Mike was miserable.
He had no money, his girlfriend had dumped him, he studied a degree he hated, and all he managed to get was a shitty-paying job as an electrician.
And what was it all for?
To die by electrocution while working in the most absurd way possible.
But let's rewind a bit.
It had all started as a completely normal day.
He had woken up late, as usual.
He put on the same grease-stained coveralls he had been wearing for three weeks without washing them, and dragged his feet toward the company van.
His coworker, Julio, was already waiting for him with that stupid smile he always had on his face.
"You're late again, Mike!" he shouted from the window.
"Shut up," was the only response he got.
The job for the day was simple: repair a streetlight pole in a residential area.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Climb up, check the wiring, fix whatever was screwed up, climb down, get paid, and go home.
Simple.
Except nothing in Mike's life was simple.
The ladder they'd been given was defective. Everyone in the company knew it. One of its legs was loose and it wobbled like a drunk with every step you took.
But the company didn't give a shit about employee safety, so there they were, using that death trap because "it still worked."
Mike climbed carefully, muttering curses under his breath with every unstable rung.
"Hey, Mike, look at that girl," Julio said from below, holding the ladder against the streetlight pole.
"Idiot, don't get distracted… you know this ladder is defective."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say," Julio replied in the carefree tone Mike hated so much.
Then there was a brief silence.
"Wait a moment, buddy… I'm gonna go ask for her number."
"Idiot, wai—"
Mike didn't finish speaking before the ladder wobbled and then toppled over.
The balance broke. His body tilted backward. And his survival instinct—that damned reflex all humans have—betrayed him.
Instead of letting himself fall, he reached out to grab something.
Anything.
And what he grabbed was a high-voltage cable.
PUFF.
ZAP.
A shower of sparks burst everywhere and the sound of electricity roared through the air with a metallic fury.
The smell of burning flesh filled the air and… that was it.
Julio turned back toward him, holding a phone number scribbled on a crumpled napkin, and the only thing he found was the ladder lying on the ground and a column of black smoke rising from where his coworker should have been.
"Mike?"
Silence.
"MIKE?!"
Just ashes and the fading echo of sparks in the air.
…
…
…
Then… nothing.
Only darkness and endless silence.
So… this is what being dead feels like?
Honestly… this isn't as bad as I thought.
It was strange. He had expected to feel fear, or regret, or at least some existential dread. But no. There was only a deep calm, almost comforting.
I always searched for peace and quiet in my life.
Who would've thought the only way I'd get it would be by dying…
Hahahaha.
What a load of crap.
Even though he was a little frustrated deep down, Mike was actually pretty calm about the fact that he was dead.
No more shitty jobs.
No more bosses yelling at him.
No more waking up every morning with that hollow feeling in his chest.
Just… peace.
I guess this isn't so bad.
But just when he was starting to get used to the idea of floating in nothingness for eternity, his reflective moment was interrupted.
"Well, well, well."
A clear, neutral voice.
It came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
What the hell…?
"Mike, right?" the voice continued, sounding almost… amused.
"Who the hell are you?" Mike asked—or at least tried to ask.
"You can call me… well, it doesn't really matter what you call me. What matters is that I have plans for you."
"No, no, no. Hold it right there," Mike said, feeling the calm he had found begin to crumble. "I'm perfectly fine here floating in eternal nothingness. I don't need your 'plans.'"
"Oh, but I think you do."
"No, I definitely don't."
"You see, Mike," the voice continued, completely ignoring him, "you had a rather boring and miserable life."
"Hey, you don't have to rub it in…"
"So I've decided to give you a second chance."
"What?"
"A second chance to live and experience something… different."
"Wait, wait, wait," Mike interrupted, panic beginning to climb up his nonexistent spine. "I don't want a second chance. I'm fine here. Seriously. Death is great. Ten out of ten. Totally recommended."
"Oh, you're funny."
"I'm not joking. Look, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm passing."
"I'm not asking for your opinion, Mike."
"Hey! You can't just ignore me! I have rights!"
"Rights?" The voice sounded genuinely amused now.
"Yes! The right to stay dead!"
"Mmm… no."
"What do you mean 'no'?!"
"It means I've already made my decision."
"This is bullshit! You're a shitty god!"
"How dramatic."
"WAIT! AT LEAST TELL ME WHERE YOU'RE SENDING ME!"
There was a pause.
And then, with an almost… playful tone, the voice replied.
"To a place where you'll be… you know what? I think it's better if you discover it yourself, hehe."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You'll see. Now enjoy your new life, Mike."
"HEY! I'M NOT DONE TALKING!"
But there was no answer.
Instead, he felt something—an invisible, overwhelming force—pulling him downward.
And then everything turned white.
…
…
…
Mike slowly opened his eyes, dazed.
He tried to move, but his body didn't respond properly. It felt like every muscle was made of jelly.
And then he noticed.
He was lying on the floor.
And something wet and warm was sliding down his left arm.
Mike turned his head with effort and looked down.
Blood.
A thin stream of red blood was flowing from a cut on his wrist, dripping slowly onto the floor and forming a small dark puddle.
And next to his hand, resting innocently on the ground, was a knife.
WHAT THE HELL?!
Panic hit him like a truck and his heart started pounding like it wanted to escape his chest.
I'm bleeding!
He shot upright, the pain in his arm becoming secondary thanks to pure adrenaline.
And at that exact moment, something else caught his attention.
Something that definitely wasn't there the last time he checked.
His gaze moved down from the bleeding arm to his own body.
And stopped.
…Huh?
Two soft, round shapes protruded from his chest, barely covered by thin white fabric that looked like a nightgown.
Mike froze completely.
His brain tried to process the information.
That's not… those aren't… are those…?
He slowly raised his hands—hands that weren't his, smaller, more delicate, with long slender fingers—and cautiously brought them toward the two shapes like someone defusing a bomb.
They were soft.
And they were definitely attached to his body.
"WHAT THE—?! BOOBS?!!!"