Dead 55th Games Tributes, assemble!

Death is said to be quick and decisive, but as stories from those who have died and come back are quite rare, the boy had only legend to go on. And so far, legend did not speak volumes for the land of the dead.

The teaching goes, that should one die evil, they would proceed directly to Hell. Hell was, unquestionably, a burning pit of fire. It was eternal torment, with no feasible way out. Should one die good, they would, of course, shoot up into the sky to join the angels of deceased friends and family in a palace of clouds. Upon arrival at golden and pearl gates, they would receive wings and a golden harp and halo. That was it. Even the unknown of Death was not abstract on Earth.

Death in Death of course, was rather different. For one thing, nobody ever mentioned the waiting. One was, in theory, instantly deposited into a tube that shot them into either Heaven or Hell. But the boy simply walked into darkness. There was no fire, and no golden gate. He could not say how long he wandered in peace before he found the end of the line. Before the line, he had had two spirits with him. The boy he killed, and the girl he thought he loved. But they couldn’t speak to him, and they couldn’t wait with him. Argent shivered, though he was neither cold nor afraid.
Disconcerted, perhaps?

That seemed right. The boy took a moment to examine the change that had occurred since joining the queue. It was still dark, but though there was no light, he could see. He and many other anonymous souls occupied a platform. Long, but not wide. Anxiously, the boy ran to the edge and peered over. He leaned as far as he could, yearning to see the fate of the ones he left behind. Nothing. Now, with a small sense of fear, he raised his eyes in the direction that should be up. Again, Nothing. He paced back to the end of the line, and every step he made rang out hauntingly against the metal. Nobody noticed. And he thought he had been mad before.

Argent’s eyes, still green in his demise, flashed across the line. He didn’t care much for them. He had never troubled himself with others. But he needed to know, needed to see. He needed to find so many. His murderer, the little girl, the boy with the knife, anyone he recognized would be welcome. But there was nothing and no one here for him. He might as well be alone.

Monotony. The line shifted, three steps forward, every now and again. And finally, he could see the gate. It was not white or gold, but it didn’t glow red with fire. Like all else in Death, the gate was black. It slammed after each entrant, but made no noise. Argent waited, puzzled by the gate. If he was not condemned to torture, but not alive again, where was he?

Why was he?

Three steps.

The gate was closer, only a few more souls would enter before the question would be settled. He drummed his fingers against his leg impatiently.

Three more steps. The boy reached to his finger for his ring, sighing with relief when he found it hadn’t been lost. He needed his ring now. It was the only sign of affection he had ever received. But more importantly, it was a proof of the strength he would need to face Death. Not that he could exactly turn back.

Three steps.
The woman in front of him walked toward the gate and vanished into it.

His turn.

Argent walked toward the gate, seeing nothing but the metal. For a while, the gate was unaltered. Then, it creaked open, only slightly, but enough. The boy pushed on it slightly, felt the door give. He took a breath and stepped through the gate.

CLANG. Argent jumped at the sound, and then heard a deep throaty chuckle. It came from a man, tall and hooded and standing suddenly in front of him.

“Scare you?” breathed the man.

The boy ignored the question- it was a talent of his. “Who are you?”

“Not important. What’s important is who are you?”

A thousand witty answers swarmed the boy’s mind. But what he stammered out surprised himself. “I- I don’t know.” He looked down, and back at his inquisitor.

“I mean, I think I know who I was, but not who I am.” This was received with another deep laugh.

“Well said. But- I know exactly who you are, Argent Melanger. Have a seat.”

A chair was there suddenly. And the boy found himself seated.

“You must have guessed, of course, that I am a judge of souls.”

Argent fidgeted with his ring. This was the moment of truth, then.

“And never, in my many years have I seen a record quite like yours. Of course, I don’t often see tributes through my gate. I end up with only the most common cases. A quick and easy decision. But not you.” If the judge had a beard, he would have stroked it.

“So much potential, and equally as many bad choices. You were aware that you rivaled your sister in the medical field, if nothing else? You know that you could have had hundreds of friends?”

Behind his eyes, Argent saw it play out. He was a doctor. A famous one, since he was a victor too and- the vision shattered.

“But you were concerned with only the Games. Partly your father’s fault. But not his alone. I hate to see young talent wasted.” The man made a tsk-ing noise.

Argent watched as the man gave him more visions. He had killed Aranica, won the Games, and returned- to what?

“Nothing. Because of your choices, you had your own Hell while on Earth. And yet you still managed to earn another.”

A blanch from the boy. He had expected that, but not delivered so offhandedly.

“And then, at the end, you changed. And so now, you deserve neither eternal punishment, nor happiness.” The judge leaned back in his chair and eyed Argent. The boy stared back, unafraid.

“What to do with you, eh?” he mused, a smirk playing about the withered face. Argent knew what he wanted, but he wouldn’t beg. He was too proud to beg.

“You could send me back,” he said, allowing a small chuckle. The judge gave another cackle.

“Luckily for you boy, you have some good references. The one you killed and the ones you betrayed have forgiven you. Plus, the little girl thinks highly of you.” The judge made a few marks on his paper. “Tipped the scale in your favor, or you may have been here for years trying to prove yourself.”

Argent eyed the man. Was he kidding? Could he really be let off so easily? He rose, slowly and rather unsteadily.

“You’re a good kid, Melanger, even if you don’t act like it. You should’ve been more of yourself. But you’re all right.”

“Sir, may I ask you one last favor?”

This time, the eyeballing was from the judge. "Sir now, is it?"

“I want them to remember me as me, if you can. Don’t let me be forgotten…” the voice of the boy cracked. And the judge smiled.

“We’ll see.”

Darkness again, all around Argent. And on the horizon, was light. It grew larger and finally engulfed him.

He hadn’t been much, but he was her little brother. A teenage girl looked up at the stars over the fresh grave and sighed. Suddenly something shot overhead. A shooting star. And it was red.

I just saw Hayley's comet, she waved
Said ,"Why you always running in place?
Tell my mother,
Tell my father
I've done the best I can.
To make them realize
This is my life
I hope they understand.
I'm not angry, I'm just saying...
Sometimes goodbye
Is a second chance.