First off, my apologies on missing last week. Life has been very hectic and crumby this past while so writing has been a bit tough. For those of you who do read these stories, thank you so much for doing so! Hopefully I will be able to keep up with my weekly schedule from here on out. Thank you for your patience!
* * *
Amber sat in the green chair facing Peter who sat behind his desk. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. He seemed sincere but Amber remained skeptical. She had just been told about her own death and now a strange man in a mostly empty room wants to ask her questions. This wasn’t exactly normal.
“Amber Baptiste of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan,” Peter said, as he looked at a page in his ledger. Amber assumed the page contained information about her. “Born and raised by rather wealthy parents, by the looks of it.”
“How do you know all of this?” Amber asked. “Who are you?”
“Can’t answer either of those questions,” Peter said, his eyes staring down at the paper, “besides, you’re the one who’s supposed to be answering questions right now.”
“Why do you need to ask me questions?” Amber asked, “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
“What you’re doing is quite simple,” Peter said, “You’re trying to figure out which of these doors you’re going to leave through.”
“That’s it?” Amber asked.
“Yes, that’s it,” Peter said. “The far door over there leads to somewhere very familiar to you. For the most part.”
“What do you mean?” Amber asked, looking over at the door behind her.
“It doesn’t matter what I mean, it’s the same door either way,” Peter said. “Your other choice is the door to your left. The one leads to somewhere new. And before you try being clever, the door behind my desk is just a broom closet. Don’t bother sneaking up to it, it’s really, honestly, just a damn broom closet.”
Peter slid his chair to the side and opened the door behind him. It was filled with brooms, mops, buckets, and all of the terribly mundane things one would find in a broom closet.
“Right,” Amber said.
“Sorry, it’s absolutely ridiculous how many people don’t believe me,” Peter sighed. “I’m not trying to trick you. Trust me.”
Peter swung the door shut and slid his chair back to it’s original spot.
“So that’s what we’re here to do today,” Peter said. “I’m going to help you decide if you want something new, or something familiar.”
Amber slouched down into her chair and sighed.
“Alright, I’ll bite,” She said. “But this is very cryptic and strange and I really don’t like it.”
“And that’s absolutely fine,” Peter said. He looked down at his ledger and appeared to be reading before asking his first question. “So Amber, what was it like growing up in such an affluent home?”
Amber’s jaw dropped and she glared at Peter. This was an incredibly rude question to ask someone.
“Excuse me,” Amber said. “That is an incredibly personal thing to ask someone.”
Peter looked up from his ledger.
“Things are going to get incredibly personal today, Amber,” he said.
“What if I refuse to answer the question?” She asked.
“Then we’ll sit, and wait,” Peter said. “We can sit here for all of eternity if we have to. And trust me, some people have tried to wait it out. It’s very tedious.”
Amber sighed and rubbed her forehead. This was going to be a long, obnoxious experience.