William could tell by the tone of the man’s voice that the old man didn’t mean it.
The man flipped to another page.
He sat up straighter in the chair. “Who—” he finally managed.
“Looking over your file, I know you aren't one to ask many questions, Mister
Further.” The man sighed. “It really isn't important who I am,” he said, shuffling
papers around on the desk. “I am but a humble clerk.”
William wiped another tear from his eye. “I don't—” He trailed off, unable to
finish his sentence.
“That is understandable, Mister Further,” the clerk responded. “Most don't
understand. The fact is—” He stopped to set the documents back on the desk. He
picked up another batch and continued. “—you are dead, Mister Further.”
William slouched down.
Dead?
William took another deep breath. He didn’t feel dead.
William pinched his thigh. He hoped it was a dream. He reasoned if he caused enough
pain it would wake him. He slammed his fist onto his leg.
He didn’t wake up.
The clerk glanced at William, then quickly returned to the papers. “People expect
something different when they reach this moment. Some see me as a messenger. Some
see me as fire. Some, the moon. Others see me as an animal guiding them. But you,
however, you picture this office.”
He seemed to be talking more to himself than to William.
“The last person saw me as an angel,” the clerk muttered.
“I remember—” William began, but the thought faded before he could finish.
The clerk sighed. “Of course you do,” he responded nonchalantly, turning another