In dog years, you're dead
You spend your last few days in warmth and comfort, a gray-muzzled old dog surrounded by your family. It's a good death, as deaths go. At the end, you close your eyes, and the world fades into blackness. You drift for a long time in the dark...
And then the dark shrinks, or pulls away, you're not really sure which, and becomes the shape of a massive black dog sitting in front of you. You try to roll over - a show of respect seems in order - but find you have no body to roll. All you can do is look. Unable to make a sound, you send out a questioning thought.
?
"Yes, I am Death," says the black dog. "One face of it, at least. You really should have had the human one."
Human?
"Yes. You are human, or were. You should have been. Do you remember?"
Suddenly, you do. You spent - how many years? You don't remember - as a human, and then...
Then what?
The black dog nods approvingly. "You remember. Good. There was... a slight hiccup in the nature of reality, you might say. It happens occasionally. You were scheduled for a full human life, but that - obviously - did not happen. Having died far earlier than you should have, you may choose a new life to replace the one you lost."
Your mind is still mostly that of a dog, which might be why you're accepting all of this so easily. Human thoughts are starting to return, though, and you're starting to get the hang of this mind-speaking.
You mean you're giving me a refund on my life?
The dog's shadowy face doesn't move, but you get the impression that it's amused. "Yes. I suppose I am."
Your first impulse is to return to your old life, but the black dog is shaking its head before you even ask. Apparently, that's not an option. Maybe it's just as well. You have no idea how long you've spent as a dog; somehow, you didn't really keep track of time. You've been gone a long time, you know that. Everyone you know almost certainly thinks you're dead. By now, they've had time to mourn and get on with their lives. There's no sense trying to return to a space that's healed over in your absence. Besides, you've spent the last decade as a dog; there's no telling how much the human world has changed in that time.
Something new, then.
The black dog nods. You can tell, somehow, that it's pleased.
"You have roughly fifty years left. How would you like to spend them?"
Written by Chrysalis on 04 April 2010
The end (for now)