I never thought I'd die in such a clichéd manner—but it happened.
I was on my way home after returning a novel to the library when I saw a blinding flash of light. The next thing I knew, I was flying across the road. My head hit the hard gravel, and all I could think was: Death by Truck-kun? Seriously? How basic can you get?
My life had been quiet. Boring, even. I never did anything particularly amazing or even mildly above average. My parents died in a car crash when I was very young. I worked hard just to survive. And after all that effort, the best I could manage was a mediocre life.
Still, if I ever had a second chance, I'd want to chase my passions, help others, and actually live—not just exist.
Those thoughts were the only things keeping me tethered to consciousness as I drifted in the dark… until something tugged at me. A gray shape emerged from the void. My vision suddenly sharpened.
And that's when I saw it.
People—headless people—roamed around me like it was the most normal thing in the world. Somewhere behind me, dogs barked furiously. Then I felt a push from behind and turned to see an owl. Yes, an owl—wearing a full suit and monocle—nudging me forward with a clipboard in one claw.
Utterly stunned, I just stood there, gaping. The owl cleared its throat (which, by the way, is a horrifying sound when it comes from a bird of prey) and announced:
"Kim Areum, 24 years old. Lived a basic life. No actions remarkable enough for heaven or hell. Death by new intern, Raven Blackclaw, via truck. Welcome to the Underworld."
I was so shocked I couldn't even speak. Was the owl a he? A she? Do owls have genders? Does it matter in death?
Before I could recover, the owl continued, telling me I would be reincarnated. Standard procedure, apparently. I had to drink some kind of memory-erasing soup in order to move on. I was still processing the owl situation when I suddenly found myself standing in front of an old woman.
And by "old," I mean—ye gods—she looked like a dehydrated blobfish dipped in matcha, wrapped in an orange sweater. She smiled at me with no teeth (none, not one) and told me to drink the soup straight from the ladle and wait my turn.
I stared at the ladle in horror. So many dead people have sipped from this? Do they even sterilize it? Is there no underworld health department?
Before I could protest any further—or even ask for a straw—I was unceremoniously shoved into a swirling whirlwind.