errrrrr—thwang—crash.
A white, blinding light. That's all I could see at first. Then—my eyes opened.
A man.
I look around. Endless clouds. That quiet, glowing peace people always imagine heaven should have. Figures.
"So... are you God? Did I die?"
"Yes, my child. Unfortunately, you have indeed passed away. Normally, I would have Death guide you to the afterlife. However, I have a conundrum that I may need your help solving."
"Huh? Am I... gonna get isekai'd?" I blink. "I-I mean… yeah. Okay. If you need someone to toss into another world, I'm all for it. I'm already dead. I loved my friends. My family. But my life? I hated it."
I glance back up at the man I can only call God. My eyes are heavy. Face dull. Hair a mess.
He just watches me. The appearance of me in this place isn't the body I died with—it's the reflection of how I felt when I died.
A strange warmth radiates from me. Not comfort. Just... weight.
"You were always destined for something greater," he says. "I'll send you on your way shortly. There are a few things I must do—so ask anything you'd like while I prepare."
"Do I get to keep my memories?"
A long silence.
"No."
"…Why did that take you so long to answer?"
Another pause.
"This next life of yours is going to be very hard."
Hard.
Hard. Hard. Hard. HARD.
HARD HARD HARD HARD HARD!
My head jerks back.
My mind cracks open.
Memories flood in. Memories I never lived. Names I never learned. Lives I never asked for.
A voice. Her voice. Her smile. Her death.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I scream.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
God flinches. Stares in silence.
"Are… are you remembering?"
"No. I… I don't—"
His hand rises slowly, covering his mouth.
Everything is quiet, but inside me, it's not.
Anger. Fear. Loneliness. Grief. Every sickness. Every scar. Every friend ripped away. Every love burned out. Every time she died—every damn time—she died.
I look back at him. And I say it.
"I. Hate. You."
I grab him by the collar and scream it over and over until my voice goes hoarse, and the only thing left are the shapes of the words.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
"…Enough," he says.
And just like that—
A child is born into a world of magic.
No sound escapes him.
Because there are no more tears left to cry.
And in that same moment, God falls to his knees and weeps into his hands.