The Mimic in Monsterland

My eyes open to a completely white surrounding. That's it just white, well probably more off white, like eggshell. Eggshell as far as the eye could see. Turning left to right, backwards and forwards, looking for anything in the emptiness was a pointless endeavor. It was also silent. A silence I never really knew existed. No white noise whatsoever, no wind, no movement. Nothing.

Finally glanced down at myself and noticed I was naked. I surveyed where my feet were and saw the same expanse of pale eggshell nothingness. It felt like I was standing on solid ground, but my eyes saw nothing that could confirm this. My brain couldn’t handle what was going on and neither could my body, for that matter, marked by the pit that grew in my stomach. I closed my eyes, crouched down, told myself this must be a dream and that I will wake up to the dulcet tones of that stupid-dumb-crappy alarm. But they never came.

I opened my eyes to the same scene except this time there was something different. In front of me, about 15 feet or so, sat a school desk, much like the ones in my classroom. The kind that were a desk and chair combo with a dark brown wooden surface and bright teal seat with some metal connecting the two. Some papers and a pencil were on top of the desk. Intrigued by this recent development and without anything else to do, I carefully walked up to it. The papers were blank except at the top of the page where it just said Character Sheet in some fancy lettering and below it Name: The freshly sharpened pencil had that classic yellow design with a pink eraser at the end.

“Character sheet,” I said in bewilderment.

“Like in DnD?”

I always had an interest in tabletop games and tried them out once or twice but never stuck with them. But even with my meager knowledge, I knew they were supposed to have a lot more info than just Name: but you know it’s not the strangest part of this.

After a final review of my surroundings and finding no other changes to the barren landscape, I sat in the chair. Chills ran up my spine. If you have never sat in a cold plastic seat while wearing nothing but what you were born with, don’t.

After a small jump, I sat my bare ass back down and picked up the pencil. Figured with nothing else to do I might as well write my name on the character sheet. “Liam Foster,” I said while writing. As soon as I finished with the “r” the desk shot across the cream-colored nothingness. I have never moved that fast in my life; the wind pressure alone felt like it would rip my face off. I barely screamed.

 

I can only describe the event as pod racing in a school desk. After what was surely a full hour (33 seconds), the desk came to an abrupt stop. Which didn’t send me flying out of the desk as inertia would dictate.

Following the scariest situation I have ever been in whilst naked, I opened my eyes to yet another anomaly in this empty space. A tall, slender man with olive skin in a jet black tuxedo with a brilliant red rose on the front of the jacket, a stark contrast to the blank pale world around us. His almost glowing green eyes looked just a bit too big for his face, and he had absolutely no hair anywhere. No hair on his head, face, not even eyebrows or eyelashes. An unnerving sight, especially when the man was staring at me from about five feet away. He held an office clipboard with only a few pages on it, taking momentary glances at it every so often. Finally breaking the eerie silence, he states.

“I never understood why they do not spawn you closer. It is such a pain to find your kind here in the Dark Room. Are you him?”

His words made me flinch. His voice was deep but proper and just a little too loud for someone five feet away. My mind was reeling at this point. What did he mean by “spawn here” or “my kind?” What Dark Room? It’s all white here. All I could manage as an answer was a flat

“What?”

“Are you Liam Foster, or did you just write a random name?”

“Umm yes.”

“Yes, you are Liam Foster or yes, you wrote a random name?”

Completely confused now, I only stammered, “I am him, or erm, I mean I am Liam Foster.”

“A bit lackluster.” He commented.

“Sorry?”

“Does not matter. Now on to —” was all he could get before I bursted out.

“Where am I? Who are you? What do you mean, Dark Room? It's all white here.” He held his hand up before I could say any more and looked down at the clipboard.

“Forgive me, Dark Room might not be the correct translation. I have a tenuous grasp on,” he paused and looked at the clipboard again.

“English.” He finished.

Ignoring the fact that he made such a claim while using a word like tenuous, I continued with my barrage of questions.

“What happened to me? Why am I naked? Why is the desk here? What language do you speak then?”

He opened his mouth and what came out was the strangest collection of ethereal sounds. Akin to what I imagine whales in space with a severe lack of fiber in their diet would sound like. Once finished, he looked at me again and, in a somewhat annoyed tone, spoke in English.

“That was my language. This is the Dark Room. My name is Terrence, and I am the God of Rebirth in charge of your reincarnation. You died. Your soul does not wear clothes. The desk is something familiar to you to help you cope with everything around you. It also transported you to me as desks do in your world. I believe that answers all of your questions now we must move on to,” Wherein I interrupt him again.

“What do you mean I died? What reincarnation? Also desks don’t move on their own, much less transport people. You know what, whatever. That’s the least of my concerns at the moment.”

"If you would let me finish," Terrence said dismissively, "I might answer some of these questions and help you understand the situation you are in."

“Doubtful.” I retorted but I decided to hear what the strange tux-clad, constipated-space-whale-speaking god had to say. Clearing his throat, Terrence continued.

“As I said before, you died and are now being given the opportunity to be reborn.” He said in the most matter-of-fact way imaginable.

“Oh, is that all Terrence?” I scoffed.

“Yes,” he said in a surprised tone. “It is rather refreshing to have someone understand it this quickly.” Clearly not getting the sarcasm.

“You are a bit of a special case, considering your heritage.”

“Why is that?” I asked, genuinely curious what he meant by that. To my knowledge, I have a very normal heritage. I mean besides Gramps that is.

"Earth has one of the lowest danger levels in the known planes of existence and, as such, we do not see Earthlings at large as deserving rebirth," Terrence continued.

“Terrence, there is a bunch to unpack in what you just said.” I said, completely stunned.

“I do not believe so. Do you have to fight off giant creatures to survive? Is gathering food on a daily basis a problem for you? Do you have to worry about ghosts stealing your children in the night? No, so I would say your plane is safe and easy to live in. Those who die in safe worlds tend to go on to the next part after death.”

“Not really the part that needed explanation, more the whole planes of existence thing. Are you implying there is more than one? Also, what’s the next part after death?”

“Not my department. Do not ask,” He said with a look of pure apathy. After pausing for a few moments of contemplation. “Is Earth really that far behind?” Terrence questioned softly, mostly to himself, then continued his explanation.

“Yes, in your words, there are a bunch of them. Now, back to the matter at hand, your rebirth.”

Realizing I probably wouldn’t find out more on the subject, I simply asked,

“So where on Earth do I reincarnate? Will it be in the US or another country? Will it be the present, my present I guess, is there time travel involved? Am I going back as a baby? Will my memories be intact? Can babies hold that many memories?”

As my rambling went on, Terrence only tilted his head, raised his hand, signaling me to stop and said,

“There seems to be a misunderstanding; you died. It may feel like you’re alive in this place, but I can assure you. You are dead and are never going to see Earth again.”

The pit in my stomach that never really left grew exponentially. What about my loved ones, my family, friends, career, Allie? All of that just gone. When I voiced these concerns to Terrence, he just said, “You will never hear from or see these people again. It is probably for the best that you forget about that life and focus on the new and exciting life you will lead in a whole new world. There are others that I could be processing, and they are far more deserving of this chance. So please focus.”

He kept talking, but upon hearing about my death, I shut him out. Everyone I know and love is gone. Tears began welling up in my eyes.

 

Terrence paused his spiel after looking down at me. I must have been the textbook definition of pathetic, sitting in a school desk naked and sobbing, like some wild high school prank gone too far.

“Excuse me Mr. Foster, but—” his clipboard began to ring, cutting him off. It sounded like the theme song of a 90s Saturday morning cartoon. This bizarre phenomenon brought me back to my senses. I glanced over, wiping the water from my eyes, while he put the clipboard up to his ear.

“Hello Mr. [*space whale moans*]. Yes, I know. Yes. Fine. Yes, I know what compassion is. Must I? Understood. Goodbye.”

He took in a quick breath of air and sighed.

“It seems I may have been a bit,” he looked off searching for the word, “careless in speaking about your death. Please allow me to apologize and explain the Rebirth Process from the start.”

Between the office clipboard ringing and the tuxedo wearing god being reprimanded, the ridiculousness of the situation shocked me out of the sobbing. In this moment of clarity, I decided it would be for the best to push those feelings down and concentrate on what Terrence had to say.

“Sorry Terrence. Please continue.” I sniffed.

“Thank you. As I was saying, beings are never reborn into the world they originated in because they do, in fact, preserve their memories and that would give you too much of an advantage.”

“Too much of an advantage?” Terrence answered my question with a sharp glare and I shut up.

“Reincarnation is an opportunity, not a reward. You are on your way to a world with a much higher threat level. One where survival itself is a constant struggle. Now you are a curious case because of your heritage, as I said before. Most that are reborn come from worlds fraught with danger and are somewhat prepared for such a task as surviving a new environment. An environment trying its damnedest to kill you,” Terrence said. Raising my hand, he looked at me and asked,

“Yes?”

“Why is my case curious? Why was I even chosen for that matter?”

“You see, Mr. Foster, your life is most interesting to the ones above.”

Pointing up at the eggshell sky. Looking at the magic clipboard, he continued.

“You were apparently supposed to die 246 times over the last 10 years before that runaway mail truck did the job. Now it is not uncommon for some to skirt death once or twice. Fate can be quite the fickle mistress, but 246 is unheard of.”

Staring blankly, I recalled the near death shower incident.

“Wait, then what happened in the shower this morning,”

“Yes, you should have embarrassingly died slipping in the shower this morning. But for some odd reason, you did not and you remained unhurt. My superiors noticed this trend in avoiding death and decided it was interesting enough to warrant a rebirth.”

“Why would they care? And did you really have to say embarrassingly?”

“I am not at liberty to answer such a question. My work is to do their will and their will is to see you reborn.” He said with the same seriousness as he started this conversation.

“Now, let us continue with your rebirth. First, you have some decisions to make.”

“What kind of decisions?”

“The kind that determine who and what you are in your new life.”

Glad to have some choice of my own, I perked up a bit. “Okay, lay’em on me.”

“First, would you like to change your name?” Terrence said as he unbuttoned his jacket.

I pondered on it for a second but decided my name was fine. “No, I'm good.”

“Really, sticking with Liam Foster?”

“Dude, what is your problem with my name? I quite like my name. I was named after my grandfather and was a great guy. He did a ton of cool crap.”

Terrence fiddled with the notes on the clipboard, then read something to himself.

“Yes, quite impressive. Liam Hubert Chambers. Fought in two wars, saving countless lives, innocents and comrades alike. Wrote three award-winning novels. Raised two families without either ever finding out. He even discovered two new species of fish out in the middle of the Pacific. Impressive indeed.”

“Exactly that's why, wait Chambers? No, he was Liam H. Foster. Check your weird clipboard thing again. And what do you mean by two families?”

“It says here that you are the grandchild of him and one Betty Foster. But his real surname was Chambers. He had this other family in California.”

The words hit me like a brick to the face. Surely they weren’t true. My grandfather was a stand-up guy. I spent most summers with him at his small cabin by that beautiful lake. I guess he traveled a lot and he would be out of our lives for a good six months out of the year. Not much of a mystery where he was now.

“Gramps cheated on nana.” I said in a small, shocked voice. I lowered my head and started at the desk and paper, more confused than ever.

Terrence put his hand in the breast pocket of the tux and pulled out a basic ballpoint pen. You would figure with his whole glamorous getup he would have some gold encrusted writing utensil, nope, just a dull office pen. While he wrote on the clipboard, some new text showed up on my paper on the desk. The paper now listed RACE: underneath where I wrote my name.

“Now, what race would you like?”

Shaking my head and coming back to reality, if you can even call it that anymore. Putting the new info about Gramps in the back of my mind with everything else, I asked,

“What races? I assume you mean like elves and gnomes and stuff like that? Can you list some choices? Any good ideas for this supposedly dangerous world I’m being shipped off to?.”

Terrence simply sighed and said,

“I can list them, but that would take ages. Our time in the Dark Room is not infinite. If you would like some advice, I would not change your race. You will have a plethora of challenges and trials in the coming days and I believe learning how to walk with stubby little gnome feet should not number them.”

“Not a fan of gnomes?”

“Not particularly. Cheap little bastards.”

“Okaaay… human sounds good to me.” I said, trying to pass over that overtly racist comment. I was never one to play as other races in games that gave you the choice. The idea of me being in the game worlds enticed me more, not trying to be someone else. At least not in the first playthrough. Pretty ironic, considering that’s exactly what was happening.

Terrence nodded while I wrote Human down on the character sheet.

“Next is stat distribu—hmm, strange.” He stopped mid sentence and read his clipboard again. His already-big eyes widened. He hurried over to the desk, picked up the sheet, and put it on his clipboard.
“Ready for your new life?” he asked.

“Wait. All I chose was my name and race. What about my stats, or my class?”

“It looks like someone else made those decisions for you. As a penalty. If you had come from a more respectable world, you would have more choices. Now chop chop, times a wastin.” He put the clipboard under an arm and clapped his hands.

“Some things you need to know:

One. To check your character sheet; just think about it and it will appear. Read everything on it and take time to understand your powers. Make sure you ask her questions.

Two. The three bars in your field of vision are your health, stamina, and mana respectively. Don’t let your health bar empty but you probably know this already. Earth had a strange grasp on the mechanics of other planes.”

“What three bars?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I focused on the top left of my vision and sure enough there were three bars, red for health, green for stamina, and blue for mana.

“Three. Take some risks, make some friends and try to make something of yourself this time around. You'll do great. Enjoy the new life. Bye.”

“Wait—”