The Void

It was cold. There was a strange atmosphere around, as if the air was damp, musty, devoid of oxygen. It smelled weird too. Not unpleasant, not nice, it smelled like a profound nothingness; if a human was able to breathe in the deepest parts of the ocean, this is what the smell would be like. Well, at least that was what Victor Lavoi thought.

How long had it been since he arrived here? He had no clue, as there was no such word as time in this place, there was no clock hanging on any of the walls, no calendar on any cupboard.

Heaven or hell—this is what Victor had believed during his lifetime that the human soul goes after death. Some said that it splatters in the universe into a million pieces and simply disappears, like a raindrop falling on the ground will always soak up and leave no trace. But it was nonsense.

This place had no specific name, Victor liked to call it the void. It practically resembled earth, except that everything around felt colorless, gray, lifeless. There was no sun, no wind, no rain, no day or night, no animals. Victor’s eyes couldn’t be blessed by luscious green grass or blue sky. As he looked up, he could only see a gray space, sad and overwhelming, yet no one dared to complain.

It could have been worse; this place wasn't as horrible as hell was portrayed, nor was it as glorious as heaven seemed to be; it was simply... painfully dull.

To Victor, the void sometimes looked like his precious hometown, but in an alternative form, much more substandard. He heard once from a passerby that after death we land in a place resembling the one we loved the most during our lifetime, and that would make sense. Though, he deeply hated this version of his hometown. Who would have loved something that looked so thrillingly dead anyway?

There were, however, houses, apartments, and other structures, just as there were in the regular city. There were trees, roads, sidewalks, and even a river to be found. Of course, no electrician devices worked, and while things like a mobile phone and a television were present, they were just for display, like a museum exhibit. Victor had never seen a car or any other means of transport there, well that obviously wouldn't suit this place, a ghost behind the wheel would look comical.

Ghost. He despised using this term. But what was he then? He was wearing the same clothes, he had the same voice, the same mind, he was just himself, as if he hadn't died at all. He was just bone-chillingly cold, his hands always like ice cubes. He could even breathe, walk, blink. Yet, when he put his hand to his chest, he felt nothing. His heart wasn't beating. It was enough proof that there really was no spark of life in him.

Death was always fascinating to him, so why didn't he feel fulfilled when he died?

When he first woke up in this place, he was laughing to himself madly, repeating like a broken record: finally, finally, finally. However, as time had passed, an unexpected thing happened: Victor didn't like being dead at all. Here he felt much worse than on earth. Here everyone seemed to be reconciled to death except for him. Thus, he again felt like a misunderstood entity, doomed to be closed in his mind and to eternal dissatisfaction. Why? Why was he like that? Was he unable to find peace even after death?

It actually was horrible to be dead. The ghosts weren't able to sleep, and it bothered Victor a lot. He would lay down and close his eyes, but slumber never came. Forced insomnia was exhausting, because when he was alive, sleep was the only way for him to escape his thoughts. He preferred to have nightmares every night than to be stuck with his uncouth mind for the whole time.

Ghosts could eat, they could also drink, but never felt hungry. They didn’t feel pain either, Victor tried to pinch himself many times and felt one big nothing, his pale skin didn’t even redden. What was fascinating, they couldn’t touch each other; it felt like making contact with a chilly air. Ghosts, however, felt emotions, they could miss, dream, cry. Victor came to the conclusion that he was simply the embodiment of his soul, that his physical body died, and it was always only a surface.

He had made friends with several ghosts, especially one named Riv. He was completely at peace with this place, his nature was always calm and composed, the way he spoke was slow but wise. Victor envied him this. He, too, would like to have order in his head, yet the draining feeling of losing himself in his own paradox was ironically killing him, and he knew it wouldn't lead to anything good.

It was Riv who told him that there was a ruler of this place, something like a God, but with less competence. Apparently he was hard to find, but he was supposedly somehow watching everyone, overseeing his kingdom.

Victor couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He missed earth so much he could cry. He missed his family. How was his little brother doing? Did he miss him too? His mother, was she pleased that there was finally no one to annoy her? Did she cry for him a lot? God damn it, how long has it been since he had died? And why the hell was it getting so hard to imagine the faces of his friends? Losing the memory of them would break even more, he could not bear it.

He yearned for sunsets, as the color palette shifted from pink to orange, then orange to purple in a matter of minutes. Then it got dark, and millions of stars were strewn across the sky, shimmering madly and reflected in the river. Nobody knew, but Victor loved stargazing; it calmed him down and served as a form of meditation for him.

He missed real human touch, warmth, the heartbeat, sincere laughter; ghosts laughed so rarely.

He just wanted to be alive again.

It has always been this way with Victor. Breaking the rules often made his life path, although sometimes he didn't want to, fate just liked to mock him.

It mocked him even after his death, laughed at his suicidal-self, and said: ‘we'll see if you're so happy when you're dead’. Then shouted straight to his face that in the end, he wouldn't fit anywhere.

But Victor was always fighting with fate after all, despite all his wounds and disappointments, he always got to his feet and walked forward, wiping the blood from his knees.

He never gave up easily.

The fact that he worked as a detective during his lifetime turned out to be a great advantage. Wandering endlessly, questioning all the ghosts he ever encountered, searching all the holes and corners of this dead version of Yokohama, he was almost one hundred percent sure, standing in front of the large brown door, that he found the ruler of this place.

His certainty could not be fully completed, because the fact that a presumed God could live in a quite ordinary building like the other random ghosts was quite confusing. Victor, when he first heard about the ruler, considered that he might be an invisible spirit, possessing all-powerful abilities and being impossible to find. However, one ghost in the street claimed that he was once a servant of the ruler, and he was in the form of a human being, just like everyone here. This information made Victor extremely pleased.

He opened the door with one sure push. I have nothing to lose, I'm already dead anyway.

It was bright, too bright for his gray-accustomed eyes, that Victor had to narrow them, then, when it was insufficiently protected, to cover them with the palm of his hand. It took him a while to get used to the ubiquitous luminosity, still standing right next to the exit, he finally opened his eyes, blinking rapidly.

He couldn't remember the last time he saw something so divine. Everything around was snow-white; he could swear, the whole place seemed to be sparkling, as though someone had spilled glitter around, as if stars were produced here. He realized that the exterior of the building did not compare to the interior at all, that it was a perfect example of how what's inside always counted.

The whiteness here knew no boundaries, Victor gazed up and saw no ceiling, again, just pure white, same with the walls around, they seemed to be an illusion, like they had no end. But when his eyes eventually turned to look straight ahead, he saw a throne, and on it a man with white, long hair resembling a veil, he was also dressed in white, sitting upright and proud. Victor immediately knew that it was the ruler.

Victor blinked as he took a step forward. He came here for one thing, and he wouldn't leave until he got an answer.

“Victor Lavoi,” came the ruler's smooth voice. Victor froze in place immediately. “What brings you here?”

So he knows my name. Victor swallowed, even though his mouth was dry as a desert. He stood a few meters from the ruler and felt so small, insignificant, there was an overwhelming energy in this place, only then did he realize. Maybe he should bow? No, it was too late. He shouldn't beat around the bush and get to the point. “I have a question for you,” he proclaimed, voice shaky to his displeasure.

He saw as the ruler raised his white eyebrows slightly, then put a finger to his temple, his movements slow. “A question? I feel like I know what question you want to ask me.”

Maybe he really is a God? “Let me ask it anyway,” Victor said with more confidence. He took a few more steps towards the ruler, now having a clearer view of his face. He looked quite young, but he probably wasn't; he was extremely pale, his expression empty, neutral.

“Won't you ask for my name first? You're a bit rude, aren't you?” The ruler questioned, knitting his eyebrows together slightly.

Fine, that was a good point. Victor sometimes forgot what respect was, and at that moment he absolutely needed to express it to get what he wanted. Bowing slightly, he spoke, “I am sorry. I'm just desperate.”

The ruler gave a low hum of affirmation. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Daem, and I am the ruler. You are now in my palace. And I have to be honest, I sensed that sooner or later you would find courage and pay me a visit. Congratulations, Victor, not many have done it,” he said, voice gracious.

Victor's eyes grew slightly bigger. What kind of abilities did you need to have to sense someone's visit? He couldn't help but ask, “Are you a God?”

Daem actually chuckled at that, the sound echoed throughout the room. “I am not. You could say I am his broker, but I never saw him. Nobody ever saw him.”

Victor nodded in understanding and decided to ask a few more questions bothering him, since Daem seemed so eager to answer. “What is the real name of this place?”

“You can name it what you want.”

“Do all souls end up here after death?” Victor continued.

“No,” Daem shook his head slowly. “Your next question will be what are the rules of where the soul goes, but I will not be able to answer it because it is a secret.”

“I understand,” he didn't really, but he finally decided to move on to the main question he wanted to ask. “Is there a way... to come back to life?” Only then did Victor realize how stupid and ridiculous the question sounded. He was a damn ghost, he didn't know for what time, he was buried somewhere on earthly ground in a cramped coffin. Dead, dead, completely dead, unable to-

“There is a way.” Daem's voice went straight to Victor's head, interrupting all his racing thoughts. Victor's eyes widened to the size of coins, his lifeless breath instantaneously quickening, “...There is?” He practically breathed.

A small smile tugged on Daem's pale lips, he looked amused with Victor's reaction. “There is, indeed. Do you want to know what you have to do?”

“Of course I do,” Victor answered quickly. He had never felt so desperate.

The grin on Daem's face widened. “To return to earth... two ghosts must fall in love with each other.”

And at those words, Victor’s breath stuttered. Love. Of all the things he’d expected.

Goddamn love.

He didn’t like the idea of love. Hated it. He felt instantly defeated, all his energy and desperation faded, leaving him hopeless again. He had never been in love. Without a beating heart, how was it even possible to feel something so deep towards others here?