The last thing Vincent remembers was to be standing on the bus stop, waiting for the bus amidst a very heavy thunderstorm, his feet were drenched and he was shivering, a very different scenario from the one he is currently in, sitting in a very bright and stupidly beige waiting room, his clothes dry, clean, without a single tear and too fancy for him to remember owning or even borrowing, all this while clutching a binder, a very fat binder, on his two hands.
Vincent doesn't remember how he got there, Vincent doesn't remember when he changed his clothes to such fancy ones, Vincent doesn't remember owning a binder, Vincent doesn't understand a thing, and what normal people do when they don't understand shit? They ask, and it's exactly what Vincent did. Looking from side to side in order to find someone, he spotted a very foggy-like lady who seemed to be sitting across a balcon, just like a receptionist or secretary.
"Uuuh... Excuse me, miss" Vincent called, gathering all of his courage;
"Hm? Yes?" Said the woman, looking at Vincent's direction, her face was totally foggy, not even when Vincent squeezed his eyes he could get her features;
"I know I may sound crazy, but, where am I?" He asked, still squeezing his eyes for trying to see how this woman looked;
The woman tilted her head to the side and seemed to be staring at Vincent, probably thinking he was insane or stupid, then, she opened a smile and said:
"The Other Side™ , the number one afterlife life management company, mister" and pointed to a huge name written on the wall behind her; "This is the waiting room for the Job Interview" the lady explained and didn't seem even a bit distressed by Vincent's question;
Upon hearing the words "job interview", Vincent got really starteled, he hadn't applied for ANY job interview, what kind of misfurture was this that Vincent suddently showed up on a job interview!?? Before he could protest, a telephone rang on the lady's desk, the sound echoing across all of the room.
"hm? yes, alright." she said, grabbing the telephone, which was bright red; "Mister, Mrs. Ooma will see you now, it's the third door on your right, good luck" the lady, cheerful under all that fog, said, to Vincent, gesturing to a open door;
He only looked at the woman, still very much like a fog image, and followed her gestures, his eyes met the door, and, as if all this was not enough craziness for him, Vincent just stood up from his chair, feeling his butt flat as a pancake, and walked towards the said door. With a knock on it, he stepped inside a reasonably sized office, full of shelves, books, certificates and other unimportant stuff on it, a large window that showed absolutely nothing but white, like clouds, a table on the middle, two chair on one side and a bigger chair on the other, with it's back to the window, sitting on the chair was a middle aged woman with a bun so tight that even the military women would be jealous.
"Uuuuuhhg... Excuse me? Mrs. Ooma?" Vincent said, stepping inside, a little shy;
"Oh! hello, Mister Vanlore, take a seat please" said the woman, her voice was like a doctor's, which gave Vincent a bit of chills, and she gestures to a chair in front of her;
Vincent sat exactly where he was told to sit, his hands almost bending the poor binder. Tthe woman gave a polite smile and made mention to start talking, but Vincent did not care, he lifted his head and looked at her with all the courage he had on his body.
" Where am I!? " He said, looking straight into Mrs. Ooma's eyes, they were eerily gray, " and don't come to me with 'The Other Side™, afterlife life management' or whatever! I want to know what the fuck is this place and why am I on a job interview!" Vincent added, without even letting the woman say so, his eyes wide and with his hand smacked on the desk;
Mrs. Ooma was serene, immutable, calm, like nothing had happene, she just kept staring at Vincent with her two grey eyes for what seemed to be an eternity, making the boy calm down by pure embarrassment, then, she scoffed, fixed her clothes and placed her hands on her desk, prepared to speak.
" Do you believe in God, Mr. Vanlore? " She asked, raising an eyebrow, too calm to be a simple unrelated question;
" What does this have to - " he started to question but was cut;
" Do you believe in God or not? " Mrs. Ooma insisted, sounding more commanding now, Vincent gulped air;
" No, I don't. " Vincent answered, confused as hell again;
" I expected you didn't, anyway " she answered, too quickly, making Vincent choke a bit, out of pure fear;
Mrs. Ooma, then, started to look for something on a drawer under her desk, with all the calm in the world, as if time was not a problem, and Vincent just stayed eating himself alive of fear. The woman finally found what she was looking for, some papers, she grabbed them and a pen, then setting all that down.
" This is the afterlife, Mr. Vanlore, you're dead. " She said, finally, looking frankly at the man across her;
Vincent's eyes widened and he almost fell off the chair, having to hold tight on the handles to not do so, the binder fell on the floor, forgotten.