Pure Soul
Deep into the night. A woman walking ahead of me on the street gets assaulted by a thug, screams, and collapses.
What would you do? Here are your choices.
First option: Run away without looking back. You'd definitely save your own skin, but the woman would probably die—or worse—and your social image among the people there at the time would be utterly wrecked. Well, that's society for you.
Second option: Rush in and save the woman. Most people would probably hesitate, charge in half-heartedly, or yell to gather a crowd...
...I wish I'd done that.
"Help! Somebody! Please... please, someone save her..."
Why am I thinking that? Because when you get stabbed in the gut four times, your mind wanders to all sorts of weird places. That's human psychology. Or maybe not... who knows? It's my first time getting stabbed, so I'm right anyway. Wanna argue? Get stabbed first.
"119... 119... Please pick up!"
As these ridiculous thoughts swirl in my head, I feel something wet on my face. Looking up at the woman crying over me, I start to think maybe what I did wasn't for nothing.
Not some masked serial killer or rapist-murderer... just a plain robber. A simple mugging targeting her handbag.
But I was walking behind her, spotted the thug, and without a second thought, charged in and shoved him away. He fell on his ass, got pissed, and swung the kitchen knife in his hand lightning-fast.
For a young hothead jumping in to help a stranger, my heart was pounding like a drum, my brain frozen—I couldn't get it working again... and I got stabbed. Four times. Stab, stab, stab, stab.
The cold blade sliding in and out, that sticky, disgusting sensation—vivid every time. Four goddamn times!! Thinking back, it pisses me off. If he was just gonna panic and run after stabbing me, why bother stabbing at all?
"Mister... Mister... Please come to... hu-hu-huk..."
Hey, I'm not quite "mister" material yet... still a fresh twenty-something, not even hit thirty.
I wanted to say that, but the horrific pain from below kept me silent. They say to make a sound or speak, air has to pass through your gut first—and mine was pretty much gone.
Anyway. The pain faded, my vision blurring, when...
Wooo-ooo-wooo—
A police siren wailed in the distance. Probably the woman called them? Fine by me if I die. I had no dreams anyway, life was boring as hell—a totally ordinary guy, one of millions.
Not dying for some evil deed, but saving one person? Luxury for trash like me.
Abused by parents as a kid. Couldn't protect my only little sister growing up. Dropped out of college as an adult, just wasting away day by day—a useless nobody. At least I helped somehow. Lucky me.
Unaware of my thoughts, the woman just kept crying, repeating how sorry she was.
I'm the sorry one. Should've won coolly, left her without trauma. Hope this doesn't make her scared to go out. Huh. Worrying about a woman I just met on the street.
"...! ...! .."
"..! ...!"
Footsteps approached on the pavement. Cops or ambulance, probably. Couldn't make out words.
Pain, sight, sound—all faded gradually until nothing remained.
I closed my eyes peacefully, wrapped in inexplicable warmth and pride.
Or so I thought.
[Hmm... What a fine specimen.]
'Huh?'
Who the hell is this guy?
'Who are you?'
[Heh heh, call me whatever you like.]
The man before me wore a sleek all-black suit. Short beard framing his jaw, he looked just like that electric jackhammer guy from a recent movie. His deep voice and dignified presence somehow made him feel sacred.
But... one thing I had to ask.
'Um, can I ask something?'
[Of course.]
'Why are you sitting in a gaming chair?'
Caught off guard, he blinked, then chuckled softly.
[It's just comfortable.]
Honestly, I was baffled. I was sure I'd died, yet here was a movie-star-lookin' dude in a suit, lounging in a gaming chair, talking to me. Fine, looks aside—why a gaming chair??
[Pure souls... utterly unpredictable thoughts.]
Chuckling, he rose slowly from the chair and approached me.
Pure soul? Calling me that, he must be God... or a demon?
[Hmm. Call me what you will. Demon's a bit much—God will do.]
Whoa. Reading my mind? Real deal God?
[Follow me?]
'...'
Something about his words made refusal impossible. Plus this weird warmth and comfort kept washing over me...
'Guess this is heaven.'
Following the mystery man, I glanced around. We walked a temple corridor that screamed funeral hymn any second. Clack, clack... His dress shoes echoed; mine made no sound.
[See the butterflies around us?]
He spoke, gesturing nearby. Butterflies fluttered around us both.
'Wow...'
Watching their beauty, I thought if Peach Blossom Land was real, it'd be here. Heaven? Close enough.
[Those butterflies are the lost and wandering souls.]
'Huh?'
[Pure souls like you retain self-awareness. They don't.]
[Or rather, theirs are dormant.]
He glanced back with a grin, then kept walking. That's when it hit me. Why no footsteps following him. Why the mysterious warmth and peace.
I'd become a butterfly too.
Just... a special one.
[A very special butterfly.]
We arrived at what seemed the temple's heart—a grand, reverent Greek-style hall. Just him and me felt awkward. No other butterflies entered this sacred space.
[You have so many questions.]
I'd waited for this—fired off everything I could think of.
But my first question visibly shocked him.
'What happened to the woman I saved?'
[...]
Not what he expected first, apparently. His face turned wistful, sad.
[...She escaped the thug thanks to you, avoided losing her way.]
[She wanted to inform your family after composing herself, but you had none—so she vowed to pray for you forever.]
'...'
No need for that much. Still... feels nice.
[Truly astonishing. First question about another's welfare...]
Eh, that's what I cared about most. Rest didn't matter. I was dead anyway.
[Ask away.]
.
.
.
Question time with the man—no, God—was enlightening.
This wasn't heaven, hell, or utopia. The Soul Resting Place.
[All who die in the mortal world decay bodily, leaving only the soul. The purest fragments come here.]
[More virtue purifies the soul; more karma taints it.]
[They stay here, shedding virtue and karma until blank slates—then reincarnate.]
'Reincarnation...'
[Exactly.]
Saint, sinner, everyman—all reincarnate without exception.
Pure souls from good lives reincarnate quickly. Evil ones purify eons here first.
[You're the purest I've seen in ages. Could reincarnate right now.]
God's praise embarrassed me. Stamped "good human" by the man himself—who could complain?
Did I live that purely? Giggling to myself...
[Which makes sending you off such a waste.]
Unexpected.
'Pardon? What do you mean?'
[Children under ten accrue no virtue or karma in your world—what you call childhood.]
[But you started accumulating virtue even then. Any guess why?]
'...'
Couldn't say it. Wasn't ignorance. God saw my face, smiled bitterly.
[Why no merit or sin in childhood? It's about maturity.]
[But you earned virtue so young.]
He paced, then stopped, facing me sadly.
[Child, I know your pains, your life. Yet I did nothing.]
A confession. From God to one human soul.
[I'm not omnipotent. But seeing a pure soul like you—living wretchedly yet sacrificing without hesitation for another—fills me with joy.]
Something swelled in my chest. But what good now? I was dead.
God's voice came low, yet vibrant.
[So, if you're willing...]
[Would you stay by my side and help me?]
God's scouting offer.