It's quite short, and I have no idea what this story will be about...
Still, you're writing isn't bad. Post the first chapter sometime!
Fantastic, that's exactly what I was shooting for in the prologue.
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Chapter One
The End
Death means different things to different people. To some, it's the entrance into something high above all, complete acceptance of nirvana. To others, death is just the beginning of another life. A chance to make things right that were wrong in the past. To Julian Harris, death was nothing. Complete darkness, and yet so bright that he was forced to keep his eyes closed. He burned. He froze. He thought he sneezed, but he couldn't be sure. His body had been taken from him, after all. He hovered alone, separated from everything. He couldn't think, for he had no mind, and so he just was. To Julian Harris, this was utterly ironic, as death was suppose to be the end of being. However, he had never felt more in existence.
A voice.
Someone, or something, was calling out to Julian Harris, saying his name repeatedly. He tried to call back, but instead found himself mumbling. As the sound came from him, he was surprised. He mumbled again, louder this time. The voice continued, chanting his name like it was a ritual. And then, Julian Harris spoke one simple word, "You". It had seemed like years since he had said anything, and his own voice soothed him. In response, the other voice yelped with joy. Julian Harris felt himself smile at the response.
And then, he was back. His sensations, touch, smell, taste, hearing, all came back to him so fast that his head spun. He looked around, finding himself in a small room. It was dim, damp, and cold. His eyes strained to find light, but there was too little to soak in. The only light came from a lamp, which although the room was no more than twenty feet across, seemed hundreds of feet away.
"Hello?" He probed.
No response.
"Hello?" He repeated.
No response.
He sighed and tried to run his fingers through his hair, a habit he'd developed over the course of few years. However, he felt no hair. He patted the top of his head with one hand, and brought his second up in surprise. No hair was to be found by either hand. Instead, his head was completely smooth. Bald. Probably shiny, but he had no way of telling. It wasn't worth worrying about, he reasoned, and his mind moved on. He took a step. He took another step. Step after step, he headed from the lamp that appeared so far away.
And then, Jullian Harris was at a counter.
It was an oak hotel-like counter, complete with a desk lamp and a desk bell. Behind the counter, a short man sat. He had black slicked back hair, a dark mustache, and beady eyes. Upon Jullian Harris' arrival, he looked up with an expressionless face. He then directed his gaze at a computer screen, his hands resting on the keyboard.
"Name." The man said. His voice was sharp, cutting the air between him and Harris.
"Uh...um.." Harris stumbled.
"Name." The man repeated.
"Where am I--"
"Name."
"Can you tell me whe--"
"Name."
Harris sighed, "Julian Harris."
The man typed it into the computer.
"Occupation."
"What?"
"Occupation."
"Uh...buisness executive."
Again, the man typed.
"Age."
"34."
Click click tap tap.
"Marital status."
"Now this is just ridicul--"
"Marital status."
Harris groaned, "Divorced."
The man typed.
"Death."
"Yes, I am de--"
The man moaned and turned his eyes to Harris.
"How. How did you die."
"Oh. Um, traffic accident, I guess."
Tap tap click tap.
The man nodded and pressed a button. A printer next to the computer churned with activity. One sheet of paper was spat out, which the man immediatley retrieved. He held it out to Harris.
"There you are, Mr. Harris," The man spoke, his voice now softer, "Welcome to Purgatory."
