I stared at the building. No windows, just two doors, one green and th
e other orange. A label
above them reading
CHOOSE YOUR OWN STORY
in bold, uneven letters. I sat there, not remembering
anything. Where am I?  Where did I come from? How did I get here? Question
s being pushed to the back
of my head while one took the entire capacity of my mind, which door?
Both appear unsettling. The
green seems slimy and as if it is made fully of mucus, drops of a jelly-li
ke liquid sliding down the slicked,
oily, wet paint, composing a large puddle of muck under the door.
The hinges seemed to be stuck
together like a pile of glue was poured over them. The orange door seems so d
ry and burnt, dark oak
deteriorating into a small pile of grainy dust, hiding behind smal
l chips of orange paint, barely grappling
onto small splinters from the unpolished planks like a rock climber. The n
ails -or should I say "iron
sticks"- holding the door were t-shaped red skeletons laying limp in ho
les that would have been perfect
circles, if they had not collapsed into a cave of hanging strings of ro
tted wood grains.
       A smooth, low, almost whispering voice came from behind me.
You
re going to need to choose
someday, you know.
I turned my body swiftly while jumping back, frightened by the sudden scare.
In
front of me was someone who looked like a young man, but had eyes older t
han the sky.
So which
door?
he asks me again, now in a bit louder voice, allowing me to notice
his Scottish accent. So many
qu
estions buzzed through my mind, who is this man? Should I trust
him? How did he get here? How did I
get here? I meant to say so many things, but he cut me short.
I am called by many names, but none I
like. I have two alter egos, one good, and the other as evil as can be.
But they are both me.
The
stranger explained.
this is the route you chose the day you hung yourself, but there i
s now a fork in the
road. Choose. Would you like to burn in the underworld, living
in agony and pain, or find your way in
earth as a spirit, living in frustration and loneliness?
I-I don
t know,
I stuttered, losing sight through
my fear,
is there another option?
He stared pitifully into my eyes.
I
m afraid not. I never decided to
build another. There were too many plagues and disastrous events, I did no
t have time to. Your species
is so destructive, you see.
A sudden rush of memories slashed through my head. From the ones that
changed history, to the ones that changed a relationship. I stumbled back
in agony. Was this truly my
kind? Was I truly part of this? 
So what is your answer
he repeated, seeming more impatient then when he first asked. I thought
"But how can this be real? I grew up thinking that if I was good I
would go to heaven? Is that all fake? All
just stories so I obey the religious rules?" At that moment, I realized th
at I probably should have
cherished my time on Earth more. But right before I was about to open u
p that slimy barrier to start my
eternity of loneliness, inspiration hit me like a 45 caliber silver bull
et shot from a double revolver
shotgun of destiny. I turned swiftly, to face the all-powerful being alm
ost every human worshipped,
stared him in his shimmering indigo eyes and replied to the miserably drab ch
oice he had given me with
five words,
do you have an assistant?
He paused and eyed me for any sign of hesitation, but to his
enjoyment and surprise, saw none.  He crossed his arms and smirked
you understand your eternal boss
will literally be the origin of the word
devilish
, right?
He
ll also be the origin of the word
God-like
I
added, mimicking his arm cross. He shrugged and walked towards the empty white in
finity, which now
looked more like a large wall in the distance. He gestured me forward and walked
lazily closer to the
great white wall of nothing, somehow walking aimlessly and with a subconscio
us mission at the same
time.  I jogged towards him clumsily and asked him (while gasping for
breath, might I add),
so what do
you want me to call you?
he stared at me and then to the upper left of the infinity, then back
to me.
Marian.
I smiled at the thought of his title.
Marian the Omnipotent God.
How would I be able to take
him seriously? I soon sprung from my thoughts back to reality, where
Marian was holding the large
white infinity back like a sheet of paper, revealing a stunningly modern elev
ator playing a relaxing
instrumental of
Highway to Hell
. Ironic. I slowly shuffle in and look around. Three walls are completely
made of metal stained dark magenta, and the other wall is colored glass, lookin
g off into a dark horizon stained blue and purple