It instinctively slips out of my mouth.

“Dude! You’re in the presence of God himself!”

“God? That’s the fuckin’ dude from ‘Workout Daily’!”

“Yin, shut up!!”

“Oho! You have a good eye, insolent mortal! D’ya like my muscles?”

Their voice is like nails scraping on a blackboard. I cover my ears and keel over, stomach churning. Through the nausea and the stench of vomit, I can only look up at the muscular entity clad in gold. Undoubtedly, they’re modelled after that one bodybuilder in Sika’s favourite show, ‘Workout Daily’. We used to watch it back in college. The god flexes their arms. I feel the bile rise up to my throat again. Regardless of appearance, this is true power. It wouldn’t feel so heavy otherwise. “What’s–what’s going on?”

“Oho, you’re new to this! Let me enlighten yo–”

“Can you please–ugh–speak without the loud ass tone? It really fucks with my ears–mfh!”

“So sorry, God!” Sika’s hand smothers my mouth, his eyes are popping out of their sockets. I grab his hand and pull it off my face. The entity clears their throat. “You’re a feisty one. Interesting.” A male voice, rather stern. The golden light from his form hits me in the eye every time I try to look at him.

“God, can you please show him?” Sika’s voice is almost too different. He’s completely enamoured. Where did his usual unimpressed voice go? When did he start saying ‘please’?

The pages around us start spinning slowly as the god snaps his fingers, producing a paper that looks like a list. “Listen up kids, this is a list of lives ya’ll can choose from. Here ya go. Knock yourselves out.”

Wait, wait. “A list of lives? What do you mean, ‘a list of lives’?”

Sika shushes me and takes the paper with trembling hands. “Dude, this is what I wanted to show you!” He points to the items on the list:

·       Barber, 20. City house, famous. [error]

·       Student, 18. Math major, no family.

·       Nurse, 25. Head of unit, black belt, Taekwondo

·       Magician, 56. Pyrotechnic, disabled.

·       Artist, 42. Museum, famous…

·       Herbalist, 37…

The list goes on until it reaches the end of the page; until a new page unfurls from the bottom with more.

This is absurd.

“What the hell is this?”

“Ya see,” The god circles around us with a bounce, “it’s a list of brand new lives you can try out since yer so unhappy with the current one!”

“Unhappy? I’m not–”

“But I am!” Sika interrupts me. For the first time in a while, his voice is louder than mine. “Yin, I’m unhappy. Don’t you get it?” He grabs me by the shoulders, his knuckles are white. “Dude, I can’t tell you how bad it’s been. I lost Dad. Mom never cared. The worst of all is that no one ever believed me when I said something was wrong with Dad. Not even you.”

“I did believe you!”

“Did you? What’s the point of it anyway? You didn’t help me when he disappeared. God did.”

“Mum was in hospital!”

“I was in hospital!” His nails dig into my skin. I try to pull his hands off my shoulders. “Sika, you’re doing so good, you’re doing so well. Is this really what you want right now? To abandon everything? All your progress?”

“Yes. You won’t understand, dude. But none of this, nothin’ here makes me feel anything. But I pray. And God answers.”

I look up at the God. A grin forms on their face and they do a little flourish with their hands. “I just gave ‘em a chance to live again. Try a new life, try a new you!”

I didn’t realise Sika had gotten to this point. “I did try to aid you…”

“Ya mean those therapists and shit? That crap don’t work, dude. You think I haven’t tried? I want a different life, Yin. Only God gives you that. Humans only tell ya what to do in the current one, and that’s not what I want.” He loosens his grip on my shoulders and turns his back to me, voice dropping to a whisper, “Look at what the Shamans did to you. It’s a pretty clear example, dude.”

I rub my shoulders. He’s not wrong. If Sika went to the Shamans for help, it wouldn’t have been of much use. Considering his father’s insanity…no one really knew the cause. Not even Jaha. No one truly figured out how he died either. All I know is that a week after Mr Bright’s death, Sika tried to take his life. “Fine. Alright.”

Sika whips back around and looks at me with wide eyes. “You’ll try a life with me?”

“No–No, that’s not what I meant–”

“God, take us to the next one!”

I don’t have time to finish. The nausea hits me like a slap. I slam headfirst into the floor. Sika tries his best to hold me up. The god’s voice thunders above us in a spell of some sort. Fuck I feel so sick, the world is spinning. “I didn’t agree to this!”

“Just a little longer!” Sika grunts, holding my arms back. “It’s almost done!”

I can’t breathe. Tears form in my eyes as a searing pain tears itself from my chest. I strain to look at Sika, but the only thing I can see is a thin golden thread seeping out from his heart and into mine.

I cannot breathe.