Next In Line

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
He waited in the seemingly never ending queue. What was he waiting in line for?

Submitted: May 05, 2016

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Submitted: May 05, 2016



He looked around. The queue stretched out in front of him as far as he could see. Behind him the line snaked back away into the distance. He was in a long white corridor. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. Stark strobe lighting came from overhead. The people queuing were a real mixed group. There were grey haired old couples, young mothers with children, and people of all ages who were in the queue on their own.

He waited. And waited. The line didn’t move. He checked the time on his watch. Ten twenty eight. Then he noticed the second hand wasn’t moved. He sighed. He’d have to get a new battery when he was done here. But where was he? He scratched his head. He couldn’t even recall what it was they were actually waiting for.

He tapped the person in front of him on the shoulder. The woman in her fifties turned to face him. Her expression was blank. She had the eyes of a daydreamer.

‘Excuse me, love. What are we queuing for?’

The woman simply turned away. The line shuffled forward ever so slight. Then it stopped again. He tried to think about what he was doing here and where exactly here was. He couldn’t quite grasp it. Maybe, he thought, I’m hung over. That would explain the fuzzy head. Had he been on a heavy night out with the lads last night? He wasn’t sure?

The queue didn’t move. Nobody spoke. They were simply standing and waiting. Nobody made small talk. Nobody complained about the wait. Nobody cracked a joke. They all just stood in line and waited.

After what felt like such a long time the line moved up. They moved about half a footstep. Like sheep the people stepped forward. He nudged forward in the silent queue. The white painted walls were bare of any signs or markings at all. The floor was gleaming white tile. The queue shuffled forward. The advancement was so insignificant that it hardly seemed worth bothering but he budged up with the rest of the people.

He tried to think about what it was they were all waiting for. The room didn’t look like a post office or catalogue store. The white walls? Was he waiting at the doctors or a hospital? The fuzziness in his head hung like a fog. He felt a little queasy and out of sorts but nothing worth seeking medical help for.

He checked his watch. Then he remembered it had stopped. An immeasurable amount of time later he reached the desk. He stepped upto the white counter. The woman in her white uniform looked up from the paperwork she was leafing through.


He gave his name.

‘Ah yes. I have you down here. Time of death, ten twenty-eight.’

‘Sorry? Death?’

‘Don’t worry, sir. It’s perfectly normal to feel disorientated at this time.’

‘But am I-’

‘Please go through the door on the right.’

‘Is this the afterlife?’

‘That is correct. The door on the right, please.’

‘Wait. I need to think about this.’

‘The door on the right.’ She snapped.

The white door on the right swung open. He felt himself being pulled, drawn towards the door. He couldn’t see anything over the threshold apart from blinding white light. He was pulled closer and closer. It felt like he was being pushed by invisible hands. He heard the door swing shut behind him.

‘Next please.’ called the woman at the desk.

© Copyright 2018 CTPlatt. All rights reserved.

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