《Named After Death》 #1 - Record of the Unnamed The screams. The loud screams all around, just loud. Overwhelmingly loud. It was like seven thousand banshees got together and screeched at the top of their lungs, trying to rip my ears off of my head. Their voices grabbing tightly and forcibly trying to yank them off. Wishing to see the gruesome aftermath, to revel in joy at my suffering, to use their despicable voices to pierce through my ears over and over again. Impaling my brain, shoving and stabbing it with the needles of their screeching. Everything felt... horrible. Awful. Absolutely harrowing. Every scream resonated throughout my entire body, as if waves upon waves crashed against my very organs. Washing away at my heart, my lungs and stomach- each agonizing scream simply just coming one after the other, ready to rip me apart and crush my entire being in its malevolent fury. Cold... endless... agonizing... a feeling of pure, utter suffering with not an ounce of respite. No signs of anything but my own misery as I drown in this despair. But then, one single voice calling out, in the sea of screams... calling out to me, pulling me away from this hell, grabbing my hand and yanking me out, and with a bright flash of light...! "... it just all... went to black, right before I could get out. I can''t, for the life of me, remember whoever it was that- that was pulling me out. Their hand was- wrinkly... really wrinkly. Like touching a raisin in... in man form." "..." Quietly, in the silence of an empty cafe, a man in a suit sat in a booth with someone. Sitting atop gray, plaid cushions with five empty glass mugs. Each one had droplets of coffee still on the rim, with differentcoffee beans in each one. Different brands, different shapes, different flavors- all of which were given to him on request. An unusual choice of beverage for a ghost to have, but one that the ghosts of Nihil were permitted to enjoy. "I just... I guess if I really... think about it, if I had just swam upward ever so slightly, if I had struggled through it, I- could have survived, I guess... it''s... it feel awful, knowing this. Harrowing..." The man stared at his empty cups for a while, as well as the dozens of opened sugar packets he''s opened for them. His hands fiddling with one in particular, fingers pinching the thin torn parts of it. Having played with this packet to collect his thoughts, to... to comfort himself as he recounted the tale of his death. A nervous sweat trailing from his forehead, down his cheeks, the strong taste of sweetened coffee the only thing that felt good right now- he just... silently processes all of that.Finally getting the words out to someone. And that someone was, for lack of a better term, the last thing in Nihil that could ever understand death. Staring at him from the other side of the table, a brown haired girl with a soft ruby gaze. Life flowing through her veins as a living human, yet her eyes as dead as a doornail. A morbidly calm look on her face as she holds her steaming cup of hot cocoa, taking occasional sips throughout the entirety of the man''s spiel. The man seemed too focused on himself to really... care about the extremely casual outfit she was wearing. Compared to the ghosts all around, this girl wore some sort of cozy brown sweater that reveals her shoulders, a pair of black shorts that only reaches down to a third of her thighs, two long and black leather thigh boots, and striped brown and black arm warmers. For conversations like these, a professional in a suit would be better at hearing him out, but... no, she''s been a wonderful listener. She''s listened ever so attentively, and- he felt a slight peace in his soul, having said all of of it. It felt like she truly-cared that he died, that she was someone that could understand him better than he understood himself... to sort of- help him through this tragic time in his new lack of life. And he... he sighs as he takes a sip from his empty cup, having got all of it off of his chest, and- he looks at the clock hanging in the corner of the cafe. If the scale of time is accurate, he had about five minutes to leave. Not enough time to continue talking with this... miracle worker of a girl. "... w... well then. I should be off now," the man tells the girl, getting up from the booth. Floating two inches off of the ground, letting out a sigh as he gently leaves a few coins atop the table. "My examination is actually in a few minutes. Thank you for listening. I... appreciate it a lot, uhm... whatever your name is." "Yvette, and..." the girl begins to speak, taking another sip of her hot cocoa. "... good luck with your getting your name and all." With that, the man- picks up all the empty sugar packets as he thanks the person across from him. His body floating through the door and leaving. Leaving the girl by her lonesome in an empty cafe. Yvette lets out a sigh the moment she''s left alone, her apathetic gaze coming out as she- yaaaawns. Left with just her mug of hot cocoa, a feather pen, and two notebooks. One of then being the most dark, Victorian era-esque covered notebook possible. Metal skulls, dangling chains, bleeding hearts with devil''s wings. The other being a pastel pink cartoon kitty notebook. Quietly, sitting at that table, Yvette processes what she''s listened to for the last forty minutes or so. Holding her feather pen, dipping it in her hot cocoa, and writing... ... "Gwimbly Schlimbly went dimbly bimblying before sombimbly plymombying into the plimbobly fombibly," she writes in the gothic notebook. That''s a good account of that soul, the girl thought. Summarizes his plight very vividly, in the most eloquent and detailed way possible. Dipping the tip of her feather pen several times in the midst of writing, as she writes this most eloquent of accounts.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "... Yvette. For void''s sake, Yvette, you''re not writing that." And right before she dots the end of that sentence... the girl looks over her shoulder to see a black cloaked skeleton standing over her, holding a withered scythe with the most pristine silver blade over it. His hollowed out eyeholes glaring at the notebook as he lifts a finger and the cocoa-writing lifts off the page, disappearing completely. Standing right before the girl- the living incarnation of the Grim Reaper. The collector of souls, the guide to the afterlife, a being of ominous tranquility as he carries out the horrifying inevitable. A figure many of the living fear, a representation of human mortality in monstrous form. And yet, the human girl before him, the one that sits quietly with her hot cocoa, is unfazed.Yvette stares for a while, apathetically sighing. "And here I thought you trusted me to account for the amnesiac souls, Death..." "Well, let''s see what you''ve done with that ''trust''. I want you to recite what you wrote and tell meexactlywhat that says about that man''s life story, Yvette..." the Grim Reaper demands. Yvette- takes one quick look at her writing before answering. "... obviously, his name is Gwimbly Schlimbly-" "No it is not," the Grim Reaper interrupts. Yvette continues. "And he was dimbly bimblying at the plimbobly-" "That is not an action," the Grim Reaper interrupts again. Yvette continues again. "Then he ended up plymombying into the pool all sombimbly-" "Sombimbly isn''t an adverb," the Grim Reaper interrupts again. Yvette finishes. "-into the plimbobly, all fombiblied and all." The Grim Reaper holds his hand to his forehead, an exasperated sigh sounding out... as he twirls his finger and erases all of the "cocoa ink" from the page. "Yvette, not only are you writing nonsense..." Taking a moment to look around, before reaching into the girl''s pocket and taking out a bottle of black ink. "... but you are writing nonsense with cocoa." "It''s sweeter than ink," Yvette responds. "Yvette, we''ve been over this. All I ask is that youjustwrite what they tell you in the Death Journal. No summaries, no big interpretations, just notes - in proper ink - about whatever you can get, Yvette. That is, quite literally, all I ask of you." "Well-" Yvette sighs, her eyes narrowing. "This is dumb. This is boring. You''re entrusting me with the most boring crap possible." "It''s highly important, Yvette. Nihil is responsible for big things, making sure the souls go to the right afterlives..." the Grim Reaper explains. "It may be ''dumb'' or ''boring'' as you so claim, but you''re... effectively saving billions, upon billions of souls from utter oblivion and nothingness." "..." The girl takes another sip of her hot cocoa, letting out a sigh. "If it''s so important, why don''t you do it yourself...?" "I cannot be in every place all at once, Yvette-" "But you had the time to figure out I wrote the tragic tale of Gwimbly Schlimbly in its full entirety wirety." "-aaaand..." the Grim Reaper continues, clearing his ''throat''. "While I am out gathering the dead,I am entrusting you with just one- ONE small realm to supervise," the Grim Reaper demands, holding up one finger. "That''s all you have to do. Watch over the amnesiac souls, help prepare them to pass on, and- ... Yvette, are you listening?" Right after the Grim Reaper began speaking that part, Yvette has passed out. Ever so conveniently knocking herself out, somehow, snoozing away and simply tuning out the whole lecture and rant that the incarnation of death is about to tell her. "... DON''T YOU DARE KNOCK YOURSELF OUT, HUMAN!" the Grim Reaper then angrily shouts out, his resonating voice echoing out and unleashing a small earthquake solely on the girl''s seat. Forcibly waking her back up with a portion of his might, flames burning in his eyes. Yvette- lets out a yawn as the earthquake happens, sighing. She''s already used to the earthquake, it''s nothing new... reaching out for her cocoa and taking another sip. In a fit of rage, the Grim Reaper slaps the cocoa out of the girl''s hand, the cup launched right across the table. The mug hits into the wall and shatters to pieces, spilling and splattering cocoa all over the window- the Grim Reaper roaring out in pure rage. "YOU DO NOT DISRESPECT THE GRIM REAPER WITH INSOLENCE! WHEN I SAY SOMETHING, YOU LISTEN WITH YOUR FULL ATTENTION. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" "..." The Grim Reaper glares for a bit, lowering down and looking the girl in the face. Peering into her soul, and... ... and watching as she stares back. A listless gaze in her eyes as she took several- several moments to process what just happened, feeling... like... "... Yvette? Do you- understand?" the Grim Reaper asks again, his voice softening. Yvette silently stares at the remains of her mug, gazing at it as it''s remained broken. The messy remains of that mug just... spread about. Basically destroyed to bits and shards.The chill of Death''s touch or rage isn''t what upset her... it''s the fact he took it out on the mug, in particular. The one thing that she''s brought from home, her own personal mug that she... that... "..." The Grim Reaper- stares a while in shock, just...cautiously backing away, index fingers touching as he awkwardly backs away. Just... sighing. Taking a more gentle tone with Yvette, as he puts the bottle of ink down on the table. "... I... must be off now. I''ll be back in a few hours. Can... can you please just... try to do a little better, Yvette?" Yvette... sighs in exasperation, and answers. "... I- I understand. I''ll do better,dad.Just go." An uncomfortable tension between the two, the Grim Reaper and his... apparently, "daughter", before- the cloaked skeleton just makes his way out."Well... alright, then. I''ll be back in a few hours. Just... be good," the Grim Reaper responds, before hefades away. Disappearing off to get back to business, and... and leaving Yvette to her own, again. "..." Yvette stares at the bottle, and... and... ... she just begins to write, as instructed, just to get Death off her back about it. Visibly annoyed and irritated as her eyes glance to the side, staring at the bits of mug that still remained- she just scribbled whatever she could about that guy, writing out each excruciating detail. Yvette already knows the whole spiel, how Nihil is the realm of the souls that have no identities, that houses and keeps track of those who died and lost all semblance of who they were. What they did, what they worshipped or believed in- the works. And, thanks to the Grim Reaper, she''s pretty much in charge of their "spiritual therapy" or whatever it''s called. Before Yvette got to work on anything in particular, here she was... leisurely enjoying some hot cocoa... and then one of theamnesiacsjust shows up. Apparently liking the coffee this cafe serves, and- well, she was obligated to let him speak when he sat down and started venting his whole life''s story spontaneously. Eh, she''s just going to write about how hefeelslike he''s some sort of pool guy who fell into the water while the people around him screamed... he was about to be saved by someone, and then just- bleh! Dead. That''s all. One page of notes, nothing much going on with how much that guy remembers... ... eh, he''s got an examination. The exam folk will take care of it all, Yvette thought... and- that was it. She lets the ink dry on the page, the amnesiac ghost guy''s story written out. And all that''s left for her to do is just- clean the remains of the hot cocoa mug that got smashed. "..." Ugh. #2 - Empty City of the Unnamed I remember the sun was out. That big ball of fire, shining brightly over my head. Its uncomfortably hot, summer light searing at my burnt skin. I was like... a chicken. A roasted chicken over the fire, or rather- beneath it, burning below the immense and intense heat. my eyes gazing helplessly into the cloudless afternoon sky. A layer of coarse sand for the breading, a thick scent of rotting rat meat and metal... and a generous garnish of kosher salt. All of this came in an instant, a condensed few moments when I woke up, when I came to consciousness. I didn''t understand what caused my sleep to begin with, but none of it could ever explain what brought me to the middle of so many people around me. All of them sharing my condition... collapsed against the sand as well, their own bodies a crisp gold that made a dinner fit for a giant. ... and... and it dawned on me, in that moment, that I was the one who survived. The only one out of everybody that lived. None were awake, except me. And because I didn''t know this in time, because I didn''t put two and two together quickly enough... that changed. One second after, after I- after I foolishly sat up, I then... I just... I think I died in that moment, somehow. The feeling is unforgettable, yet so indiscernible. A fate unknown to my own mind, a fate that maybe a mortal could not understand, a fate that sends chills down my spine every time I think about it. That... That brings me to here, really... after... "... after I... after- after I-" repeats and stutters a sand-covered ghost, stuttering in place. Hand holding the bicep of his arm, on the verge of tears after that. "I- I don''t know how to word it, it''s... I feel so... I''m- I''m sorry..." "... it''s perfectly okay... take your time. Not going anywhere yet..." Yvette passively says, her gothic notebook out as she''s writing all of this down. Scribbling whatever part of this ghost''s testimony she could with her feather pen. The ghost gulps for a moment... eyes squinting, bits of sand crumbling from it as it looked around, as it tried desperately to... "N-No, it... it''s too painful, I... it... I''m not ready to- to face it yet... I- I just can''t. I''m really... sorry..." "... it really is no rush..." Yvette responds, giving a gentle nod- a subtle one. "Take all the time you-" "I-I don''t think I had a family," the ghost speaks. "When I was a young lad..." Yvette is now trying to resist the... urge... to sigh, as the ghost begins to ramble spontaneously. When I was a young lad, he says... going really far back, far past his death and stuff. Look, okay. Yvette knows her job is to listen to these ghosts, that it''s- important to log it down and stuff. The Grim Reaper made that plenty clear, and she''s- she''s trying properly, now that he went on to have a whole temper tantrum at her about being unprofessional and stuff. After talking to the first ghost, then talking to the Grim Reaper, and then cleaning up the mess with the broken mug of hot cocoa... Yvette leaves the cafe with the shards pocketed away, and she stands at a train station. The only one in her realm, the one that''s placed right in front of the cafe across the street. Contently standing at this train station for some time, having JUST missed the train that first ghost got on. See, the business she has with the train is to- well, head to the center of Nihil. There''s this center building that every single realm in Nihil connects to: a large four story "town hall-esque" building that the newly arrived dead people spawn from. It''s where the ghosts appear, where the train station diverges into an entire subway of trains going throughout all of Nihil, and it''s where Yvette just feels like going for now. It''s the only place that Yvette can feed herself and do anything in, after all. Even though the Grim Reaper entrusted her with this realm, there''s nothing to do in this city. There''s just a cafe, a hotel where the ghosts stay, and NOTHING else. After all, ghosts here don''t need the comforts of modern life... they''re dead. So these buildings just exist to make the whole thing look a bit nicer and stuff. Nothing exists in these empty buildings, and Yvette doesn''t have the power to make a whole new restaurant with the snap of her fingers- so she''s going to the center of Nihil in order to get a hot dog or whatever it is that they''re going to make for her. And this ghost, this second ghost, is another amnesiac ghost that had approached Yvette the moment she reached the station, standing alongside her and speaking to her about his death. This isn''t exactly unexpected. Everywhere she goes, Yvette runs the risk of having to log a newly arrived, very talkative Amnesiac in the journal- writing notes down, ascertaining all those facts of what his soul could gather overtime... yep. And it''s her job to listen whenever they come up with anything about their deaths, as all that information could help with recovering from their spiritual loss of identity. In this particular case, Yvette faced a sense of- obligation to listen to this guy, as well as some slight peer pressure because- well, right next to them, a large group of OTHER ghosts idly sitting aside on the train station benches, patiently listening to the entire tale. She couldn''t just say no in front of a whole audience of people, or else the Grim Reaper would find out and totally kill her for unprofessionalism, so she listened to the whole thing. The whole, whooooole thing. And she seemed very exasperated- tired, exhausted, just overall fed up with this guy after all that time. The train was taking a long, loooong time to get to the cafe, and she''s done nothing but listen. It wasn''t anything personal towards the guy. At least, Yvette hoped it wasn''t. It''s just that this ghost went on and on about- roasted chicken, like- described his own death with a ton of food metaphors, and it''s painfully hard to take it seriously when Yvette was on her way to eat dinner. Her appetite''s just- gone the more this ghost talks about it. If she goes on to eat fried chicken or a chicken sandwich or whatever, Yvette is going to be forced to think of this guy and suddenly just- lose her desire to eat anything chicken related.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. In fact- before his death, a lot of it was him also going on and on about the sand. The sand he was lying on and stuff, described in vivid detail before he even described anything else about his death. Yvette listened to what kind of sand it was, what was in the sand- so on and so forth. An entire 20 minute conversation about sand before an approximate 2-3 minutes of actual death talk, as if this ghost''s entire life was sand. Ah, for all Yvette knew, this guy possibly thinks he''s a person, when in actuality he''s just a living pile of sand. Like, the sand was living, full on sentience and consciousness. It would make sense, given the fact his ghost body is deeply connected to the stuff- a floating man body constructed out of transparent, ghostly sand. Guy just a bunch of "living" sand, for real for real. And his generous sand descriptions do not, at all, give her anything to work with. No cause of death, no recollection of what happened moments before death... the guy didn''t even remember if there was any water near where he died. Water, AKA: the ocean. The ocean being there is the basic difference between a guy being offed in a desert wasteland massacre and a guy just having a heart attack at the beach. Rat meat doesn''t narrow it down either. Rats are everywhere, they show up everywhere- and the metal scent doesn''t indicate much either! Iron in the blood? A gunshot wound? Some sort of steel bar dropped on his head, or something really graphic with a chainsaw or buzzsaw? Could it be that some monster made of rusted nuts and bolts came to life and personally strangled this sandman? Augh, no, no signs, no discernible signs to clarify what happened! So this whole thing is a bunch of nothing about sand and chicken... and Yvette made a ton of notes with question marks here and there. This conversation doesn''t achieve much, since the ghost pretty much already understand all of it... Yvette''s the one left clueless on what to get from this talk. "Would it... help if I laid out the shapes of the sand?" asks the ghost, tilting his head with an eyebrow raised. "I saw a ton of curves beneath the surrounding people, a... and-" "No, no," Yvette interrupts, writing the last word and closing the book. Holstering the book and pocketing the pen. "To tell you the truth, your sand has been quite helpful already, I do not need any more details about the sand... thanks." "N-No... thank you. It... I feel better. You''re doing a lot for- ghosts like me..." the sandy ghost praises, smiling warmly. "I... I hope I wasn''t too much of a bother? It- kind of feels like I was, and, uhm... uh... I- I don''t know... it... uhm..." "..." And... and now Yvette feels bad. The ghost is fidgeting his thumbs like a nervous, awkward little school child... and- well, Yvette had whatever semblance of a heart she possesses just- feel for the guy in that moment. He made himself vulnerable, and - even though Yvette is obligated to - she listened to him, helped progress his recovery, and made his day in general. ... ah, just play along, Yvette. Lie through your teeth... "It''s no bother, not a problem," Yvette responds, continuing to be as... professional as she could. Returning the smile with one of her own, ready to lie through her teeth to satisfy this guy. Secretly just hoping the train arrives soon, she keeps a smile up for the ghost''s sake. "This was nice. Happy to lend an ear, do every little bit and all." The sandy ghost''s smile widens, as he feels really touched by Yvette''s words... Then, after that, a different ghost slowly walks up to Yvette from behind, covered head to toe in... salt and pepper, just immediately chiming in with his life story now. "Well, since he''s done, miss, I''m next. See, I vividly remember the scent of lavender, and the image of a meatloaf on a plate..." And then Yvette opens the book back up, internally sighing. Exasperatedly sighing her lungs out in her mind, just... yep. That''s what she expected to happen. Now there goes her appetite for beef. Ugh. ... ... Yvette thought to herself: the silver lining about this whole thing is that, for what the job contextually is, Yvette doesn''t really have to do much. Sure, it''s tedious and mind numbing, and Yvette is bored out of her freaking mind as this third ghost just came up to her without warning RIGHT after the sand ghost- but it''s just writing. Writing notes down about the souls she talks to. That''s all, no manual labor- no traveling across the world to take souls, no boring bureaucratic work with processing the Death Journal and stuff... none of that. All Yvette has to do is just has to write in the Death Journal, have it spontaneously disappear every time it''s called by the Center of Nihil, and that''s it. Makes her curious how they would have processed the tragic ballad of Gwimbly Schlimbly, but- yeah, that''s all. The more she thinks about it, in fact, her realm in Nihil is... actually pretty nice, out of all places she could be. The main thing that appeals to Yvette about Nihil is that she is in a city. Like, an urban city. One with rectangle buildings and stuff, running this whole city for herself. Yvette doesn''t feel out of place here, compared to what this realm could have been. Could''ve been a wasteland, a cave, a huge field of nothing- maybe a molten volcano or whatever. But no, the Grim Reaper assigned her a realm meant for a city. Probably considered the fact she''s a human girl who also lived in a city and all. Sure, the city has nothing, and the entirety of the city may be colorless shades of black, white and gray, but it''s still astonishingly vibrant and grand on the outside. The dark gray buildings stand out with the light gray sidewalks and black streets, and the white lights shine through a bunch of the windows and junk. And Yvette is quite literally one of the major hands of running this city- she can pretty much go anywhere she wants, do whatever she wants. No way is someone saying "no you can''t come in" to the person who has a say in possibly destroying it. Nepotism is alive and well! There isn''t anything else yet, but if there just happened to be some sort of... five star restaurant, like a full five stars dedicated to the most heavenly food that Nihil could ever offer to ghosts- then Yvette has free reign to enjoy the heck out of it. That gives Yvette- a lot to look forward to, down the line. The possibility of being able to have a whole freaking gourmet restaurant in her ghost realm, to eat whatever she wanted and do whatever she wanted (outside of her job), and so on. But for now... she''s waiting for the train so that she can eat food... just- hoping the train comes soon, as the list of foods she can''t eat anytime soon expands. Listening to this ghost, the one that started describing lavender and steak- the list goes on, for some reason, as the ghost just lists a ton of food. Bacon and eggs. Marshmallow cereal. A combination of celery, peanut butter, and raisins. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Jelly filled donuts. No, she''s not just hungry, these are things that were apparently involved with how this ghost, this salt and pepper covered ghost, ended up recalling. All of these foods out of nowhere... ... ... huh. "You know, that''s... I hope you realize that you''re listing off a ton of traditional children''s foods...?" The ghost narrows his eyes at Yvette, seeming- offended by what she said? For some reason. "Children''s foods? What?" the ghost asks, crossing his arms. "I don''t get it, what part of anything I said gives off that impression? These are just normal foods!" "... okay, well, maybe the correlation is-" Yvette began to speak, ready to explain herself and her train of thought- Suddenly, the sound of an incoming train is heard... as the train finally arrives. "Ah, the train is here. But anyway, let''s change the subject," the ghost tells Yvette, deciding to- move away from the children''s food topic. "I remember, also, a bowl of macaroni and cheese alongside some saltine crackers..." Yvette slowly nods to this ghost and just lets him continue speaking. Welp. There goes her relaxing, peaceful train ride, she thought to herself... #3 - Denial of the Unnamed As I think about what I''ve eaten, it makes me feel as if I''ve done time. That society has branded me someone who has done unforgivable things. The worst things a person could ever do, to end up eating the most lesser of foods. I began with culinary excellence, food that is home cooked. Food that is regarded as healthy and well-made. Then, at some point in my life, my nutrition got worse, and I ended up with cheap foods. ... and I think the last one of all my meals, the most vivid one I remember... this single tray of food. A blue tray with all of it separated. The most crispy of meat in the main, large part of the tray... with bits of yellow and creamy yellow surrounding a sweet, brown, colorful confection. It was the one thing that reminded me of the old days, a middle ground between my two diets... And I thought to myself... it was a meal that is fit for a last request, really. I believe my last meal was a last request, a request I''ve made because I was sentenced to die. Maybe I was on death row, one of the prisoners that did something really bad. Bad enough that the world would want me to be put away, to take me away. To make me pay for the crimes I''ve committed. The jail gave me this food to honor that I had lived, in spite of the things I''ve done. A pure act of humanity in these trying times... when all the goodness in this world is dead. I wonder to myself if life, if my role in society could have gone any differently, that I wouldn''t have needed to be put to death in such a way. If I did anything to change my fate and change the world, if I could have done one small act of good that would have prevented me from doing the countless acts of bad in my wake. Ah, if only. But my fate is sealed with that last of meals... an admission that I was too far gone. That the world had given up on me, and I was ready to give up on the world too. "And... yeah. That brings me to now," the ghost tells Yvette, sighing as he rests his face in his two salt and pepper covered hands. "I believe the condiments, these- bits of salt and pepper are meant to cement my soul as a good soul, tainted by corruption. My life a long sequence of meals, worsening more and more, with my very last request cementing my fate as a-" "Kid Cuisine," Yvette bluntly comments. "... what?" the ghost asks. "Your last meal. You''re describing Kid Cuisine," Yvette explains. "Like, one of those- grocery store TV dinners. You put it in the microwave and- it comes out and... yeah. Kid Cuisine." The two of them sat in the train headed to the Center of Nihil. Both of them sitting with backs against ash gray cushions, with the back of their seats against walls. Two of many simply sandwiched in the ghost-filled train car, the pure grayscale scenery passing by them through the spacious train windows. Not a voice in the train car speaks, except for Yvette and this ghost, and... well. Yvette has been listening to the ghost for the last 10 minutes, thinking to herself: this ghost is really, REALLY a child in denial. One after the other, this entire impromptu ghost vent session became a cycle of what food this ghost had over a long period of time, cementing the fact that food is a huge, major aspect of the ghost''s life. It was a bunch of meals, so on and so forth, and Yvette did not have a single moment to get a word in about this "child" theory of hers. The first one was a little hard, because meatloaf could be enjoyed by anyone... but once Yvette made the connection, this is very easily explained. Some bit of history trivia: in the late 1900s, meatloaf WAS the family dinner. Simple, cost effective, could feed an entire family. So its popularity skyrocketed alongside televisions, often cooked by housewives to be enjoyed. From there, bacon and eggs. Sure, it isn''t a child meal, but it''s still totally something a mom would make for a kid. After these two, it grew so much easier to pinpoint the theme of childhood. Marshmallow cereal? Child food. Celery, peanut butter, raisins? "Ants in a log", healthy children''s snack. Grilled cheese, possible child lunch- jelly filled donuts, child dessert! Every- single- last- bit of food this ghost listed? These were all meals a parent would make for a child. And at the very end, this ghost has, word for word, described himself eating a microwaved Kid Cuisine convenience store meal - KID CUISINE, aka literally child food. It is his most VIBRANT memory, like the most prominent and recent one. He remembers, exactly, that it''s his last meal and is the culmination of all his meals. He is a child. In denial. Sure, he doesn''t LOOK like one, but that''s the point of being a LITERAL AMNESIAC SOUL. With not a memory to his missing name, Yvette really does feel like this ghost is just some pretentious child trying to act more grown up than he actually is. "... I-" the ghost noises, an offended- OFFENDED look on his face after Yvette dared to suggest that. His voice noticeably... quiet... as he speaks up in protest at this fact. "... I- feel as if you''re making this up. The tray seemed more prison themed than a mere microwaved meal... it has to be-" "A blue, vibrant blue prison tray? No, you- you literally described word-for-word a Kid Cuisine Meal, right out of the packaging," Yvette objects, shutting the ghost down before he makes up some crap about a hypothetical special death row inmate tray. "In fact, I should ask. When it was served to you, did it- happen to have plastic wrapping still stuck to the tray?" The ghost narrows his eyes further. "... I mean, I... it... uhm..." Pausing for a bit and- dodging the question. "... what exactly do you know about the packaging to make that claim? Like, it could be any meal that-" "It is specifically: the Kid Cuisine All Star Nuggets meal with 14 grams of protein," Yvette recites in an almost monotone voice, hand on the side of her cheek and reading this off word for word. "Coming with white meat chicken patties, macaroni and cheese, corn, and a fudge brownie with celebration sprinkles."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. "... y... you-" the ghost noises, his- his face becoming more strained as Yvette is actually- describing- word for word the meal in question. The meal was a Kid Cuisine... "W-Well, that... it doesn''t-" Yvette continues reciting, almost out of spite to rub it in. "Scan & Play, Basketball Game. 1.5 by 1.5 inches of a black QR Code on an orange background. See back to learn-" "Okay, ENOUGH!" the ghost shouts. "I- If you''re not going to take me seriously, then I don''t even know why I approached you! Isn''t it your job to listen to our plights, write it down in that notebook of yours and-" Oh, here he goes again... "You are- partly right, but... see, that''s only part of my job," Yvette blurts out, taking a really- REALLY strict tone. A more casual tone than how she''s professionally supposed to speak. "The reason I listen in the first place is to help you discover who you were in life. I''m not here to blindly listen to you like a yes-man and assume everything you say is correct, dude." The ghost glares at Yvette angrily, like a petulant child. "That doesn''t disregard what I do remember...! You''re focusing heavily on-" "On the food, right? I''m focusing heavily on the food?" Yvette asks, snapping back. "Well, let me ask you: what part of anything you said indicates you''re a death row criminal?" "The tray of food that-" the ghost begins to speak, before his eyes widen. "That-" "Yeah, okay, mhmm, what else? Do you remember anything about what you did? Any crimes?" Yvette asks. "Well, I may have- uhm ... I... uhm... uh..." The Kid Cuisine eating ghost just... blinks for a moment as he stares at his own hands, as it dawns on him that Yvette has a point. Nothing about his memories so far gives off prisoner, beyond the meal. He is a soul as pure as day, with naught an act of malice in his deceased heart. The train car remains quiet as Yvette stares at this ghost, as her red gaze locks onto this ghost and she has the most passive-aggressive "Yeah? Mhmm? Go on" look on her face. A slight pout with the right corner of her mouth put into a smile, staring with some minor spite. "... uhm... i-if I may- chime in?" Right in front of them, the ghost that Yvette had previously spoken to. The one that seemed like he was made of sand, died in sand, and had his whole vent session all about sand. A patient, kind smile on his face as he wanted to- chime in on this discussion. "Yes, please- go ahead," the Kid Cuisine enjoyer tells the sand guy. "What do you have to say about it?" The sandy ghost clears his throat, collecting his thoughts for a moment as a trail of sand falls from the corner of his mouth. "... well, have you ever considered that those feelings of being in a prison are... symbolic? Like, a metaphor?" "A... A metaphor? Of what?" asks the Kid Cuisine enjoyer. "Well, I had thoughts of chicken, of the sand on my back and arms being the outer layer of a fried chicken, like I had told Miss... uhm...?" "... Jolivette," Yvette responds, just bluntly stating her last name to the ghost. "Right, Miss Jolivette," the sandy ghost continues. "Maybe your thoughts of a prison could be... you, not enjoying your life? Feeling like you lived in a prison? Trapped and enclosed in this cycle you were born into? I know not of your life, but perhaps your feelings of being a prisoner, a death row inmate, could possibly mean-" "ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS... WE ARE NOW COMING UP ON [NIHIL CENTRAL]." Yvette blinks for a moment as she looks up, hearing the intercom speak. Its voice all gravely and ghastly, as the train was being run by something that is also dead. Not exactly a soul that once lived, no... it was some sort of- construct? A skeletal construct, just a walking bunch of bones with rib cages and skulls and stuff. The Grim Reaper often enlists the help of skeletons to do menial tasks, like- run trains and stuff. On one tier below normal souls, pure skeletons are less "conscious" of their existences and simply aim to do what they''re told and instructed. This one in particular is the Train Skeleton, and he speaks in a ghastly and gravely voice. "Ah- look at that, we''re coming to our next stop," defensively speaks the Kid Cuisine enjoying ghost, getting up from his seat and floating away as Yvette was thinking about the Train Skeleton. "We should continue this conversation some other time. Yes and thank you." "Huh?" the sandy ghost noises. "Wait, but we didn''t finish-" "Yes, we''ll continue it later," Yvette interrupts, looking to the sandy ghost and- clearing her throat. "Our stop is coming up and all... right?" "... oh." A few nods from the sandy ghost, picking up Yvette''s cue to stop. With that, the Kid Cuisine ghost is now out of sight, probably headed off to a different train car altogether to get away from Yvette. Afterwards, more silence formed in the train car as the train pulls into the station, Yvette just- letting out a calming breath as she''s finally left by her lonesome. Leaning back into the chair, and- ... and seeing the sandy ghost getting up from his seat to actually sit next to her, now that a seat''s opened up. Yvette blinks as he does this, but- well, apart from his lengthy sand descriptions annoying her a little, Yvette doesn''t actually have a problem with this guy. In fact, after that petulant child and/or man-child talked to her, Yvette can honestly say the sand guy''s growing on her a little. Kinda feels nice to hear him talk about things that are not sand related. She does wonder when this guy''s examination is gonna happen, so she can call him something other than Sand Guy, or- "So- Miss Jolivette-?" Sand Guy begins to speak, wanting to ask a question. Yvette blinks a couple of times and looks to the ghost, nodding and- interrupting. "You can just call me Yvette." "Oh! Okay. Well, Yvette-" the ghost continues. "I am quite new to... being dead. What is it that happens at this- Nihil Central?" Yvette blinks for a moment, and immediately- IMMEDIATELY realizes... oh god, she''s going to have to be a tour guide. Yvette wonders if there''s an excuse, if she can make an excuse up to not show this guy around. Any sort of excuse should work. Maybe she has to do some professional stuff with the Death Journal? Probably needs to go to the restroom, the private one on the third floor of the main building? Maybe- ... Wait. Wait, if she- just so happened to be giving this ghost a tour of Nihil Central... ... then no other ghost would be able to come up to her and vent, right? Yvette would be able to just- eat in peace, just get some food and do a bunch of stuff and not have to wait around for an amnesiac to vent to her. This ghost will be her ticket to having a- having a metaphorical free day off! A-And she could lie and make up an excuse about how she isn''t and won''t be doing anything, because it''s all to help the memory of this sandy ghost! Special, deep, thorough care to help this amnesiac! Sure, there''s probably something risky about doing this without telling the Grim Reaper first, but like... but like, it''s worth the risk! Yvette''s now determined to do this. Yvette looks at the sandy ghost for a moment with the kindest look on her face, smiling warmly and ever so cheerfully. "Well, there''s a lot to do at Nihil Central, a lot more than my realm! I don''t think you''d get enough from me just, like... talking about it!" "Oh?" the sandy ghost asks. "A lot?" "Mhmm! So, it''s your lucky day, you''re getting a personal Yvette tour of the place!" Yvette suggests to the ghost, a proud look on her face as she really, REALLY prepares to go fully forward with this plan. "Tour Guide Jolivette, at your service!" The ghost claps his hands together, excitedly beaming. His face lighting up with a strange amount of joy and happiness, his dusty face never looking any cleaner. "Oh! How kind of you! Thank you, Miss- uhm- Tour Guide Jolivette!" he exclaims. Yvette smiles and smirks at this. Full title and everything. And she''s totally thinking this to be the best coincidental plan she''s ever had, ever... #4 - Tour Guide for the Unnamed I think to myself, why is this the life we sought? The beauty of life is the beauty of thought. We hear, then we think, and we speak and we see. We can think of anything, and it''s all for free. But the best of thoughts come from people who made the most genius of efforts, and with results they''re paid. Ideas come and go, some live and most don''t. Will that stop me from thinking? No, it won''t. But a good idea is good, and we love to follow, while a bad idea is bad, and we''re left to wallow. The idea I''ve made, it was good, then became bad. And I wallow in shame, lost and clueless and sad. I will continue to think, but for now I shall sink. Death of an Idea, by Bonnie Yvette Jolivette. "Oh! There''s a tour going on? May I come along?" "Yes, please! You are welcome to come along!" ... Okay, so, Yvette is starting to regret her greatest idea ever to get out of work, and affectionately- ever so affectionately devised a poem in her head, to express the turmoil of thinking. The idea she planned out: take a ghost on tour, use him as an excuse to not go through random encounters with other ghosts, eat her food and do other things, then go back to her realm after a very elaborately thought out break. However, moments after she got off of the train, Mr. "Died in the Sand" Ghost over here is accompanied by dozens of ghosts following him. Apparently, there is a really high number of new ghosts that are also interested in a tour around Nihil Central, and the guy did a bit of kind, free word-of-mouth advertising for Yvette''s tour in particular- demand is high and now Yvette''s gaining a following. And it only gets bigger and bigger as they walk. The fact that Yvette has a few ghosts following her attracts attention as they travel through the station, and Sand Ghost''s very effective advertising ends up causing a few to turn to a dozen. There were now at least twelve ghosts following her, before they even leave the station. Not only that... Sandy Ghost is very curious! He asks questions about a lot of things, all questions centered around Nihil Central- even about the trains! The convoluted nature of all the trains operating at once, especially when they leave Nihil Central and start heading to other people''s realms, is a topic of discussion alone for him! "So, Miss Tour Guide Jolivette-" Sand Ghost asks, still using the full given title and asking the first of many, MANY questions in his generous helping of curiosity. "How do the trains work? Like, there aren''t any tracks for the trains to go on. Are they just flying trains?" "..." Yvette''s immediate thought: how in the depths of Nihil is SHE supposed to know how the dead people train works?! Her next immediate thought: this could have been a casual, question free tour if it was just her and Sandy Guy over here, probably a whole "oh, I don''t know, let''s find out together" kind of thing. Make it a sweet, easy thing. But no, the girl has a large tour group, and is now realizing that in order to be a tour guide, you have to KNOW THE THINGS YOU''RE TOUR GUIDING. Yvette is in too deep, though. She has a crowd of ghosts following her and cannot afford to be honest about the fact she''s not actually an informed tour guide... ... so, time to put her confidence face on and- go for it. "Well, every train in Nihil is fueled by fairy and pixie dust, you see?" Yvette lies through her teeth, making up a fake answer on the spot. "Fairies and pixies? They exist...?" asks Sandy Ghost. "Yes, they do!" Yvette continues, really selling this lie. "See, we have workers in Nihil Central who go out on daily runs to scavenge the planet for leftover dust, sweeping and mopping all of it up into buckets. After that, they then bring the dust to Nihil in order to put it in the trains." "Ohhhhhhh!" noises the sand-dead ghost that was eating this lie up, causing the tour group as a whole to collectively join in along with him. The group seems satisfied with this answer so far, not having much reason to doubt her- especially since they don''t have the right to say anything about things not being real, most (if not all) of them were amnesiac ghosts in some sort of bizarre black and white afterlife. All reason goes out the window! ... and Yvette came to a second realization: she''s really good at lying to dead people, and is actually having a lot of fun doing it! Once they were out of the station, the group ends up in the center of Central Nihil - not to be confused with Nihil Center, the grand four story building constructed of pure white marble that processes all the professional dead people stuff. No, Central Nihil consists of the entire land, including the station, the building- and everything in between the station and building. And what is right between the train station and this building? A large, recreational park that still follows the greyscale coloring. Black bar fences, white stone pathways, pure gray grass- and, right in the center of it, a grand water fountain that dispenses transparent... water. This is a grand spectacle that catches the tour group''s attention. "Ohhh. Miss Tour Guide Jolivette," asks the Sandy Ghost again. Seeking Yvette''s wisdom and truly believing her to be a well knowledgeable and reliable tour guide. "If you don''t mind me asking, how is all of this made? What goes into making and fixing the center of Nihil, here? Is it pure stone mined from the planet?" Ahhh... another thing Yvette doesn''t know... ... roll with it. "Well, no, we can''t use stone. To anyone unfamiliar, stone comes from the planet ''Earth'', and all of that is for the living humans to use. Limited resources and stuff. We''d cause a ton of dead people if we took any bits of Earth from there." "Oh. Then what do you use?" Sandy Ghost asks. "Well- milk." Yvette answers, coming up with something on the spot. "M... Milk?" The tour group blinks at this answer, confused and- staring at the white parts of the Nihilian architecture. "All of that is milk?" "Yes, milk," Yvette answers again, and... uhm... clears her throat. "See, Death very much enjoys milk for many reasons. One is that, given the right steps, a bottle of milk is enough to construct a wall in Nihil. Quite like how it solidifies into chunks when it goes bad on Earth, milk makes a very- very good building material in Nihil." "Oh... how does he, uhm, use the material?" Yvette nods contently at this question, and is in complete and utter disbelief that she''s getting away with this. "Ah, yes, good question. The process is very intricate, something only Death can achieve. See, he first lathers his bone fingers in... "solidity", a thin layer of dust that he coats his entire hands in. Then Death proceeds to run the milk through his fingers, essentially stripping it of its edibleness and turning it into a malleable clay. After that, he has about thirty minutes to shapes it accordingly with his bare hands, and... voila, building." Astonished, impressed looks on the ghosts'' faces at this information, just... finding it very, very hard to believe this. "Oh, the Grim Reaper isn''t just good at collecting souls! He is quite the visionary," Sandy Ghost responds, believing every single word that Yvette says... scratching his ghost chin. "So how does he fix it when it cracks or breaks?" "It''s kind of like constructing a snowman. Get more milk, go through the process, then pat the milk with his bone hands to fix it all."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "Ohhhhh. And where does he get the milk, Miss Tour Guide Jolivette?" Sandy Ghost then asks, speaking for the entire tour group. "If you cannot get the stone from the planet, then- I imagine you cannot get the milk from cows to do the same thing, so...?" A long pause as Yvette thinks on this heavily, scratching her head and pretending that she''s trying to remember the real reason... "... humans," Yvette eventually lies to them. Visible astonishment and shock from the ghosts as Yvette says this. "Humans?! You can collect milk from humans?!" Yvette takes a deep breath, trying her best not to lose it. "Yes. They produce a lot of it when they fall asleep." ... visible disgust on all of the ghosts at this explanation, all of them just staring at the building and questioning- "No, no, okay, I see those looks on your faces, it''s a very common misconception," Yvette immediately speaks up, not wanting a single one of them reporting or complaining about the lie she''s made up. "So you know how sometimes in cartoons, comics- whatever it is you all watched or read when you were alive, a person falls asleep and a thick white fluffy bubble appears over their head? A thought bubble to symbolize their dreams?" ... collective confusion as half of them didn''t understand what Yvette is talking about, while the other half of the ghosts either- know, or pretend to know. "Well, we collect it from there, those bubbles. You people don''t see it when you''re alive, because only a select few workers from Nihil can see them. From there, they go out in the middle of the night and collect these human dreams, which is then processed by Death himself as a- hobby," Yvette explains, having the most straight face on this entire plane of existence. "Oh... that''s fascinating!" Sandy Ghost speaks up, now less disgusted and more astonished and amazed. "Wait, excuse me, so if the white buildings are milk- what is the black made of, Miss Tour Guide Jolivette?" asks a sweet old lady ghost, joining in on the trend that Sand Ghost is starting and calling her by that full title. "What does Death use to create the black fences and all?" Yvette calmly, ever so calmly goes: "... nightmares. The nightmares people have make this goopy stuff that isn''t milk, but- more spoiled milk. It turns gray with the slightest bit of scary, with the most horrifying of nightmares being pitch black." "Ohhhh." The old lady seems very satisfied and happy with that answer, and Yvette is met with applause. The tour group starting to applaud and praise the architecture with their loving faces, absolutely respecting and admiring the milksmanship. Astounded and amazed that humans could contribute to construction in such a way. Yvette is still amazed that she''s getting away with all of this, trying her best to keep calm as she and the group walk through the park with the ghosts. The girl is taking a deep breath and pepping herself up in her head. Trying her best not to lose it, mentally preparing herself for the gauntlet of tour guide lies once they actually enter the building. Once they''re in Nihil Center, there''s going to be an entire building of staff there to fact check anything and everything Yvette says... so she has to walk on eggshells once inside. Not only that, she has to give a good enough tour that satisfies these ghosts and makes them believe she showed them everything public that Nihil Center has to offer. However... Yvette doesn''t think much about what the ghosts could ask about once they''re inside. Maybe she doesn''t have to lie about most of Nihil Center once they enter the building. The ghosts could just admire all the architecture and walk around, focused on how all of it''s made of milk. Yes, they... they shouldn''t be curious about anything going on in this building, right? Right? "So, Miss Tour Guide Jolivette, who are those ghosts, and what exactly are they doing?" ... wrong. Oh no. Yvette looks to the receptionist''s desks, calmly staring at the very busy staff doing things back there. Flying all around and carrying large papers all about. Yvette at least knows this one, and can tell the truth about it. "The Grim Reaper employs outside help to keep Nihil running. Some of them include your fellow ghosts, who have applied to work in order to give their nameless, identity-less existences meaning. Nihil Center very much depends on them to handle papers and stuff to- record all of you and keep you all content." "Ohhh." And so the questions keep coming as Yvette just goes about her merry way. "Why does Nihil Center have all these photos of several Greek gods and goddesses...?" a ghost asks, looking to see visual representations of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades- as well as many of hte others, to which Yvette doesn''t know anything about. "Are the Greeks right about religion?" "Well, not exactly. Here in Nihil, we believe that every single religion- exists, all dependent on the soul that believes in it," Yvette... tells the truth, at least in the context of Nihil. That is actually something that Nihil''s meant to do. "And we send you to the appropriate afterlife, depending on whichever one you believed in when you were alive." "Oh. So, then, the pictures here are specifically hung because...?" "These are Death''s personal hand-drawn fan art of those Greek deities," Yvette then lies. "On top of constructing buildings, he''s a very talented artist. Secretly, he has a massive crush on all of them and kind of draws- paints, so on and so forth, because it gives him a romantic thrill every time he gets to share his secret and not-to-be-revealed love for these entities. He even has a personal photograph of him and the Christian God hanging out together, taken with permission and all." "Ohhh." Then, they make it to Nihil''s food court, where Yvette gets something to eat- and also gets these ghosts stuff to eat, too. Many of the ghosts obtaining various kinds of translucent ghost food stylized to their own persona diets, while Yvette has an entire chicken burrito protein bowl (the ingredients of a burrito, all in a plastic bowl instead of a burrito) right in front of her. All of it pretty much at an employee discount. "What exactly is the food here made of, Miss Tour Guide Jolivette?" a ghost asks for the group, curious about what goes into food made in Nihil. "The cheers and emotions that comes from performances ends up reaching Nihil, to which those sounds and feelings are converted from sound to food," Yvette lies, scooping a bit of her beans and tomatoes to eat. "The laughs from a stand-up comedy show, for example." "Ohhhhhhh." Leaving the court after eating, Yvette then continues to walk along, heading to the Journal Drop-Off station on the other side of the first floor. Heading down the hallways with the tour group, all of them passing by several doors. "This part, we''re told about! These doors go to several private rooms to check up on how the spirit is doing," Sandy Ghost speaks up, coincidentally and happily doing Yvette''s tour for her in that moment. But it''s when Yvette drops her (barely even written in) journal off that they have new questions. Yvette slides her book into a hole, and needed to wait for a few minutes before she can continue walking, giving them ample opportunity for Sandy Ghost to ask: "Ah, so, Miss Tour Guide Jolivette, what is exactly done with what you write in your journals? Do the gods read it and decide what happens to us with their wisdom?" "No," Yvette tells the truth, knowing full well that Death is the only... religious force... that even cares about Nihil''s processes. Then, she lies. "The notes are taken and sent to a secret council that Death elects, not even us workers and employees have seen ourselves. Rumors say that they''re a bunch of sentient, talking animals. Death''s personal pets, all of which gain their wisdom across time and space. A dog, a cat, a gerbil, maybe even an elephant, all of them gathered up and deciding in due time when all of you are ready." "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" And after Yvette gets her book basically cleaned out and refreshed, she walks the tour back to the lobby. The place as busy as ever. "And- that concludes our tour, unfortunately," Yvette tells them. "You all have been wonderful." "Oh, the tour is ending so soon?" asks the Sandy Ghost. "Well, yes... there isn''t a lot that happens in Nihil to warrant anything- special, unfortunately," Yvette tells the tour group, scratching the back of her head. The ghosts now seem visibly disappointed, sighing audibly- "Wait, but Miss Tour Guide Jolivette, what about the Naming Ceremonies?" asks a ghost. "I thought we were going to, at least, see one of those..." Yvette then pauses, looking to the ghost that says this. Ceremonies? What? "... seeing the public ceremony?" "Well- yes," the ghost starts to explain to Yvette and the other tour ghosts. "The Naming Ceremonies are the biggest events in Nihil. When an amnesiac is ready to obtain a name for their soul, they''re scheduled into a show for an audience of ghosts. Then their names are announced in a grand spectacle, and they''re certified." "I seeeeee..." Yvette speaks with a drawn out voice, struggling to remain composed. But Yvette freezes as she sees the entire tour group seem to know what this ghost''s talking about, agreeing with her and also expressing confusion that- that the tour was ending here. The Sandy Ghost, however, didn''t know that at all! "Oh! That sounds wonderful, actually! I didn''t know about it." "Then you must be a new arrival, fully new and all. It''s common knowledge among us ghosts here. While the examinations and checkups are private, the Naming Ceremonies are one of the only things us ghosts can even do. The one problem is that these seats are filled up really quickly, with most of us having to schedule months in advance, so I never got to see one personally- was looking forward to seeing one today..." "Ohhhh!" the Sandy Ghost exclaims, looking back at Yvette. "So that''s why you were walking us around during your personal business. Were you trying to surprise us by pretending you didn''t know about it, Miss Tour Guide Jolivette?" Yvette has a visible poker face as this ghost explains this, having had NO INFORMATION about this, and- watches as the ghosts look to her, as she''s put under the spotlight. Her red gaze staring at all of the ghosts in silence. Unsure what her next action should be. Uncertain what she should do now after she''s come so far. A reasonable person would probably be honest and say they didn''t have that planned. Sure, disappointing a group of ghosts is probably going to feel bad, but it''s better to own up to it and call it a day, right? Right? "Well, you... you got me, I definitely knew that! And I was, like, preparing to surprise all of you...!" Yvette thought to herself: Yvette? Yvette, what are you doing? "You said it yourselves, the seats are often filled, so... you know, I... uhm... I have some seats prepared, yes!" Yvette lies through her teeth, cheerfully speaking up to the tour group with feigned glee and joy. "I just need to go pick up the tickets, just wait here! Alright?" And the ghosts cheer up almost immediately as she tells them this! Collectively overjoyed, excited, happy- looking very forward to the show now. The show that Yvette did not, in fact, know about whatsoever. So Yvette- smiles and nods, and walks to the receptionist''s desk. Readying to pick up the tickets and all for the Naming Ceremony, the show she did not know about, the show she doesn''t have tickets for and the show that fills its seats very quickly. Ready to pick up those tickets. And as Yvette walks, she is currently thinking to herself: FOR VOID''S SAKE, YVETTE. YOU''RE IN TOO DEEP, GIRL! #5 - Unresolved Regrets of the Unnamed When I was alive, I had a massive crush on someone. The cutest girl I''ve ever laid my eyes on. She was a girl that I shared a class with- no, a school with, ever since the start of third grade. The memory of her name alludes me, yet I remember everything else about her. Her short hair as brown as chocolate, eyes as blue as the purest of seas. She wore the cutest shirts, my personal favorite being this pink and white striped shirt with black overalls. And she grew out of those overalls when middle school rolled around, and started wearing shorts. Every outfit she wore looked perfect on her. She was kind, bubbly, got easily excited about the smallest of things- she likes kitty cats and cupcakes, brought to class a box of chocolate cupcakes every year it was her birthday. She paid very close attention in class, did all her work in time- and she does this cute thing with her hair where she playfully twirls it with her index finger when bored. I could go on and on about her. I remember her more than I remember my own life, truth be told. It was love at first sight, and I admired her for the longest time. Though, we never spoke once. While we did share classes together, I don''t remember talking to her whatsoever. We never shared any fond memories together, no conversations, no school assignments, nothing- as far as I know. I never got the chance to tell her how much she meant to me, nor did I ever get the chance to mean anything to her. To this very day, it still... haunts me... to know that the most important memory of my life, the only person I still remember from my old life will always be a walking opportunity. One that I kept missing all of those years we never spoke. I know, for certain, that I wasted my life with the biggest regret on my heart. I don''t think I''m ready to remember how I lived... nor will I ever be ready to understand how badly I wasted my life away. I feel as if my heart yearns for her, to this very day. I know, I''d do anything for a second chance, just to see her again and... and... ... sigh. "... alright, sir, please wait one moment." Those lingering thoughts remain to this day. His mind remains focused on this one conversation long after he''s uttered the words, his heart as heavy as ever as he''s no closer to rediscovering himself. This ghost of a tragic, unrequired love is now one of Nihil Center''s receptionists, regularly tasked with managing the long line of ghosts. Most of them were either applying for a Name Ceremony or reserving tickets to see one. Stacks upon stacks of paper being carried about by the ghosts behind him, as he''s the front and center voice to talk with the amnesiacs. Fellow amnesiacs that have their new non-lives together, a lot better than he did. The ghost isn''t, by any means, a lesser soul. No, he was just a moderately average soul, one with a normal height, a normal body, just... normal, in general. The only thing that could identify him is his name tag... Cola. On his coat reads the name "Cola" in bright silver, a standard for Nihilian employees. A name bestowed before he even knew anything about himself. According to Nihil, these names are based on the most important truth that lingers in the soul, the innate truth that no amount of amnesia could ever get rid of: One''s greatest accomplishment, one''s greatest passion, possibly one''s most important treasure. This placeholder name marked a sort of "halfway point", where he should have learned more about himself. However, he was just... Cola. And in that sense, as he sees all of these ghosts signing up for these ceremonies, the ceremony that still leaves him clueless and lost... he hopes with what remains of his heart that they get more out of this than he did. "Alright... your naming ceremony will occur in one month''s time, sir," Cola tells the ghost, stamping the front piece of paper and handing it to the ghost. "I hope all is well with your recovery." "It is going swimmingly. Thank you... Cola," the ghost remarks as she reads off the name tag, giving a gentle nod... and giving off the faintest scent of lavender as she did so. "If I may ask, what can I expect with this ceremony?" Cola... shakes his head. "I don''t want to spoil the surprise. Just know it''s going to be great to have a name other people can call you." "Right, understood." The ghost gives another nod, another lavender-scented nod, before walking off out of the center. Cola idly looks to the ghost''s paperwork, before putting it aside. A lavender soul, hm? Neat. "Alright, next, plea-" And he stops. Cola stops speaking almost immediately as he stares forward, looking at the person on the other end. His eyes going wide in shock, staring at the human- the human girl on the other side. After completely making up her tour and digging herself into a hole, Yvette decided to completely cut the line, walking past all the ghosts that have been waiting longer than she''s even been in the building. Lost in her lie, on the verge of getting caught, she simply walked up to one of the receptionists- ready to improvise and get lucky for her own sake. Yvette didn''t have a plan otherwise, so... time to see what she can get away with. This isn''t going well for Yvette, however. The receptionist in front of her, Cola, knows full well that this person didn''t wait in line, and was initially ready to dismiss her. But... but the moment he laid his eyes on her, the moment he saw the girl before him and really thought about it- Cola was left speechless, gazing at this girl with a sense of familiarity... Yvette''s long hair is silky smooth, and shines with a vibrant shade of cocoa brown...This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Yvette has matching black shorts, and has a kitty cat notebook holstered at her side... Yvette''s eyes, while red instead of blue, have an identical soft and soothing look to them... Cola couldn''t say a single thing, because he''s face to face with someone who looks so much like his one memory, his one true love. His dead heart simply racing as his starry-eyed gaze sparkles and shines at this girl, trying his best to- keep his cool. "Hey, sorry for the, uhm, inconvenience-" Yvette began to politely speak, trying to think of some sort of excuse as to why she should get thirteen whole tickets to some Name Ceremony- let alone why she''s allowed to cut in line. And as Yvette spoke to him, Cola tunes everything out with one thought: this girl sounds IDENTICAL to her...! Who is she, and why is she here? Why is there a living girl resemblant of Cola''s almost decade-long school crush standing before him in this strange afterlife? ... maybe it''s a sign that- that he''s getting a second chance? Yes, that must be it. It''s unlikely that it''s her, what are the odds of that? But the coincidences aren''t to be thrown away, Cola is possibly being given a miracle to- to talk to this girl, to not make the same mistakes as before. Somehow, he''s been given the one chance to face his life''s biggest regret. "... and, like, uhm, I hope it''s not too much trouble?" Yvette asks. Already, however, Cola is messing up. The ghost didn''t hear anything that Yvette said whatsoever. He was too distracted by her cute sweater, the shoulder-revealing brown sweater that... ... that makes Cola- holds a hand over his chest, breathing- heavily. This girl gave him heavy feelings of life, made him feel alive again- and... and he doesn''t understand why. "Dude?" Yvette speaks up, getting his attention. "H-Huh?" Cola noises, hand raising to cover his mouth as he clears his throat. "Uhm- yes, mhmm? Could you repeat that again, please? Apologies." Yvette tensely, ever so tensely hesitates in response, feeling herself sweat a little. The way this receptionist said that - without knowing his inner thoughts, for the record - gives off a strong implication of "excuse me, what?" Expressing some sort of disbelief, asking her to repeat it. Maybe it''s too much to ask this guy ''hey, can I have 13 whole tickets to a naming ceremony starting in the next two to five minutes?'' Yeah, no, it''s definitely too much to ask in hindsight. Yvette thinks very, very hard to herself. Hands on the counter, knowing full well the best way out of this is honesty, full blown honesty. Being as honest as possible about this problem of hers. This guy will understand, right? "Yes, I have about twelve ghosts here ready for their Naming Ceremonies, and I''d like to check them in? Their Naming Ceremonies should be taking place within the next two to ten minutes or so, collectively." YVETTE YVETTE WHY DO YOU DO THESE THINGS Yvette is screaming at herself in her head as it gets worse, as she has a bold smile on her face. Looking the receptionist straight in the eyes and telling him that twelve entire ghosts are ready to receive their names, going so far as to point them out. Her foot is firmly on the gas of this car crash. The receptionist, Cola, stares at this in- mild shock. "Oh, I see. I''ll check right away. So... so you''re one of Nihil''s employees? How long have you been with us, if you don''t mind me asking?" he asks, a warm smile on his face as he makes a bit of conversation. Yvette is taking several quiet, yet deep breaths. "Not too long ago, really. Maybe a day or two," she tells the truth. "See, I arrived at my new realm recently, and-" "O-Oh! Y-You''re a Realm Keeper!" Cola blurts out with a slight hint of panic in his voice. "... yes, I am," Yvette answers, also only now learning about her official job title? Cola has a wide smile with wide eyes, and nods ever so eagerly as he turns to a table in the back. "Okay! Uhm. I see. Well- uhm- give me one moment, if you will?" Yvette- nods to the receptionist, watching him turn his attention to a bunch of papers. Idly just- waiting, and looking back to the twelve members of the Tour Group that patiently waited for her. Meanwhile, Cola is freaking out, completely shaken. It''s bad enough that he couldn''t talk to his school crush when they were just classmates in the same year- but in terms of hierarchy, this girl is basically his superior, and... and that makes him even more anxious. No way is he going to be able to hold a conversation with her. In fact, Cola knows he''s never going to be able to talk to this girl ever again if he messes this up. He''ll be unable to ever look her in the face, and he''ll live the rest of his death still in shame and agony at wasting this one chance. So he reaches for a pair of reading glasses, then begins to rummage through the papers of ghosts scheduled for today. Having access to their records and seeing if there''s 12 whole spots open for these ghosts in particular, and... and... ... No. No, none of them are scheduled?! Wait, did he- did Nihil Center miss this? It could be an error, but- no, nonono, a scheduling error of twelve whole entire unnamed amnesiac ghosts?! Most of their notes minimal at best, with no signs of even being eligible for the ceremonies, a-and yet they''re NOW here for their ceremonies?! This... this is horrible! Cola is now starting to absolutely panic his heart out, absolutely frantic and going insane. He gazes back at the girl, needing to come up with something immediately to fix this. He could take the time to request new forms for them, but- but there''s no possible way he can do it in two to ten minutes! They''re already here, and waiting any longer will ruin everything! No, no, okay, he can''t mess this up, he can''t! He just can''t! So in the short amount of time he has, he... he...! "... alright, thank you for waiting," Cola speaks aloud, getting Yvette''s attention as he brings over some spiritual lanyards. All of them made in a span of twenty seconds by Cola, each having a laminated card marked with various ID numbers. "All twelve of them should report to Auditorium 4-C. Someone there should be able to assist them." "Oh. Wonderful, thanks!" Yvette exclaims, accepting the twelve lanyards and leaving the desk. These ceremonies are apparently prestigious, with long waits, and... and Yvette now has twelve whole lanyards obtained for all of them. And as she walks back to the tour group, Yvette is thinking to herself: How- HOW IN NIHIL IS SHE GETTING AWAY WITH THIS?! This is the most insane lie she''s ever done and Yvette feels like she''s going absolutely unhinged in this moment. Her entire walk back to the tour group consisted of the longest moments of her life, trying her best not to completely break down mentally. The adrenaline courses through her veins with each step, completely and utterly shaken. ... and the ghosts are also absolutely shocked as well. Each of them handed their own lanyards, and processing what Miss Tour Guide Jolivette managed to do for them. Just a while ago, she told them she was getting their tickets to see a Ceremony... and now all of them were getting their names! An eruption of cheers filled the lobby in that moment, and - as quickly as they shouted and roared with joy - they all ran for the stairs. Yvette and the ghosts fleeing, quickly running as fast as they could to make it to their scheduled auditorium. Cola sat behind that desk with arms on the table, his eyes having not left Yvette for one single moment as he''s calming his nerves. As the weight of what he just did crashes against him. He basically found one single Naming Ceremony that had vacant spots... and is now setting himself for a mad sprint to finish and fill out all the paperwork for those twelve ghosts as quickly and diligently as he could. Cola''s heart completely races as he processes what had just happened, leaning forward with arms on the desk, slumped over and out of breath, and... and... ... his... his eyes start to water. Tears dripping down onto his folded arms, on the verge of crying. Cola''s hand feels warm. His hand was once held a long time ago. In that moment, after that hectic interaction with whoever that girl was, Cola... Cola has a memory just... flash right before his eyes, him- sitting on a Ferris wheel with his crush. It was the Fourth of July. Fireworks were setting off, and the two- went on one, single date. Their hands were locked together, their carriage at the highest point of the wheel. Her hand felt soft and warm. She wore this vibrant t-shirt with the American Flag on it, her blue eyes gazing elsewhere- enjoying the sparkling colors in the night sky. As they sat, they were enjoying... amusement park concessions. She had a big clump of pink cotton candy on a stick, while he had a... ... a single bottle of cherry cola. "................."