Sean Stone [Stone - Undead Warlock

It didnt hurt. Dying. I mean it did hurt. A lot, in fact. But once the magic was done literally ripping my body apart it didnt hurt anymore. So, yes, dying did hurt, but once the actual death bit was done it was like the pain had never even happened in the first place.

Cedarstone disappeared behind a wall of shimmering red magic that erupted up all around me. It erupted from within me. As soon as that happened the pain was gone. Just like that. The click of a finger. For a second or two I was still there, somehow. Even though my body was destroyed, I remained there in that place. And then the place was gone. Redness was followed by darkness. Explosions were followed by silence. And then

I was somewhere else. A room. It was still silent. I was sitting which meant I had a body again. I looked down at my legs. I definitely had a body. Was I still alive? No, I was some kind of spirit now. Id passed over. I looked around for Ashley. She said shed see me on the other side, but she was not here.

I was in what looked like a doctors waiting room. About thirty of those cheap-looking chairs that primary schools have lined three of the walls, with another ten placed in the middle of the room back to back. I was in one of the chairs in the middle. Almost every chair had somebody sitting in it. Nobody looked sick. They were all waiting in silence, and all of them looked apprehensive. I was pretty apprehensive myself. Being dead will do that.

The wall at the front of the room had five plain brown doors. I wondered what the hell was going on. As if to answer my question the number sixty-seven appeared in glowing red numbers above the third door. A lady in the corner of the room stood up nervously. She glanced at her palm and then up at the number above the door. She looked around the room as if looking for someone to tell her what to do. Nobody did. There was no staff. Only people waiting. With a look of resignation, she shuffled off and entered the room. I tried to catch a glimpse through the door but saw absolutely nothing. It looked like shed walked into a plain white room. The door closed quietly behind her and she was gone.

I raised my own hand and stared at my palm. As I suspected there was a number that looked like it had been burned into my flesh. Sixty-nine. I sniggered. The tufty, grey-haired man to my right turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. I showed him my palm.

Ah, he said, and gave me a wink. Then he checked his own. 73, he said with disappointment.

Do you know much about this place? I asked, hopefully. Silly really, it wasnt like he couldve been sitting here long enough to know much more than I did.

He shook his head. Some kind of purgatory I guess. We sit and wait to go into those rooms where I assume we will be judged.

Fun, I muttered. I did not relish the idea of being judged. I hadnt liked it much when I was alive and I knew I wouldnt like it any more in death. Id probably like it less on account of the consequences being far more permanent and totally out of my control.

May I ask how you died? he said, leaning in closer.

Why not? I answered. I absorbed so much magic that my body exploded. Well, I think it exploded. I couldnt really see what happened and I died pretty much as soon as it did happen.

He looked up at the ceiling. I didnt even know magic was real, he said sadly. Imagine that. You were out living your young life, enjoying magic, knowing all the secrets of the world, and I had no idea any of that even existed. How boring my life must seem to you. He let out a small laugh. I was about to agree with him, but then I stopped. It was bad enough that he was dead without me making it seem like his life had been crap too.

Did you enjoy your life? I asked.

He considered the question for a moment, his head tilted to one side. Yes, I suppose I did. I dont have many regrets so I guess thats a good thing.

It doesnt matter what you didnt know then. You had a good life.

Sixty-eight appeared on the wall and another person got up and went through one of the doors.

Did you enjoy your life? Now there was a complicated question. It had been easy for him to answer. Not so much for me.

Some of it, I told him. I think maybe I wouldve enjoyed it more if I hadnt known about magic. It would have been a lot simpler.

Hindsight, eh? he chortled.

How did you die?

Im not entirely sure, you know. I was sitting in the conservatory reading the paper when the ground sort of rumbled and then everything turned red. And then I was here.

The small amount of pleasure Id been getting out of the conversation dissipated in a heartbeat. Where did you live? I asked him in a quiet voice. I knew what he was going to say.

Cedarstone. Its in Kent, he said proudly. I looked around the room and wondered if all these people had been killed by me. Were they all from Cedarstone? How far had the magic spread if it had killed this old man in his home? It was supposed to have been just the high street that got hit. Thats why the high street had been evacuated.

My hand tingled and I saw my number appear above the first door. Im so sorry, I said to the old man. He looked at me in confusion and shook his head. I didnt wait to hear his reply. I got up and strode through the first door without even thinking about what might lie waiting on the other side for me.

It was an office. A plain, somewhat shabby, office. The magnolia walls were plain. The only furniture was a large wooden desk that a had a chair behind it and a chair in front. The chair in front was the same as the crappy ones from the waiting room. The one behind was an executive, high-backed, leather chair. In the nice chair sat a small man who looked like he was severely over-worked. He looked up at me, his monobrow lifting slightly in greeting. He indicated the chair and then waited for me to sit down. I did as I was bid, noticing that the chair was very low so that I was looking up at him. I wasnt going to have that. I pointed my fingers down at the chair legs, willing them to elongate, but nothing happened.

You dont have magic here. Perhaps you will be granted magic again in your afterlife. That depends on how your judgement goes, he said in a weary voice. He was clearly not that interested in his job. Maybe an eternity of doing it dulled the experience.

I thought Saint Peter took care of judging people. I mean no offence, but you dont strike me as Saint Peter. Or Saint anyone for that matter, I said. His eyebrow rose higher on his forehead.

Insulting your judgment officer? he said quizzically. Foolhardy.

I didnt mean anything by it, I said quickly, hoping to salvage the conversation. Im just a bit nervous. You know, being dead and all can do that to a guy.

He nodded. I understand. Dont worry, this will not affect your judgement. As for Saint Peter, he does not reside in this realm. Now, let us begin.

I wanted to question him further on that but thought better of potentially irritating the man who was about to judge my deeds. If Saint Peter wasnt in this realm then which realm was I in?