The train hissed as it slowed to a stop. The inertia awoke him. A man ying across two or three seats. He sat up and rubbed his face. The train doors closed and it barreled forward. He looked above the seats above him. It was bnk with no signage to indicate the route he was taking.

  A stranger sat across from him, staring ahead of himself. The man leaned forward.

  "Hey," he said, "where are we?"

  "I don't know," the stranger shrugged.

  Odd to take a random train to somewhere unknown. Then again, the man couldn't talk.

  "Where's the train going?" he asked.

  "Train?" the stranger said. “What train?"

  "This train?" the man said.

  "I have no clue what you're talking about," the stranger said.

  "The train," the man said. "We're on a train. Where is it going?"

  The stranger looked at the man disgusted, "Who even are you?"

  "I..."

  His name. He felt it on the tip of his tongue. Like he could almost pull it back into his throat. Right there and yet it never came.

  "I don't know," the man said. "Who are you?"

  The stranger's disgusted face slowly changed. His frown did not deepen, but hardened. His lips parted. Shock. Maybe even fear.

  "Leave me alone!" He turned away.

  The train hissed. The inertia jolted the man forward. The doors opened.

  A suited man stepped onto the carriage, "ah I see you're all here. Well, if you'll all follow me this way we'll get you processed soon enough."

  I see the new batch is in

  Yes.

  You mind taking on 60% this time?

  Where are you going?

  I just have to go to the toilet again.

  You do not need to pee.

  Easy for you to say.

  It is easy for any of us to say.

  I'm your superior, remember?

  Yes.

  Then you'll do as I say.

  I will.

  Good.

  You still do not need to pee.

  All the train's occupants stacked themselves into the elevators. Someone pressed a button and the doors closed. Soon, the man felt the elevator lift the group upwards.

  He turned to look at the crowd and found a most peculiar looking gentleman. Wearing army fatigues, he looked around with paranoia. Back and forth, up and down, his neck turned. No one else paid him any mind, but the man did.

  "Where did you come from," the man reached out, touching the soldier's shoulder.

  The soldier turned quickly, shocked by the contact, "I...I don't know."

  "Why are you dressed like that?" the man asked.

  "I don't know."

  "What do you know?"

  The answer came expectantly, "I don't know."

  As he removed his hand, the man saw the patch on the soldier's arm. A fg. One the man did not recognize.

  Do you think the TV down there's gotten any better?

  I do not know.

  I don't remember what TV used to be like really.

  I know.

  But I do remember it wasn't very good. Filled with...I don't even know. Do you ever think about the world?

  I do not.

  Of course you don't.

  The line stretched from the cubicles in the far distance to the elevator the man had stepped out from. The soldier got lost in the panic of people pushing and shoving each other out of the way. Some demanded answers immediately to where they were being rounded up. Yet none were forthcoming.

  The man assumed his position at the back of the line and waited his turn.

  "This is preposterous," a guy wearing a suit and top hat blurted ahead of the man. "What is going on up there?"

  "Can you see anything?" the man asked him.

  "All I see is a bunch of clerks," he said. "What the devil could they be doing to us?"

  "I'm still figuring that out myself," the man said.

  "Odd that they would detain us here with a bunch of degenerates."

  "What?" the man said, bewildered.

  "Savages," he said, "and women too it looks like."

  "Did they drag you from the 1700s or something?” the man said.

  "It’s 1893," the posh gentleman said, "Have you gone mad?"

  "Do you even know who you are?"

  The posh gentleman opened his mouth to deliver another witty reply, yet found himself silenced by the realization that he did not, in fact, know his own name.

  "Guess not," the man said.

  Another one done

  Good.

  How many you done today?

  Twenty.

  Wow, you got to get those numbers up.

  It is fine.

  Doesn't sound like it.

  You should worry about yourself.

  But I'm your supervisor.

  I do not care.

  I do.

  That is your problem.

  Another one’s coming.

  I will take it.

  Had enough of talking to me?

  Yes.

  The man sat on the chair. It took a while for the queue to file through the office. He watched as people entered the cubicles, yet none of them ever left. After a few minutes, another person would enter the cubicle and so on and so forth.

  He was gd to see the posh gentleman in front of him take his turn. But he was terrified to take his own.

  "Welcome," the clerk on the other side of the desk said, "you have died and now..."

  "Sorry, what?" the man said.

  "You have died and now you..."

  "I'm dead?"

  "It is easier if you just let me expin."

  The man fiddled in his seat, "go ahead."

  "Okay," the clerk said, "you have died and now you are ready to move onto the next stage. Either you ascend and live among the eternal or you return to live another life in the physical world."

  "So I'm dead?" the man asked.

  "Yes," the clerk said.

  The man clutched the arms of the office chair he sat in. Dug his nails into the leather.

  "Do not worry," the clerk continued, "as although your life has ended, it is not over yet."

  "Real cutesy," the man said, feeling his chest tighten.

  "I know it is kitsch," the clerk said, "but it is the script though."

  The man felt the grip constrict around his whole being, harder and harder. His vision tunneling as everything became darker until the light had left him. For now.

  Are you awake yet?

  Hey, another one?

  Yes.

  This happens a lot with you doesn't it?

  I guess.

  Maybe you ought to be nicer.

  I speak the script.

  It's not all about the script though.

  Maybe not.

  You've got to have some personality.

  Maybe.

  Oh, looks like he's coming back.

  "...he's coming back."

  The light returned. He saw the clerk sitting behind his desk and, behind him, another face peeking over the office dividers.

  "Are you okay?" The clerk asked.

  "Who's that?" the man pointed over to the strange person peeking.

  "Leave," the clerk said to the other person.

  "I'm going, I'm going," the strange person said.

  "Do not worry about that," the clerk said. "You need to focus on me."

  "I'm dead?" The man said.

  "Yes," The clerk said, "but do not worry, it is not over yet."

  "What do you mean?" the man said. "I'm fucking dead."

  "But you do return," the clerk said, "live another life. New experiences. New friends and family."

  “I don’t understand though,” the man said, “why can’t I remember a thing?”

  "It's fine," the clerk said. "It is all part of the process."

  "How so?" The man said. "Do I get them back?"

  "No," the clerk said, "those memories are physical. They existed as neurons in your brain. Since your soul has left your body, you no longer possess them. No one does. They are gone."

  The man felt a tinge of relief and yet the darkness loomed over him still. Threatening to take him again.

  “You will be fine,” the clerk said. “This is the process."

  “What the fuck do you mean?” the man said.

  “I am going to pull up your file and then we can get started. We will go over some details, find you a new life, process you and then you begin your new life. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yeah,” the man said, “sure.”

  The clerk swiveled his chair round to face his monitor and started hitting buttons on the keyboard. The man's heart felt heavy. Its beats resounding and arrhythmic. He thought of his file and everything it contained. It repulsed him.

  "Huh," the clerk said, "that cannot be right."

  "What happened?" the man said, digging his nails further into the leather of the chair.

  "Your file," the clerk said, "it is not here."

  "What’s that mean?" the man asked.

  The clerk contempted the screen. His frown deep and his eyes intense.

  "What does it mean?"

  The clerk turned his head, staring into the man, "I do not know."