Lorath turned away, walking slowly toward a giant archway behind the desk that I swore hadn't been there before.
"I don't know," they said softly. "But I can still send you forward. You were not meant to linger this long."
"So… what now?" I asked, breathless.
Lorath paused at the archway.
"You begin again," they said.
I blinked. "You mean, reincarnation?"
Lorath glanced over their shoulder.
Not smiling. Not frowning.
Just… knowing.
"You'll understand soon."
Then, they raised their hand once more.
"Wait—!" I shouted.
"What kind of life? Will I remember this? Am I going to be a frog? A rock?! DON'T YOU DARE MAKE ME A ROCK!"
Too late.
The archway pulsed with light, and before I could scream another word—
The world turned white.