text: Hi there, this is a short story i wrote for a contest in university. Let me know if you like it! Where was I? I felt like I was in some sort of limbo. As I looked around, the clouds whooshed past in the sky but time felt still. I couldn’t feel the wind on my face, I couldn’t hear the birds sing. Everything just felt wrong. I walked along the road that I was on, scraping my feet as I usually did without seeing the dust rise. The fields that surrounded the road were void of any vegetation, they were just grey. Do you remember when you were younger, before colour televisions were a thing and every program was black and white? Well I felt like I was in one of those television programs. I walked along the road farther when I distinguished a human silhouette in the far off distance. Maybe this person could help me, tell me something about where I am. I quickened my pace, walking faster and faster, trying to catch up to this unknown person who was slowly treading off into the distance. As I got closer I managed to make out what he was wearing. From the back it looked like a black suit, and black shoes that had been properly cared for, shined morning and evening with shoe polish. He held a long dark cane in his left hand with his hand firmly clasped around the knob, and as I glanced at his hand I noticed a jeweled ring on his left index finger. I called out to him but to no avail, he wouldn’t turn around or even answer me. I was starting to feel uneasy. As I reached out to grab his shoulder, my hand suddenly froze. The man stopped and turned around slowly. He was wearing a white shirt, recently ironed and a jet black tie. His dark hair was sleeked back, in a sort of 70’s style and he looked to be about in his late 60’s, early seventies as he had quite a few wrinkles in his pale face. I didn’t know this man, but his presence felt strangely familiar. Before I could even open my mouth to talk, he interjected. \- “You must have a lot of questions, come on now, ask away. I don’t have all day you know.” Who was this person? Where was I? I had so many questions to ask, so many that I couldn’t even blurt them out. \- “Come on now, spit it out.” \- “Who-, Where-, What- ? Where am I?” \- “We don’t really have a name for it, it’s gone by so many different names over the years, I guess you could call it purgatory.” \- “Am I dead?” \- “Well yes and no, technically yes, but also technically no. We’re talking now, so how can you be dead?” \- “I guess, I didn’t really think of that...” The man stuck his hand in his hair and sleeked it back. I had so many questions to ask him, how would I ever have the time? \- “Would you like to play a game of scrabble?” asked the man. \- “A game of Scrabble? I guess, it’s been a while since I’ve played though.” \- “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.” \- “Do you mind if I ask you some questions during our game?” \- “Of course not, ask away.” As we sat down at the table and chairs beside us, the thought did pop into my head of asking where they came from, but I guess that wasn’t really one of the more important questions. \- “So, who are you?” I asked. \- “My name? Well, it depends really on who you ask. I’d have to say my favourite has always been Mors.” \- “Mors? I’ve never heard that name before.” \- “Yes, it is quite an old name. The ancient romans used to use it quite frequently. I do admire their culture.” \- “So where are you from?” His eyes squinted at me. \- “I don’t see why you seem so interested in me when we should really be talking about you shouldn’t we? What you should be asking is why am I here, and why are you here? \- “There’s only the two of us here though, if I don’t ask about you then I have to ask about me.” \- “Afraid of what you mind find if you start asking questions about yourself?” \- “”Why would I be afraid of asking questions about myself?” \- “I see your point. Here’s your tiles, let’s play.” I picked seven tiles from the black velvet bag that Mors held out for me, I was pretty lucky and on my first draw I got a blank tile. I really hadn’t played in a while, but the tiles seemed to spell out words right in front of my eyes. I could see the words right in front of me. Mors politely invited me to make the first move, and I obliged. I put down my tiles and spelt out the word SLICED. I tried to hide my smile whilst passing on the double word tile. \- “I guess that gives you 18 points.” \- “Are you still so sure that you’re going to win?” \- “Maybe not, but I’m sure we will see. This will be a fun game.” He shuffled his tiles in front of him, then picked them up one by one slowly in his hands. He places them down one by one and spelt out the word SUNDER. Unlucky, that only gives him 14 points. We both plunged out hands back into the bag to pick our next letters. \- “So why are you here then?” \- “I’m a traveler. I like taking a stroll along the long and windy path and helping lost people like you.” \- “And playing scrabble helps me how?” \- “Do you not find it comforting to play a game with a stranger? I thought you liked playing games with people?” Mors squinted a bit whilst looking at me, as if he was staring into my soul. He seemed to know me better than I even knew myself. I brushed off his last remark and continued with my questions. \- “So if I’m in purgatory, that means I’m dead. Is there any way I can get my life back? Be resuscitated or something?” \- “I’m not really the best person to ask for being brought back to life you know. You’d be better getting on your knees and praying to the big man upstairs.” \- “You mean God?” \- “Yes, but eventually even God will need help to choose the path he needs.” \- “God will die?’ \- “Everything dies one day you know.” \- “How is it that I’m all alone with you? Am I important? Are you here to kill me?” \- “You seem to have an inflated self of importance you know, the world does not revolve around you. I’m only here to help, as I said. Whether you’re important or not really doesn’t matter to me.” \- “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as rude.” \- “It’s okay. What do you say we raise the stakes a bit, hmm? What do you say to a little wager?” \- “Sure, it’s not like I have anything to lose anyway.” \- “If you win, I’ll help you go back to your life, back to when you were a child knowing what you know now and let you reflect on your life choices and make better decisions.” \- “Okay, and what about if you win?” Mors leaned in close to my face and I could feel his breath across my cheeks as he spoke. \- “Then you go where I tell you and let me help the next lost soul that wanders these barrens.” \- “Okay, it’s a deal.” And so the game had finally really begun. We played slowly, nearly overthinking each tile put onto the board. I had to win, I had the choice of a lifetime, to go back to when I was young and relive my life differently. My mind went back to when I was younger, back to when I was a child in school. I always used to like school when I was younger, which surprised my parents and a lot of my family. It used to be so much fun, running around in the playground, going to class and learning to read, write, and spell... I remember there was this kid in my class when I was around seven or eight years old, no one really liked him. Most people left him alone, apart from me. I used to torment him. I bullied him relentlessly, sticking his head in the toilet and flushing it, punching him. I don’t know why I did it, I mean, I’m sure there was a reason. No one liked him, it was funny, and everybody laughed. That doesn’t make me a bad person though. My daydreaming was interrupted by the clinking of scrabble pieces in front of me. \- “Daydreaming are we? Remembering the path that brought you here?” \- “Yes, I mean, I was just remembering when I was at school and how much fun I had.” \- “I wouldn’t really call that fun now, would you?” \- “Does that make me a bad person?” \- “That depends what you mean. A bad person could be anyone. If you squish a bug are you a bad person? If you murder someone are you a bad person? It all depends on the context. I can’t really tell you if you’re a bad person, I’m sure you’ll make that decision yourself.” \- “I mean, I had the choice of tormenting that kid. And I took it. Looking back it probably wasn’t the best thing to do.” \- “Well maybe if you win you can go back and live your life differently, hmm?” \- “Yeah, maybe....” \- “Here’s my second word, RAZOR.” That word, it stung. Why would the word razor hit me so hard? How did Mors seem to know so much about my life? Did he know all the bad things I did? Was he here to punish me? Why was my mind wandering so much? Different memories kept coming and fading, different choices I made in my life that changed me for better, or maybe for worse. Were my decisions what lead me to where I was now? Should I regret what I had done? I wasn’t that bad of a person. I didn’t mean to do a lot of things. My hands trembled in front of me and spelt out the word BLOOD. \- “Free will is a tricky thing, isn’t it? But if you believe in God, do you believe you have free will, or is it all part of His plan?” \- “Will me believing have any consequences on what happens after? \- “Well I can’t really spoil it for you now, can I? But if you don’t believe in Him, why would He believe in you?” \- “Are you always going to act so philosophical when answering my questions?” \- “Let’s talk about something else, I’m sure you have a lot of other things to ask” \- “Is this chance a one-time thing? What happens if I die again, do I get to play another game with you and go back again?” \- “You may come back here, you may not. If you’re here it means that they’re not sure of where you go.” \- “So this is my only chance to redeem myself then.” \- “I guess you could say that” My scrabble skills had started to fail me, my words were getting shorter and shorter, WRIST, CAR, BABY, and never double or triple points. Mors was starting to pull ahead. I couldn’t think properly, my mind keeps wandering all the time. I kept remembering things about my life. Why were these words coming out? Every single one of my words hit me like a truck. I felt like I had been run over. Why were these memories coming back to haunt me? Was I a bad person? I never meant to hurt anyone. How did I become this person? Was I born like this? If I actually manage to win this game, what will I change? How will I relive my life differently? \- “Time is ticking you know...” \- “I forfeit.” \- “You forfeit? Are you sure? Then you know what happens next.” \- “I can never go back. Do I get to go to heaven?” \- “Come on now, you know very well it doesn’t work like that for you. This game isn’t the only thing you forfeited is it? Hmm? You know what happens when you forfeit.” I looked down at my wrists and saw the scars. Tears welled in my eyes as I understood what Mors meant. I never had the choice. It was all a sick game. The words, the idle chit chat. It was punishment. My choice had already been made long ago. Whatever I did now would not change what I had done in my life. Everything I did, the people I tormented, the lives I ruined, I made those choices by myself. There was no one else to blame but me. I got up off my chair and started slowly walking. I didn’t deserve to go to the garden, I had already made my choice a long time ago, before I had even gotten here. I was a terrible person, I didn’t deserve to go up to the clouds with the others. I made my choices and even if I could go back, I wouldn’t change them. Deep down, I’m a fucked up person. I have to pay for my sins. “I can’t even count the times I’ve played this game with the newly deceased. I’ve played them from the beginning. Could you imagine? Me, letting them go back to their old life and reliving it? No. It always has and always will end the same way, we’ll play a few rounds and the questions will keep coming. Then the reasons will come apparent. People forget how vile they are. Every single one thought they had a chance to beat me, but their free will was just an illusion. The dice are already set in stone, the game has already finished. I always win.” And with that, Mors got up off his chair, picked up his cane and continued walking down the dusty road, looking for the next lost person, singing to himself.