Chapter 1

There is a reason your life flashes before your eyes as you die- drowning is just the death which is most recovered from, and so the one mostly associated with this phenomena.

This reason also explains the notions of what happens after, to you, your essence, as those you left behind put your body back into the recycle cycle.

Reality is quite flexible and malleable, and in the presence of will, awareness, focus, attitude intention and opinion, is somewhat moldable. There really is no ‘objective’ reality, it is actually more of a ‘weighted shared consensus’, at least until you ‘pass on’.

Then, your reality becomes only you, not shared with any other, and thus it is only your own awareness, convictions, attitudes phobias and paranoias which shape your new existence as your disembodied self, the stuff left over when the physical part is recycled.

If you were tormented by life, or rather, if you allowed reality to oppress you in life (some are happy and irrepressible no matter the circumstance) your focus and attention on negativity will draw you to repeat those troublesome moments of your past. If you were a positive person in life with few regrets, your left-over karmic residue would have more positive emotional lodestones to re-anchor your essence, for review.

If you were an asshole, self-centered and insensitive, you will be utterly alone in the afterwards, needing only to suffer your own presence, but if you enjoyed inflicting pain and causing suffering, you will become a tormenting imp, an instrument of suffering.

I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that those who were gaming addicts that didn’t really connect with real life might enjoy an afterwards that included extra lives. I would think zombie hunters just might need them. But if you fantasized your life away, you might get a replay of the same.

If you lived a dreadful life, and/or have regrets or despair- (Never Suicide! Hellish Torment!) the ‘hell’ you bring to yourself is just your focus on those parts of your life and feelings. If you can’t break free of the negativity- And you didn’t manage in life to learn to not dwell on the negative, so you most likely won’t break loose.

Of course, if you enjoyed a goodly life, it will cause a positive feedback loop, and your after existence will be all the nice bits, up-lifting, heart warming, feel good about yourself and pat yourself on the back for a good job.

Even if you had a mostly bad life, but had a death-bed conversion and repentance- going into the Afterward with a feeling of being accepted and forgiven will mitigate a whole bunch of dwelling on/in suffering and regret for the failures of life. So Yay Jesus. Dying joyfully expecting heaven knowing you are forgiven your sins really does keep Christians from an afterward of regret, self-recrimination and sorrow. So that is one way to avoid hell, I can’t argue.

There were a few deep regrets I had, not so much for things that I had done, because I was a pretty decent human being, and mostly feel I would go to Heck and Darnation, and suffer agonizing embarrassment for my dumbassery and social ineptness. But I do have some deep regrets over some actions I did not take, regrets for what I did not do.

As it turns out, there is also a Purgatory effect of sorts, even the Afterwards is malleable and moldable and you can work on it, and your own choices have more weight with out the friction from averaging out the shared realities. While living we do somewhat help to shape reality, but every one else does as well, and they all have to combine into the world we share. The Afterward is like going from walking in knee deep water to walking on dry land, a lot less resistance, so much easier.

Unfortunately, a lifetime of habit keeps most of us still slogging and sloshing as we recycle our left-over residues, hampered by the formerly imposed ‘reality’ of those we used to share our world with.

But the regrets of inaction are much easier mended than the regrets and negative focus of bad acts.

It just takes a little determination to do the right thing you should have done the first time instead of hanging back. Cultivate your gumption. You just gotta grab those ‘step up’ moments, and, well, step up. Even if it is difficult or dangerous.

So My Afterwards was an opportunity, instead of endless regret.

I was working slinging pizza. I was half-way through the shift, unaware that this was the Afterwards, and my consciousness was creating everything I experienced. I did have a monster case of déjà vu though, and my ‘rescue ranger’ self-identity, which had strengthened and enhanced in my former consensual reality after this upcoming ‘failure to step up’ had originally occurred, was just as developed as it had ever been in reaction to this former fail.

All unaware, still my former life subsequent to this self-disappointment had pushed me to develop skills and attitudes and hard lines within my sense of right and of identity, and it was unlikely that this new improved dead me would fail, this time.

There is the possibility of redemption, because the you who made the regrettable decisions is by the time of your death no longer that you, but that you plus all your experiences and choices since then, and having regret for your failure goes far to guide your succeeding choices, shaping your character. Thus, when you revisit your moment of shame, a different outcome can occur.

To fully appreciate what was about to happen, you should probably know how it went down the first time, before I got this second chance to step up. (I would also take this chance to urge you to do a training montage focused on mending the character defects that led you to your own great self-disapointment, since you will be facing it all over again. Word to the wise.)

The first time, I was manning the kitchen solo during a slow time, able to keep up with the few orders I rang up on the register. The manager was in the back office, doing the books or snorting coke or reading porn mags or whatever it is managers do in their back offices. I was happy and carefree, as well as young and dumb, being in my early to mid twenties.

My happy world was forever darkened by what I didn’t do next. I had just slid a Reuben sandwich, the two halves unassembled into the conveyor oven from the side door for a slight toasting and warming. Sometimes you had to move a pizza to make room, but it was the only ticket up.

A girl walked in and up to the counter, young, but had boobs in her bra under her T-shirt, her skinny tight jeans showcasing her coltish legs. She had colorful plastic charm bracelets on her left wrist, and a large unstylish functional wristwatch on the other. Behind her entered a youngish man in a suit, well groomed and manicured. He instantly set my hackles to bristling, I had rarely in my young life experienced this. He stood back a dozen feet in a patronizing posture, folded hands loosely held clasped in front of him.

She asked if I would help her, could she use the phone at least. Before I could answer the smirking man spoke up.

“She’s a runaway minor. If you aid and abet her, you are committing a felony.”

It’s a long story I won’t get into, but I was currently doing a years community service, and my court supervision was still active. Later my record was expunged, it really was a slap on the wrist penalty, but I was still fresh from the experience of the legal system from the wrong side. Instead of stepping up, I stepped back, and regretted it even after the day I died.

“She’s a runaway minor. If you aid and abet her, you are committing a felony.”

I asked her, “You know that guy?”

“No, he has been following me around all day, keeping anyone from helping me. It’s creeping me out, but he hasn’t touched me.”

I recognized the feeling from before now, which had raised my hackles. I had been a victim of childhood bullying, and I recognized the confident arrogance of a clever sociopath. Able to fit into society just as long as they wish to. With out qualms or conscience, they are deadly dangerous if they think they can get away with it.

I drew a quick sketch map showing where the unmarked door to the ‘quiet’ room was, for employees who needed more privacy than the semi-public employee meal table, where we also had our free after shift beer (or three, depending on who was on the bar till.) I told her quietly so only she could hear “It’s unlocked, don’t let him see you go in there.”

“What did you give her, helping her is a crime!”

“So call the police then, or do you even have a badge that didn’t come from a cracker-jack box. I bet you are just a sociopathic creep who pervs on young girls!”

He didn’t like that, I had called his bluff and had his full attention on me and not the girl who slipped around and into the unmarked door that was one of four different anonymous doors down that wall. However, I did see him notice the long pizza peel I was using to save the Reuben.

Realizing that he had lost the game he was playing on the girl and unwilling to retaliate in such a public place, he left, but I suspected I wasn’t done with him yet. I watched him leave as I stuck toothpicks into the sandwich and cut the Reuben and slid it into the basket with a pickle quarter.

I suspected he would hang around to see if he could get his hooks into the girl again, or take any safe opportunities to cause me grief in retaliation. He was one of the clever ones, the less intelligent sociopaths might make threats or keep vengeance lists of those who done them wrong, but the clever ones are often undetected much of the time, and seem plenty nice enough until the get the undetectable or low discovery chance to just do what ever thing they wish to without any regrets. I have no idea what their afterwards is like, probably an indulgent orgy of Caligulaesque abandon.

I knew he was clever by the way he was wearing the girl down all with out getting within 12 feet of her, cutting off all attempts to gain assistance with lies, and his presence and professional clothing. He seemed associated with her, so she wasn’t a little lost lambkin to be helped, perhaps it was tough love or something. It certainly was deniable or explainable, and had very low risk to him.

In any case, he was exploiting the social effect of ‘oh, lots of help here, they don’t need mine’ which was first noticed widely in the Kitty Genovise case. The more bystanders, the lower the chances any individual one will get involved. And no, I don’t mean just mathematically, it is a documented effect. That’s why first-aid training dictates asking individual bystanders for help, ie; You, in the Hawaiian shirt- call for an ambulance, You, in the green hair bow, go to the corner and pull the fire alarm, versus shouting to the whole crowd, ‘go get help’. I know when I saw someone else step up in situations, I often felt relived I wasn’t required, and didn’t need to get involved.

The Reuben was my break meal, but I wanted to stay out front even if business was dead to keep an eye on things. Luckily? I didn’t have a car, and I walked a trail from home to work which might be a problem if the predator had been a game hunter, but this guy was too GQ to get dirt on his imported leather shoes. I doubted he had the patience to wait four hours for my shift to end, although he just might return if it wasn’t any difficulty at all, like the traffic which would be peaking just then, so probably not.