The Gate (Exam Story)

It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. It wasn't so much of a pain, but more of a deep, dull pressure on his chest. If he hadn't seen what had just happened he might have just walked it off, complaining of a bad case of heart burn. However when he tried this his legs didn't seem to answer, but instead decided to turn to jello and refuse to hold him up. He lay there staring up at the ceiling and that's when the chest sensation changed. It still didn't hurt, and had even become somewhat soothing. It started off a warm, gentle feeling right where the bullet had entered his chest and spread gradually throughout his entire body, relaxing him. His surroundings were left behind and he looked around at the total whiteness that surrounded him. He suddenly felt tired and though at first he tried to fight it, he drifted off into the swallowing glow.

At this time, a strange thing happened. George was watching himself lay there on the floor of his one bedroom apartment. With himself in a pool of blood, he watched as his attacker exit via the back door. He thought that he should've been mad at the man that had just taken his life, but thats whats cool about being dead, nothing really matters. He looked at the killer, knowing perfectly well that he could have possessed his body and driven him to madness or at the very least haunted him for a little bit of payback, but he had no desire to. He sat there, or did whatever he was doing in order to watch what was taking place, thinking about his earthly situation. From the movies he'd seen he assumed he was supposed to hang around and help little blonde boys with their 6th sense or aid the police in solving his murder, but it just didn't interest him at all. He looked up, or what he thought was up seeing as he didn't really have a mass of any sort and wasn't in any specific place whatsoever, and felt the desire to go in said direction. He floated/walked/crawled/moved in that direction for an unknown amount of time, he thought he must have been getting close to wherever he was going, although he couldn't be certain because there were no landmarks or definition of any kind anywhere. So he kept going and going, only thinking about his past life and he must have been traveling for a long time as he was able to analyze, critique and compare and contrast his entire life, from birth to the very day that the bullet had shot through his heart. Just as soon as his last life story had exited his mind, he bumped into something. George looked up in shock, this thing had appeared out of no where but there it was. Sitting right in front of him, was a giant gate like the ones that he had seen in front of mansions during his mortal years. To the left of the gate was a doorbell. It seemed extremely simple compared to the extravagance of the doorway. George out his finger out and thought back to his life one last time. He remembered all the sad and depressing times that he had fought through, but also all the fun and memorable experiences he had had. He looked back, almost expecting to be back in his living room facing the masked assailant once again, but it was just endless white. There was no turning back, he had made his decision. He refaced the gate, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.