Im so glad y'all like my strange little story it beat me over the head as I work. And the more I talk about it the more people around me want to read it. So I hope y'all can help me make this a great story like you Usually do. Thanks again! ~S.K. Allen

Chapter 1: The Seminar Begins

As I stood in the center of the suite, I took in the sterile elegance of the space. White walls, plush furniture, a bed that looked far too inviting. It wasn't cold or unwelcoming, but something about it felt…off. Maybe it was the fact that this was purgatory, or maybe it was just the weirdness of being in some cosmic waiting room after death.

I glanced down at myself, still wearing the clothes I'd died in—basic jeans, a plain tee, and some worn-out sneakers. I frowned. It wasn't like I hated my style, but it wasn't *me* either. Or, maybe it was, and that was the problem.

I never felt like I could pull off anything bold. Every time I saw something I liked—whether it was some edgy jacket, or a pair of killer heels—I'd talk myself out of it. Telling myself I didn't have the figure, the attitude, or whatever else was needed to rock it. I settled for safe. Again.

But this was a new start, right? Nine months of reprogramming. I could *try* something different, couldn't I?

I wandered over to the closet, which seemed to know I was coming because the doors opened like magic. My eyes widened at the array of options inside—everything from the conservative to the audacious. Dresses, jackets, heels, boots—clothes I'd admired from afar but never had the guts to wear.

I reached out, touching the sleeve of a leather jacket that screamed confidence. Paired with some boots and tight jeans, it could be a look. I yanked it out of the closet, pulling it on. It was heavier than I expected. I glanced at the mirror and winced.

God, I look ridiculous.

The jacket dwarfed my frame, the boots made me feel clunky, and the whole outfit felt like I was trying too hard—like a costume. I sighed, yanking the jacket off and throwing it back into the closet. So much for boldness.

I picked out something simpler—dark jeans and a plain black top. Maybe a little more fitted, a little less boring, but nothing that screamed "look at me." It felt better, even if it was just another version of safe.

Now dressed, I wandered over to the projector. The little voice in my head kept whispering, reminding me that I was here to figure out where my life went wrong. To see the *why* of it all. I was curious, even if I was terrified of what I'd see.

It was sleek—just a touch-screen panel with a big glowing button that said "START." Easy enough. I pressed it without thinking too hard about it.

Suddenly, the room dimmed, and an image flickered to life on the far wall. I wasn't ready for what came next.

There I was, twenty-three and awkward, standing outside an apartment door with a bouquet of sunflowers. My heart thudded in my chest as I knocked, the flowers trembling slightly in my grip. I'd spent weeks planning this moment, working up the courage to confess my feelings to him—Scott, the guy I thought I was in love with.

The door opened, and there he was. Mike, with his charming smile and dark hair that always fell into his eyes just the right way. "Tori?" he said, surprised to see me. "Hey, what's up?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Hi… I, uh…" I handed him the flowers, my heart pounding louder than ever. "These are for you. I just—I wanted to tell you—"

And then, like clockwork, the moment shattered.

From inside the apartment, I heard her voice. A woman's voice. "Scott, who's at the door?"

A blonde appeared over his shoulder, draping herself over him, her arms around his neck. She was gorgeous, the kind of girl who probably never questioned what she wore or how she looked. And suddenly, everything clicked. The late texts, the random cancellations, the excuses.

"Tori," Scott said, his smile faltering, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I didn't know you'd be coming by."

I swallowed hard, feeling the sting of rejection deep in my chest. "I—I thought we were…"

"You thought what?" The blonde sneered, looking me up and down. "You thought you were his girlfriend?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably, glancing between us. "Tori, I—"

"Don't bother," I interrupted, my voice cracking as I backed away from the door. "I get it."

I turned on my heel, practically running down the hall before they could say anything else. But I heard her laugh behind me, that condescending, cruel laugh that echoed in my ears for weeks afterward.

The scene blinked out, leaving me standing in stunned silence, staring at the blank wall. My heart was still racing, the emotions from that day as raw now as they were then.

That* was the moment. The moment I started retreating. After Scott, I stopped putting myself out there. Stopped trusting people. Every time someone tried to get close, I pulled away, afraid of being hurt again.

I took a shaky breath, my chest tightening with the weight of it all.

And that's how I ended up here—a 38-year-old virgin, underpaid because I was too scared to ask for more, too scared to live.

I stared at the projector, trying to process it all, but one thing was crystal clear: I'd spent most of my life hiding from the world. And I couldn't hide anymore.

I was still reeling from the projector's little *flashback special* when a chime echoed through the room. A notification blinked on the wall: *"It's time for your seminar. Please proceed to the Orientation Hall."*

I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was sit through some cosmic life coaching session after reliving one of the worst moments of my life. But, this was purgatory—wasn't like I had options. Resigned, I left the room, the white doors sliding open for me like I was walking into some sci-fi reboot of *Groundhog Day*.

The walk to the Orientation Hall felt like a slow, creeping reminder of every failure. The path was lined with windows, each one reflecting versions of me—versions I didn't like. I kept my eyes ahead, not wanting to see my reflection, not wanting to face…me.

When I arrived at the seminar, it was already half-filled with people. Some looked as annoyed as I felt, others seemed more relaxed, as if this was just another day in the afterlife. I scanned the room, trying to figure out where to sit. In the corner, I spotted Robbie, an awkward guy who had given me a shy wave earlier in the hallway. He looked like the kind of person who probably apologized for bumping into chairs. And then there was… *her*.

Across the room, leaning against the back wall, stood a woman—tall, with dark hair that fell over her eyes in a way that seemed both intentional and natural. She had this brooding intensity about her, the kind of energy that drew you in but also warned you to keep your distance. She was all sharp lines and defiant posture, like she was daring the universe to push her any harder.

I caught myself staring, my pulse quickening in a way that I wasn't used to anymore.

is she really a she without a physical form?* The thought flickered in my mind like an old bulb trying to light up. Femenino energy was my vice. I'd spent so long pretending I didn't care about attraction—telling myself it was easier to not be with anyone than to deal with…well, everything.

My family's disapproving voices echoed in my head. In our world, attraction to women wasn't an option—it was dismissed as a phase or, worse, an aberration. So, I buried it. Easier to go through life as a woman who "just hasn't found the right guy," than to face the inevitable fallout of being who I actually was. A virgin by choice, but really just scared.

I felt a flush of embarrassment crawl up my neck as I caught her eyes—dark, intense, and focused on me, even just for a second. I quickly averted my gaze, pretending I was interested in the potted plant near the door. *Real smooth, Tori.*

Before I could slink off to a corner seat, Robbie waved me over. "Tori, hey!" he called, standing up a little too enthusiastically and causing a couple of people to glance our way. "There's a seat here if you want."

I hesitated, glancing once more toward the brooding woman at the back. She hadn't moved, but I could feel her presence like a low hum in the room. My pulse spiked again.

Nope. Not gonna stare again. That's weird.*

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Robbie." I shuffled over to his table and slid into the chair next to him, offering a small smile.

He grinned awkwardly, shifting in his seat like he wasn't used to someone actually sitting with him. "So, uh, what do you think this seminar's about? I've heard it's kinda like therapy, but, you know, for afterlife stuff."

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, though my mind was still buzzing from everything—the woman at the back, my embarrassing death, the projector showing my worst memories like some depressing highlight reel. "I guess we're about to find out."

As the room began to fill, I couldn't help but steal another glance toward the back. She was still there, arms crossed, her gaze now scanning the room like she was weighing everyone's worth.

My mind wandered back to that nagging voice inside me, the one I'd been ignoring for so long. The one that told me I was never going to find what I was looking for with some guy, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself. Maybe that was why I'd ended up here—because I'd spent my life hiding from the truth.

Robbie leaned over, his voice low. "That lady back there, she's been here a bunch of times. Heard she's one of those people who keeps coming back to life."

"Really?" I asked, surprised that anyone would *choose* to return.

"Yeah. Guess she's an adrenaline Junkie or something."

I stole one last glance at her, feeling a pull I didn't quite understand. She wasn't just some random woman—there was something more to her, something that made the air feel different when she was in the room. I had no idea what it was, but I felt it all the same.

The woman in white, her every movement delicate and deliberate, walked onto the podium. Her presence commanded the room—not with force, but with a serene certainty. As she stepped to the center, the room hushed, an expectant stillness settling over us.

"Welcome," she said softly, but the word echoed, sinking into every corner of the room. "You have been brought here not as punishment, but as a chance. A chance to realign your soul, to reprogram the parts of you that have wandered from their true path. Each of you, at some point, lost something crucial—courage, direction, purpose. That's why you're here."

I shifted in my seat, glancing briefly around the room. Most people were staring ahead, listening intently, but my gaze drifted again to *her*. The dark-haired woman sat rigid, eyes forward, her entire presence like a storm waiting to break. She looked like she was here for something important, something noble, while the rest of us fumbled through our failures.

The woman in white continued, "Your destinies are waiting for you. But you must be willing to step toward them, to reclaim what you've lost."

She spoke of courage, of finding direction, but all I could think about was *living*. Just *living*—how I'd wasted every breath, every opportunity. My life had been an endless cycle of playing it safe. *Don't rock the boat, Tori. Don't risk it. Don't get hurt.*

I sighed quietly, focusing back on the woman in white.

"Each of you has a unique purpose to fulfill," she said, "and here, in this seminar, you will begin to uncover it. We will give you the tools to realign your soul with your true purpose, whether it's courage, love, or—" her eyes swept over me briefly, "life."

I stiffened slightly under her gaze. She moved on, but the weight of her words lingered. *Life*. Of course, that was my purpose—to stop wasting it.

The woman on my left, *her, looked calm. Almost...fond. Whatever was playing out on her screen had brought a small smile to her lips, like she was watching something that made her feel connected, at peace.

But peace wasn't what I found when I looked at my screen.

No, on mine, there was a dumpster. My body—well, what was left of it—had been unceremoniously covered by a few trash bags. The homeless man who'd found me had moved me there to protect me, to keep me from getting trampled, but he hadn't alerted anyone. Maybe he didn't know what else to do.

My family, of course, hadn't noticed. The phone call had come through, but they assumed, like always, that I was ignoring them. Why would today be any different? It wasn't like I had given them any reason to think otherwise.

The screen flashed again, and the phone call ended, my mother's face twisting in annoyance as she placed the phone back on the table. They were fine. They would always be fine without me. I wasn't really part of their world anymore—just some distant figure they reached out to when they felt obligated.

I stared at the screen, numb.

The woman in white was speaking again, her words soft in the background, but I wasn't listening. The image of my body, hidden in a back alley near a dumpster, felt like the perfect metaphor for my life. Not found. Not missed. Forgotten.

This was what you left behind * a voice whispered in my mind. *This is what happens when you don't live.*

As the minutes ticked on, the woman on my left kept her focus on her screen, that gentle smile never fading. I glanced at her again, wondering what she was seeing. What had she left behind? What noble quest had she been on?

And why did it feel like, even though she seemed at peace, she was still searching for something?

The woman in white finally spoke again, drawing me back. "Remember," she said, "what you see is not a reflection of your worth, but a reminder. You still have time. You still have the opportunity to change."

I looked back at the screen, but nothing changed. My family continued on, blissfully unaware. The man who had found me shuffled back into the street, leaving my body behind.

A hollow ache settled deep in my chest. All those years of playing it safe had left me *there, covered in garbage, forgotten by the world.

- I left the seminar room in a haze, the image of my body by that dumpster looping obsessively in my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it—how pathetic and forgotten I looked. My chest tightened with every replay, like the weight of my whole existence was pressing down on me all at once.

I fumbled down the hall, needing space. I needed a reset—*something* to stop the spiral in my mind. I had to clear my head, but instead, I found myself obsessively recalling the scene, pulling it up again on the projector in my suite.

There it was. My lifeless body, slumped behind the dumpster, bags piled around me. I watched the homeless man shuffle closer, his hands trembling as he reached down and took my phone. He looked so out of place holding it, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the screen. But he couldn't unlock it. My face—*God*—it had swollen beyond recognition. He kept staring at it, hoping that maybe someone would call, someone who would know what to do.

He didn't want to talk to the police—that much was clear. His face twisted with fear and uncertainty every time the thought crossed his mind. Instead, he tucked the phone away in his pocket, keeping it close, like maybe it would solve itself. Maybe *I* would solve myself.

But I hadn't. I'd left him with this burden, left him to handle my death because I was too afraid to live in the first place.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, my breath shallow and shaky. What was I supposed to do with this? My life was one long avoidance of everything that mattered, and now, I couldn't even escape *that*. Even in death, I was hiding. Hiding from the mess I'd left behind.

The projector looped again, showing the man pacing back and forth, glancing nervously at passersby. He kept hoping, wishing for someone to notice, to do what he couldn't.

But no one did.

I clenched my fists, feeling the frustration well up inside me. This was it. This was what my life had amounted to—dying in some back alley, my family not even wondering where I was.

I wiped at my face, realizing I was shaking. This wasn't fair. I wasn't ready for this. *How did this happen?* All my caution, all my planning—it was supposed to keep me safe, right? But all it did was leave me alone.

I needed to shut it off, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop staring at the man, who was now sitting beside my body, clutching my phone like it was his lifeline.

Maybe he'll figure it out.* Maybe I won't end up lost forever.

But as the projector clicked and restarted again, I felt the overwhelming emptiness of it all press down harder. I was already lost.

God, please...* I whispered internally, not even sure what I was asking for. Just something. Something to break this loop. Something to help me breathe again.

Because if I couldn't figure out how to live now, I was sure I'd stay lost forever.