A Ride With Karen Across the Sticks

The man walked down the dirt road, his vision blurry through his dark brown bangs, which were caked together with his moist sweat. "God, how did I get myself into this mess," he wondered, mindful of the fact that he was going to be rained on very soon. The clouds overhead looked ominous, dark with rain, and he heard the low rumbling which signified that lightning had struck a couple miles away. He decided to look for a place to weather out the storm.

He had been at a party out in the middle of the woods, drinking and listening to the flavor-of-the-week pop music that uneducated college kids are notorious for blasting at their keggers. He only remembered bits and pieces of the previous night. He remembered drinking a fifth of vodka as soon as he got there, shortly before he smoked three joints, which had been laced with something or another. He remembered seeing pretty colors, hearing a random girl asking him if he was alright, and passing out in the shadow of a huge, twisted oak tree. The next thing he remembered, it was daylight, and surprisingly, he had no hangover. it was strange, all things considered. He had always been a lightweight. He had checked his phone, and found that it was dead. "Great," he thought. "Now I have to hoof it back to civilization." Thus began his walk.

Out of nowhere, a car pulled up next to him. "Need a ride?" He looked at the driver. She couldn't have been more than twenty, and was a very pretty girl of indeterminate ethnicity, with long, wavy black hair, tan skin, and large brown eyes. She was driving some sort of late-model sports car, with a dark purple paint job. "Sure," he replied, thanking his lucky stars that he had beat the rain. Hopping in the passenger seat, he closed the door and looked for the seatbelt. "Don't bother," she said. "This car doesn't have them. We don't need them here." He found this statement rather odd, but he was thankful anyway to have a ride, so he accepted it. "What's your name?" "Karen Lethe," she replied. "I already know yours, Allen Reichmann. Twenty-three years of age, born to one Richard Austin, and a prostitute named Alaina Richards. Taken from her at the age of three by child protection, who investigated the house that you were living in and found large quantities of heroin. Adopted by Susan and Erick Reichmann, who were unable to conceive a second child due to an infection which rendered Erick sterile. You died from smoking pot laced with a toxic amount of jimsonweed extract, as did four other people at the party you were at. You won't be found for another couple of days. You're freaking out right now, but I can assure you that everything is going to be alright."

"Alright? You just fucking told me that I'm dead! I'm not going to question it, but this is a lot to take in! What the fuck..." he started. She laughed. "Trust me. I had the same reaction when they told me. I must say, your ability to accept it is a positive. Most people deny it when they find out. It's not until they realize that no matter how hard they try, they can't get hold of the people in their lives that they usually accept it. Some people still don't and that's when you get ghosts. Ghosts are the sign that someone's a fuckup, who can't handle the truth. They think that if they stay in the mortal world, they can finish their life the way they wanted to. It doesn't work that way, and in the off chance that they can communicate with the living, they usually just creep them the fuck out. I've been doing this for seven thousand years or so. You're well-adjusted for someone who just had the news broke to them."

"So, am I going to heaven, or to hell," he asked. "I mean, I'm kind of worried right now. I was an atheist my entire life, but I tried to do my best to help everyone." Karen sighed. "In reality, it's a lot more simple than that. There is no heaven or hell. There is only the afterlife. The Jews called it 'Sheol', the Greeks and Romans called it 'The Underworld', and the neanderthals called it 'Porska Velatrio'." Seeing the incredulous look on his face, she responded, "Yes, we have neanderthals here. No, they're not stupid, and they sure as hell didn't speak like 'grunka lok ugg!' They were actually a very eloquent group of people. Everything that has a brain and dies ends up here. It's not so bad. Everything you could want is easily attained here. There is no struggle, unless you want it. It's kind of like a giant dream. Do you want to sleep with a homo erectus woman? They're here, and quite willing. Want to meet aliens from the planet Bob Johnson in the Andromeda Galaxy? We have em. Would you like a mansion made out of ice? It's not only feasible, we have thousands of them. We also have any type of location you could ever wish to explore. We should probably cut this conversation short, though, since we're almost at the check-in station."

She pulled up to an elaborately modern-looking building, and said, "We're here." He looked out of the window at the sprawling city in front of them. Allen had been so focused on the conversation between the two of them, that he hadn't even realized that they were heading towards civilization. Looking out of the car, He saw a group of different species walking down a sidewalk that appeared to be made of mother of pearl. Before he got out of the car, he said, "Just a couple questions. First, why do I have to check in? Second, do you realize how wrong you are about having everything I want? I don't have my family and friends. Third, how do you know the future?"

"In order," she said. "You check in to affix yourself to this world. If you don't do the check-in ritual, you don't gain any of the benefits of living here, and it makes it so that you can be stuck as a ghost, living the same bullshit over and over until you give in. As for your family and friends, they will be here sooner than you or they think. The earth is about to be hit by a huge gamma ray burst. Everyone and everything is going to die. As for your third question; it's just a fringe benefit of living here. You'll see. By the way, reach into your pocket. You'll find two opals in there. Hand them to me."

He reached in, and lo and behold, he found the two stones. "What are these," he asked. "Those are my payment. Are you familiar with Greco-Roman mythology at all?" He nodded in affirmation. "Then you know that you always pay Charon two obols to take you across the Styx. Or, rather, you pay Karen two opals to take you across the sticks. Now off you go."

As he handed her the stones and walked towards the entrance to the building, she thought, "Another job well done. Time for my evening glass of peach tea," and drove off towards her penthouse.