I. Glass Cage
I had never been an organized person. Instead, I chose to chase after everything on a mere whim. Perhaps that was why I had eventually sunken into this abyss. I finally thought that I had found a way out but that was just delusional bliss. Perhaps I would never escape my debts. However, there was nothing else left for me to do. The elusive truth taunted me and this ceaseless compulsion to see it through shackled me to my office.
There was a digital panel outfitted on the gilded entrance door that gave me the luxury of furnishing the modest space however I pleased. At first, I had been absolutely ecstatic. It was one of the only comforts in this bizarre universe that gave me solace. Every few days, I would switch the theme of the office to amuse myself. At first, I furnished the place to resemble my old office down to the smallest detail. But then the memories it brought back became far too overwhelming and I redecorated the space in a dainty, frivolous manner. The cycle then repeated until I grew sick of it. Now, a small television set and a haphazard array of bright sticky notes and crudely cut photographs pasted on the windows were the only furnishings that graced the room.
I knew that my time here was not transient and the few fleeting moments spent here did not compensate for the pain I was forced to endure in the waking world. My reincarnated counterpart was no longer a baby and my days in the mortal realm grew infinitely longer.
I’m a guardian angel, or so they say. Ever since judgement day, it had been established that I would follow my reincarnation during their every waking hour. They told me that was the only way to repent for my cardinal mistake.
When my reincarnation would slumber, that was when I would be transported back to Utopia. It was a pseudo paradise. Every material desire I could possibly think of could be conjured with a flick of the wrist. Yet, none of it brought me any happiness.
Each day that I was whisked off to the Renaissance Theater to witness my reincarnation served as a reminder that I was failing. The lofty velvet seats and gaudy crystalline chandeliers that decorated the desolate theater did nothing to detract from my agony. In fact, it only seemed to compound onto my misery.
Perhaps the one thing that never failed to bring my solace in the afterlife was Utopian Television. It was a cruel way to keep Utopia’s residents from becoming hedonists. Each day at sundown, the television would depict the journey of tainted souls that took Utopia for granted. Those who buried their memories too deep and refused to repent were sent to the unforgiving Purgatorial Mountain. Once they had completed their descent, a demon would whisk them away to the ninth ring of the infernal depths. There, they finally would be executed. The afterlife offered no second chances and they would merely cease to exist.
After all, Utopia was not heaven and treating it as such was a grave mistake. Utopia was limbo and those who treated it any differently were sent back to the infernal depths they belonged in.
I cannot fathom why I reap pleasure by witnessing the tribulations of those hopeless souls. Maybe it’s because it keeps me grounded and reassures me that my task is not for naught.
Yes, that was it. Every day when the sun would set and the glass office would be painted red, those executions were the only thing that I had to grasp on. I wasn’t sent to hell yet; therefore, I still had a chance. And so each day at sunset, I’d grit my teeth and make my way to the Renaissance Theater with a shred of hope.
My cardinal mistake didn’t occur until late adulthood and my reincarnation was still child. Nevertheless, I was still tasked with overseeing my mortal counterpart.
I’d be forced to relive everything again and I swore that I would never let that one incident happen again.
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