• Bright. It was so bright...he squinted, raising one hand to shield his eyes, only to realize that the light streamed from all sides, with no definitive source. He let his hand drop, a fluttery feeling of fear swelling in his stomach. He looked down, and saw the ground, such as it was, was made of the light as well.
    He clambered awkwardly to his feet, feeling slightly...disconnected. He frowned, trying to remember who he was. Who am I?
    Dyante? Did that sound right? He rolled the name through his mouth his tongue, tasting it, finding it pleasing. Die-aunt-ay. Very pleasing.
    Now that he knew who he was, he looked around, searching for something to tell him where he was, or what he was doing. Noticing a slight dark spot, a blemish on the formerly featureless landscape, or airscape, or whatever it was. A lightscape; that's what it was. Dyante took a step towards the dark spot and found himself gliding swiftly towards it, almost as though he was standing still and the spot rushing to meet him.
    Who are you? he asked, crouching near the spot. The spot grew, spiraling upwards until it assumed the form of a young man with dark hair and bright blue eyes. Dyante gasped, and felt his heart flutter. He knew that face; hadn't he seen it peering back at him from the mirror for seventeen years?
    You must make a choice, Dyante whispered the other Dyante.
    "Must I?" whispered Dyante. He blinked, and peered at the words that had left his mouth, hanging in the air for a second before blending into the pure light.
    "You must," affirmed the other. "But, Dyante, bear in mind this: Once you make that choice, it shall not be offered to you again. We have compassion, but in the world you have left, there is not much compassion to be found, and so we are running a bit low at the moment."
    "You mean...I'm....dead?"
    "That is exactly what I mean. Not only that, but it also your current state. Now, you have but two options."
    "Yes?" said Dyante eagerly. He had had so many things going on. His father had just handed him the keys to the truck, and he was walking to the parking lot...pain, light and then...this. He supposed he had gotten struck by another high schooler in the parking lot. What a way to go. But, still. His girlfriend was really starting to take him seriously, and he had mostly B's for his senior year. He was going to graduate...
    "Option one: You remain dead, and time continues exactly the same. Your girlfriend and family will miss you terribly, you won't get to graduate, and you'll never drive again."
    Dyante's face fell; he had been hoping for something a little bit more cheerful. Although, he supposed what classified as cheerful when you were living was completely different than when you were dead.
    His copy held up a slender finger. "Ah, but wait, there is one more option, young Dyante. You have the choice of continuing to live like this had never happened. You won't remember this meeting at all, and everything will be restored to normalcy in your life."
    Dyante smiled. This was better! However, at the other Dyante's words, he felt his heart sink right back into the dark abyss it had been in before. He was gripping both sides of either world, his sweaty fingers aching to keep his hold and not fall into the unknown, for he felt that if he chose too soon, too rapidly, he would truly fall, even though his feet were firm on the lightscape.
    "To do so, however, you will be taking away the lives of four who have yet to experience even a one hundredth of the joy of life. They will be snuffed from existence, and they will not have your choice, Dyante. They won't be able to move to the Land of Grace, either. For you, if you wanted, could leave this temporary equilibrium and go beyond the known, into wherever you soul is destined to go."
    Dyante swallowed nervously, his heart pounding and his palms sweating as his copy stared coolly at him, his arms crossed, awaiting his decision. How can my body be reacting when I'm dead? he wondered distractedly. He was caught between his own selfish desires, and the sense of right that had been instilled in him since he was caught plucking wings from butterflies when he was two. His mother had come to him, caught his hands and said, "Oh, Dyante! Now the pretty butterflies can't fly! Now they won't be able to go home."
    Dyante had started crying as he imagined being stranded far from his home forever. His mother had held him that day, and he had begun to learn that take someone's wings is to doom them to death.
    Taking a shuddering breath, he felt the strain ease. He looked up with a wistful smile, and said, "Tell those four souls I said live like every day is your last. I've got regrets; I want them to die old and wrinkled and surrounded by grandchildren that love them, and be buried in a cemetery where the grass is soft and green, and flowers bloom beside all the graves..." His voice choked, and he blinked away tears, his nails biting into his palms. "Tell them...to love living."
    And with that, he let go of his tenuous grasp on both edges of the world and rose farther into the air, his relieved laughter echoing like bells in the light. He was no longer caught between, no longer torn apart. And it felt amazing...