A Person has died. Their death, unforeseen. No, it was not because their rifle self-sabotaged itself while in conflict or because they sacrificed themselves for someone in a bank heist. They simply choked on a mozzarella stick. Of all chokable things you can insert in your mouth, a mozzarella stick is quite chokable if you think about it.

So now that they have been defeated by smooth, creamy mozzarella cheese coated with a delicate layer of craft beer batter, what awaits them in the afterlife? Well, they were a Christian in their life and they strongly believed in the concept of Heaven and Hell, so surely that’s what awaits them. That was the afterlife they chose or, one could argue, the afterlife chosen by their environment. This Person could’ve shifted their beliefs to other types of afterlives—maybe that their consciousness would return to the cosmos, or perhaps that their life was simply a dream they had to wake up from, or some other afterlife of which there are a lot to choose from. But they went with the Good Ol’ Fashioned one, so that’s what they have to get.

Their mind and heart were focused so intently on a center to the noble path that they developed the ability to fog out those hearts and minds that were distracted and dispersed. Ever since their beliefs began to form, they were put on trial—where would their soul spend eternity?

Or at least that’s how they thought it was going to be.

When they died, they respawned in…the grocery store they worked at in the flesh. The Person was hoodwinked because this store didn’t resonate with what they thought Heaven or Hell was supposed to be. They thought that Hell was this place that stank of fermented fish and wet dog with blank face creatures walking backwards on all fours and black shadows pulling newcomers into a cold river of unknown unknowns.

“MWAHAHAHA!”, the Devil would be spewing on his throne of skulls and metal chains and then Heaven would be this wonderful cloudy place where babies and strong, buff men with wings would be chilling and drinking martinis or a Mike’s Hard, Jesus as the bartender and God some big bushy man that someone could talk and play bass with—not this godforsaken store! What even is this place! Is this purgatory or some shit, like huh?!

The Person notices that they are knees deep in an endless sea of cardboard boxes and that in front of them, drawing them closer, lies a cardboard baler, ready to nom. In the distance, something is swimming underneath the boxes and is moving at an alarming rate towards them. The Person anxiously tries to get away but they can’t even feel their legs, let alone move. As that thing gets nearer, it stops… then it pops out behind the Person, scaring them. It’s a hair ball with buttery, pulpy eyes, squiggly lines as legs and arms with bagpipes poking out of its shaggy interior; two spiky candy corns jut out from its fried mouth, an animated black fez hat lying on top of its itchy, lice-ridden makeup.

Hey, its ya boy, the Devil.

It sticks its abnormally long green tongue out—that holds an entire jungle on top of it—and throws up the Live Long and Prosper, while the other hand is clenched in a looney, VSCO girl manner.

What… this doesn’t make sense.

Nothing ever does until it do.

I’m… what type of devil are you?

None. They all learn from me.

The Person doesn’t know what to make of this. So, they try to dance with the Devil to see what will happen.

If you’re the Devil… then is this hell?

Oh no. This place is unreasonably less tidy than mine.

Heaven?

I’m not allowed there, so probably not.

Purgatory?

That does not exist. It’s only a place that can be molded if a person convinces themselves that such a place does exist. There are no middles, only equilateral sides. Opposing teams.

So, what is this then?

I don’t know, probably something you created.

Then this is my Purgatory?

If that’s how you like to think about it, then sure.

I don’t get… this. This isn’t what I lived for.

Then what did you live for?

You think back to the life You lived. Did You live for your family? To nurture them and be happy with them? Now that You think about it, You kinda didn’t. What about others? Did You live to help others, even those that You didn’t think deserved it? No. Did You live for yourself? Were You so absorbed in You that You didn’t care about anyone else? Closer, but not quite correct either, or at least You don’t think it is.

I don’t know actually.

What were you thinking about before you died?

Well, as the greasy lightsaber was clogging your windpipes, You sorta faded, uncertain what was to come. You had lived all your life trying to be the essential good Christian, a purpose that was too messy to complete and too bizarre to fuck up, only for You to neglect that in your last moments all because You were unsure. You lived thinking You were surrounded by all the answers You needed but died as a solitary, six centimeter question mark on a piece of paper.

I died… uncertain about everything.

Isn’t that the best way to live? Especially regarding life after death?

I guess…

See, that uncertainty you died with now lives with you.

Am I just… nothing then?

Not quite. If you were nothing, there wouldn’t be a You anymore. Do you remember what it was like before you were born?

No.

That’s nothingness. But it certainly doesn’t look like that right now, does it?

The Devil picks off one of its fangs and eats it while another fang sprouts in its place.

Then what is the meaning of all this?

That is something I should ask you. I didn’t create this.

You remain perplexed. How could You create something like this? If You created it, wouldn’t You know everything about it?

Let me help you get there, alright? Since it looks like you are still dopey about all of this. Is this place familiar looking?

Yes. It is the place I work at… or, used to work at.

What about it makes it the place you used to work at?

Hmm… the boxes and the baler, and pretty much the way it was structured. It all looks the same besides the countless boxes around us.

What’s missing here?

The pallets. The produce should be there, but it’s not. All the stuff and vendors aren’t here either. The cage, and the office next to the delivery bay.

It’s all just boxes.

Yeah…

Which goes back to what I asked you earlier: what were you thinking about just before you died?

As You think about it, one of the last things that was on your mind before the cold grip of death was how your manager was going to make You crush a shit ton of boxes after such a pleasant dinner with your family, and how You hated that You would still be required to come in if you survived the cheese stick choking. You died hateful and anxious of the labor that was required for You to maintain You and your family. You died thinking of… your daughter’s drawing.

It was this pencil scribble with jaundice ovals, wavy strokes as its limbs, fingers throwing up a peace sign and bagpipes poking out of its unkempt core. Two pointy candy corns jutted out from its mouth where a long, green tongue stuck out topped with a black ribboned sand castle. She showed You at the table and said that it was the drawing of a friend that had climbed out of her closet, that its name was Boxer. You barked at her that the Devil was talking to her and that she had to stop talking to it. Furthermore, You said, throw away that drawing. And then the cheese stick congested your esophagus.

Holy sheep shit on a shingle! You finally understand why all of this is happening, don’t You? The Devil lets out a raucous crushing laugh, and for a moment it seems that the baler is laughing with it too.

So… this is happening because of the last things I thought about before I died?

Yes. That is what happens after you die. There”s no Heaven or Hell or Simulation; those are all just things that humans create because they are terrified of the unknown. You could live a life full of misery and despair and if that’s what you are thinking about in your last moments, then that’s how your soul is going to spend its time. If you think about your dog and how much you want to spend time with it in Paradise where no worries exist, your soul will spend more time with your dog in that paradise. Every second counts, even the life-flashing ones. What you think is what you grow, and that applies to after death, too.

So, if I thought I was going to Heaven then I would be in my version of Heaven right now?

Yes, but you didn’t. And so now you are stuck with this.

So, now what?

Well, it looks like you have a bunch of boxes to crush and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end any time soon, so get to work!

You stand there in your own, personal hell. You cram and cram and cram and cram and cram and cram boxes but it doesn’t end and you still can’t move. The Devil just swims around and does cannonballs into the ocean of boxes. You are furious at yourself and cry about everything you could’ve thought about that would’ve prevented all of this. Finally, a thought.

Hey devil.

Yes?

Is there such a thing as reincarnation?

I don’t know, is there?

I think there is.

How so?

Well, if we follow what you said, you say that what you think is what you grow, and during this whole interaction you have forced me to think for myself. How am I able to do that? If I am already dead and gone?

Hmm. An interesting point.

What’s more interesting is that I can think of my past life and all of this here is a reflection of that life. There is nothing keeping me from thinking about something new.

Yeah yeah yeah, you got a point there. So, that begs the question, what are you thinking of?

Well, I was thinking of living a lavish life, right? One where I will have everything I desire that I didn’t have in life, but then I thought about it and concluded that was cheating.

Cheating? Since when did you start worrying about cheating your way through life!

Right now, Devil, and it was because of you getting me out of my box.

Oh, that’s very humorous.

I am going to start with nothingness. That’s the way it’ll be fair.

So, you’re going to waste the opportunity of taking all of this knowledge you’ve garnered into the next life? Just start over?

I don’t see it as a waste, but more so an experience that I could turn into a paper boat and let it flow down the river. Rivers are something. No matter what part of the universe you’re at, there’s always a river present, either conspicuous or hidden. They can be bodies of water or something constructed by Wernicke’s area. And the more you think about it, we, as fleas made from the infesting shaggy fur of Pan Gu, carry rivers of blood that flow in us and outside our reach. Rivers spelled by happenings that are abandoned and being starved. We color in this moon crescent of a mask, sharp and luminescent among a sea of gestures and words that we proceed to make inaccessible. Absent. That’s how half-assed we have deluded ourselves. Remembrances that can’t become full, due to the fixed mindset that gets squeezed dry by the grips of sanitation. Old rags don’t clean well on black tables because the whiteness of the light will always hover upon them. Making every recollection inescapable, eliminating effort. Aldous Huxley if I’m correct once said that experience is not what happens to you, it’s what you do with what happens to you, and with the experience of being in this constructed afterlife, I plan to start anew as every human being starts…from nothing.

Wow. I guess someone has to die once to appreciate life better. You’ve turned into a new person.

That’s because I am. Or will be, anyway.

For the first time You see the Devil smiling.

This is going to be a hard task don’t you think? To just completely forget everything you know right now and start fresh. Might take a while to enter into complete blackness again.

Or maybe it’s complete whiteness?

You think?

Well, whiteness isn’t a concept, it’s more so a trickster that can’t explain itself. A trickster that begs for a proper sacrifice to satisfy the user. Complete whiteness. Just imagine that. That’s how a lot of creation myths tend to start, until that whiteness is smudged by darkness. Complete whiteness is complete darkness just as complete darkness is complete whiteness. Both are empty voids, constantly trying to outdo each other. Feuding over affairs that were blended by their madness. With enough wealth and blood, any flea can become white or dark. So succulent it is, but yet so blinding.

Ok, new person, I am not a philosopher, I am just a fucking hairball your former daughter made. When are we going to start thinking about nothing? Also, how are you gonna execute it?

Through that.

The New Person points at the gnawing baler.

Through that? How?

Well, if you want to start a new reality, you have to crush the current one, don’t you think?

The Devil looks at the New Person and then at the baler and is convinced that this might work.

But in order to do that, I think I will need some help from the Devil. I can’t move.

Well, I am honored that someone has given the Devil his due.

The Devil helps the New Person get in the baler.

You ready?

Yes. I thought it would be more difficult to think about nothing but it really isn’t. I feel like a lotus plucked out of a murky pond.

You sure this will work?

Positive. And if it doesn’t, I’ll just say that the Devil made me do it.

To Hell with your nothingness then!

The Devil shuts the gate on a former life and a New Person lives just as You have died.