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“Ah, but that probably means you will be somebody to the future generations, doesn’t it?” he says dramatical-

ly, gesturing to the rest of the room, “Everybody here made an impact on the world in one way or another,

whether it be good or bad.” He pauses. “Either that or you

a re

just nobody…” he says bluntly, “Sometimes

randomers just wander in and they usually get dropped off within a few days or so. What did your memories

tell you?”

I stare at him.

Winston Churchill is telling me that I’m important…

My memories? As far as I can tell, I was hit

by a car while I was trying to get Amber out of that wreckage. Which means I definitely am dead. At least I

died saving her.

“S’up Winnie!” I look up as Adolf Hitler saunters past and disappears into a door I assume is the bathroom.

Wait, Hitler?!

“Sorry, Mr Churchill,” I blurt out, suddenly realising the absurdity of the situation, “I’ve gathered I’m… I’m

dead.” It sounds weird actually rolling off my tongue like that. “But,

where

exactly are we? And what are we

waiting for?”

Churchill leans right over in his chair until his vile smelling mouth is almost touching my ear. “See that door?”

He points to the elevator I came in through. “Every so often that bombshell comes back in and calls someone

out by their number. There’s yours, oh dear.”

I stare at the piece of paper I’ve been clutching in my hand. On it is printed a number. 1963

The elevator door suddenly swishes open and every head, including mine, whips up to look. The blonde

woman enters and monotonously announces a number, like Churchill said he would, from her clipboard.

“1962”. On the same row as us, a man, an actor that I recognise but whose name I can’t place, stands, takes

a bow and follows the woman into the elevator. The doors slide shut and we all silently watch the lights

above, indicating whether they’re going up or down.

There’s a pause. Then a cry. And the light signals down.

The room goes unbearably silent for a good thirty seconds. I decide to break it, “Whathappened?”

The woman on my left, who’d been very quiet, spoke up. “He’s where he deserves to be.”

I don’t need to ask for an explanation. I figured out what was going on the moment I walked in.

I’m dead. This waiting room is purgatory, and that elevator is the stairway to heaven, or in his case, the high-

way to hell.

My mind casts back to the memories I so desperately wish I hadn’t seen.

I ’m dead, flattened by a car, but at

least I did go out with a bang. Saving my best friend is a good way to go if you ask me… Maybe that’s why

I’m here. Perhaps Amber is gonna grow up to be some famous actress or run a successful company, and

maybe, without my sacrifice, she wouldn’t be able to. Yeah, that’s a good way to go in my opinion.

“Eyes up young lady, they’re bringing in another one.”

The lift doors swish open and the blonde woman walks in, leading a girl, around my age.

“Finally, can I get you anything to drink? Perhaps something to eat?” The girl shakes her head and on cue,

turns to face the room.

My satisfied muse cracks.

Amber’s eyes meet mine and I break down into tears.