text: 1919 words Rated PG; gun violence, blood I roll my pen back and forth along my desk to stop the annoying buzz of silence in my office. The shimmering crystals inside it jostle. They were taken from the first star ever created. You can get them in bulk at the gift shop downstairs. It takes away the mystique, doesn’t it? You can just pop down two floors, grab one of these babies, and now you own part of a star. Humans would go crazy for just a glimpse at it. Not that they can touch it. Their fingers would explode. “ 729*8 , your new patient is ready.” Chirps the intercom voice. Finally. I was worried I was going to be here all day. “Alright, send them in.” Above me, a clear tube lowers into the chair in front of me. I have seen this many times. It doesn't get any more exciting. With a series of clicks and a whir, a person falls down it. The tube rises again into the ceiling. This person has brown hair with grey eyebrows, and a floral print dress. Their pale skin almost shines in the light of my desk lamp. It makes for an unsettling look. Not as unsettling as the look on their face, though. They scream at the sight of me. I wave a hand to silence them, as their file appears in front of me. I pick it up. Mager Elthod Czefth Pronouns: He/Him Age of death: 41 Date and time of death: Monday, February 6, at 13:45 Mode of death: COVID-19 Transition method: ethereal protocol #854 “Why hello, Mr.Czefth.” I take away the silencing wish with a flick of my wrist. For a flitting moment, Mager’s features are not scared, but confused. “How did you pronounce my name right?” “Well, I read it, and sounded it out.” Mager nods, understanding my thought process. “Sure. So, I’m dead, right?” “Very much so.” He stares at the room he’s in. The silver walls have pictures of all my patients on them. I have over a hundred, so one side is completely filled with smiling faces. Which reminds me. “Hey, smile.” Mager turns to me. “What?” “Just smile.” Mager does, revealing his small teeth. I hold out the fingers of my human form, and take a mental image. “There we go.” On the wall, another frame pops out. Mager’s mouth drops as his nervous face hangs up. “So, I’m guessing this is heaven.” “You could say that.” I cross out the take picture part of the patient to do list with my not-so-special pen. “So, who are you?” “That is a difficult question, Mager. I am here to adjust you to your new afterlife. Think of me as a supernatural therapist.” Mager still doesn’t seem to understand. “Basically I help you get used to being dead. Got it?” “Yeah, sorta.” I sigh and cross off explanation . “I have an hour of your time before my next meeting. While I could ask the boss to slow down time for you, their a jerk, so I’d rather not?” “Meaning?” Mager’s not finished saying the word before I’m at the door, extending my hand. “Let’s go. You have a lot to learn.” [] Outside, it’s raining. I put an umbrella over our heads. This leads to a pattering sound. I hate pattering sounds. Mager squints to see anything with the water falling on our heads. “Why is it raining in heaven?” I gesture for him to follow me as we walk to town square. “Perfect weather gets boring. This community has asked to have rain be a part of regular weather patterns.” A car appears in front of us. I snap my pudgy fingers, and we’re inside. The hood is rolled down, for maximum view. Mager isn’t as surprised at teleportation as I’d thought he’d be. “You have awesome powers.” I unintentionally smile at his compliment. “Yes, I do.” We pass the homes of people with curtains open, playing board games or eating together. They’re all laughing or smiling as they converse with their friends and family. Mager watches. “You don’t see much of that anymore on earth.” I am tempted to comfort him, because I fell genuine sadness in his voice, but that’s ethereal protocol #4562, and that is not the one I am doing. “Yes, it’s unfortunate, isn’t it?” As we leave the community, the sun turns on again. All the homes are made of bubbles, of all different tints and sizes. The road has changed from pavement to bricks. Fountains spurt up on both sides of us, rising and falling in a synchronized dance. “Wow, look at this place.” Mager marvels at the living quarters. “I would not want to live here.” “Don’t worry, you aren’t.” I assure him, even though I have no idea. We pass people walking down the street, with bags of clothes and ice cream in their hands. They all shout at and greet Mager. “Hi!” “Welcome to the afterlife!” “How are you doing?” Mager waves. “I’m a little scared.” Everyone laughs. “Don’t worry, you’ll get over it!” Mager is warming up to them. Perfect. Up ahead, past the community, is a stand. A lone person is standing behind it, grinning. The sign above them says Escort. I stop in front of it. I walk out, and Mager falls in step beside me. “What is this?” he asks. “The rest of your ride.” I high-five with the person controlling the escort. “Hey, 274*3, what’s up?” 274*3 laughs. “Oh, not much. Just the worst paperwork you could imagine. Did you know tenants now have to sign satisfaction papers?” I drop my jaw. “You’re kidding.” 274*3 shakes their head. “Oh, I wish. Forget about finishing in 12.4563 minutes.” I push Mager closer to them. He is a bit tense. “Mager, promise to give them full marks. They’re the best in the business.” Mager looks up and down at 274*3. “I don’t see why not.” 274*3 clicks their human tongue at Mager. “Sweet, now, come on, let’s get you home.” After a quick elbowing from me, Mager goes after 274*3. He looks back at me. “When will I see you again?” “Whenever you like.” I shrug. “So, what about tomorrow?” That’s unusual. But a tenant is always right. “Yeah, that works. You’ll be dropped off tomorrow at my building.” I smirk as he walks away. His transition is easier than expected. Tomorrow, he will be tortured. Tomorrow, he will be closer to perfection. [] Mager is at my doorstep very early. I’ve barely had time to clean my mouth bones. He is wearing a brown skirt and a matching brown tie. His shirt is a colour I don’t recognize. “You’re really eager.” I comment as we walk to the front desk. “I’m just excited to be transitioned.” he responds. At the front desk, 352*0 is working. Organizing patient files and sending them up. A boring but necessary task. Their person fingers and nails click and clack on the human keyboard without even looking at it. That's always what I found most impressive about humans. And now that there are ethereals learning the skill, I've come to appreciate the work that people put into things. “Hey, ethereal protocol #854.” I say when 352*0 asks why we’re here. “Please present wrist for inspection.” 253*0 takes a a small rectangle from a drawer and holds it out, waiting for us to obey their monotone request. It’s bright blue, with the label written on the front in curly glyphs. Protocol scanner . The bottom of it is projecting red light, waiting for something to authorize. “Mager, that’s you.” I nudge him. “Oh.” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing his bare arm. 253*0 runs the scanner over it. The scanner beeps, and they check a message on their computer. “Alright, please enter the door to my left.” A magenta door appears on the wall next to her. It swings open. “Come on, let’s go.” I take Mager’s hand, and we start to descend the steps on the other side of it. The further we go, the more we’re basked in yellow lights. The air also gets worse. Mager coughs at one point from all the thick, green gas floating around our heads. The stairwell keeps winding downwards. “Where are we going?” Mager inquires after a bat flies next to us. “Hell, basically.” “Hell?” Mager yells. “How is that adjusting me to the afterlife?” “You’ll see.” I want to tell him, for some reason, but it’s against protocol. Once we’re so deep I think Mager will pass out, we finally come to the next door. It will lead us straight to the part of hell necessary for Mager’s curriculum. Mager flinches as I turn the knob, and huddles behind me. I should push him away, but strangely don’t feel any automatic urge to, so I leave him be. The room is white. No walls, ceilings, or doors. Just an endless expanse of light. No people, either. Mager’s fingers, which were digging into my clothes, start to relax on their hold. Maybe it won’t be so bad. If only I could warn him. I don’t have to, because the first livestream appears. “Hello, and welcome to the bottom, where we will be showing you some of the souls to help you adjust to your afterlife.” Says an employee I don’t recognize. They wave at the camera to come closer. Every patient with this program is watching right now, wondering what’s about to happen. “Here, we have Addie Dills. She is charged with murder. She has killed over 20 people as a shooter, employed by many notable convicts.” The woman, Addie, is in her 50s. She is lying on the ground. Dirt is rubbed on her face and wiry hair. Her eyes are glassy, staring off into a nonexistent distance. Blood is dripping from her mouth and nose. She is curled up in a little ball, to make her self as small as possible. Mager gasps incredulously. “Who would do this?” “Kill all those people? I know-” Mager cuts me off. “No, I mean who would do this to Addie? She looks terrible.” “It’s a punishment for her crimes.” I say quickly, but I don’t really believe it today, for whatever reason. “Next, let’s look at Kenneth Arkaner. He was mentally ill, causing the death of 32 students in his shootings sprees.” I can’t decipher Kenneth’s age. He’s standing in rags, his eyes wet. An employee is ten feet from him, holding a machine gun. When the machine gun goes off, all the bullets hit Kenneth. He groans and collapses on the ground. Red marks bloom all over his torn clothes. Mager lets out a sob. I turn. Behind me, my patient has fallen to his knees. “Why not rehabilitate them?” He asks as tears roll down his cheeks. “Why do this?” I have no answer for him. I am supposed to stand tall, no matter how the patient reacts, but I can’t. I crouch down, and pull him close to me. He’s shaking now, as the employee moves on to the next prisoner. He buries his face in my shirt. “Why?” He gulps. I am not sure what to say. It’s only a whisper at the back of my mind. A rising anger in my throat I’ve never felt before confuses me. I’m even more bewildered as I spit out a sacred word, treating it like it’s no better than the garbage in earth’s oceans. “Protocol.”