Aliquam Vitae

“Oh stop screaming will you?”
The echoing voice cut through her frantic wailing long enough to bring her to focus. There was no pain. No col, icy water. No twisted, burning metal clawing at her. Eyes still squeezed shut, Amelia turned her head towards the bodiless voice that had startled her from the fear.
“I died didn't I?” She asked quietly. There was a laugh but no answer. After a moment of deep, calming breaths, she opened her eyes.
“There now, not so scary is it?” Ignoring the immediate annoyance that flutter through her, the terrified woman took her bearings. The room was smokey almost, and nothing had a distinct shape or color but sort of blended together like water colors in the rain. Here and there she caught shimmers of brighter color, but nothing solid enough to name. She looked about, eyes darting quickly as she attempted to take it all in as thoroughly as possible. Seeing her haste, the boy chuckled. She felt the terror begin to melt.
“Take your time, dear, you've got loads of it.”
With that, she brought her attention to the boy. His voice was really the only thing that gave his gender away, for his body was just as smudged and mottled in color as the area surrounding them. His colors were yellow and red, smashing into fits of orange where they met. It reminded Amelia of a child using paints within the lines-the idea of clothing, skin and hair were present but poorly executed and no facial markings like eyes or a nose, just a dark line for a mouth that seemed to flicker when he spoke. His body didn't move at all, just stood with his hands at his sides.
“So I am dead,” She said softly, looking down she saw herself painted just as haphazardly with blues and purples.
“In a manner of speaking.” The boy's words curled like playful smoke about her, and something about them soothed her further. If this was death, she thought, it didn't seem so bad.
“What do you mean?” She reached to grab her arms, as if to comfort herself and found nothing changed. “Why can't I move?” She looked to the boy and found him laughing at her, the grin on his face taking the shape of a vibrate yellow slash.
“Because you don't have anything to move, dove.” Suddenly the warm shape before her shifted closer.
“You'll get used to it, don't worry.” He said softly, the paint stroke smile fading.
“Where are we?” Amelia asked finally, deciding it was better than continuing to try and move. The colors on the boy shifted slightly, becoming more orange as the yellow and red spread into each other.
“Near as I can tell,” He began slowly, as though trying to formulate the simplest answer. “A sort of spiritual purgatory between that world and the next. We are in the realm of the existing but we do not co-exist with those that live it.”
After this sunk in for a moment he continued.
“You see, we are not living. This realm here exists directly in line with the realm of the living, that's were the shapes come from,” The colors in his body seemed flare out to the side for a moment, as though pointing to the vague shape of chairs and a table next to him. “But those who have a heart beat can sort of connect with this realm, on occasions of spiritual, creative or scientific clarity. A holy man may tap in here while he prays, an artist flickers in while painting, a mathematician may show up while exploring a new line of equations. For a moment, part of them is here. But it varies as to how much, and how strongly they are here.”
Amelia was drawn to the flickering colors she had seen when she first took in the room. A yellow light whisper in and out of existence sitting at the table close to her sun colored guide. His shape seemed to nod.
“This girl has a very weak presence here most times, she is busy with life and living. But in a moment she is going to pick up that pen and tap into her creativity.”
As though on command the shimmering, wavering light twisted and brightened into the distinct shape of a girl hunched over her table, writing furiously. After a moment, Amelia could hear the words being scrawled across the page as though the girl were saying them out loud. What was more, she could also hear and feel where the story was going.
The boy seemed to shift closer to the vibrant yellow girl.
“When they are here, like this, a small part of them can hear us. We can hear their thoughts, their fears, their hopes and their dreams. We can hear what they are saying too, but that is more difficult and takes a long time to accomplish-- took me a few years as far as I can tell.”
Amelia let all this sink in for a moment, contemplating what it all meant.
“What does all of this have to do with death?” She finally asked after a few long moments of the girl's story echoing around them.
“We help them.” He said simply, and with that the lifeless arm at his side reached out to touch the shimmering visage of the writer. His colors flare and the res and oranges flowed outward, gently lacing around the girl.
“That's perfect, Helena. But what if ...” With that, the boy poured 'what ifs' and 'whys' onto the girl as well as 'keep going' an 'don't give up hope'. Time passed and Amelia waited, awed by the intimacy of what she was seeing. It dawned on her that she was witnessing someone's dreams being coaxed into being, he was pushing her towards greatness.