"... and here is your ticket."
His face was bland, as was his hair and clothes. He looked completely average, except for the fact that his eyes glowed with some kind of unearthly energy.
He pressed a piece of paper into her hand, a little paper ticket.
AMBER DOSANABY 56 YEARS OLD 1/2: GATE 1
She shook her head at the ticket, anxious laughter spilling out of her lips. "Am I dead?" she whispered.
The man snickered. "Depends on how you see dead, lady." He glanced around her and frowned. "Now can you move along to your gate already and stop holding up the line?"
Weakly, she stepped out of line and looked around. There were two "gates", and they rather looked like bus stations. She hurried over to gate one.
Her stomach dropped. In big, blocky letters, it said "HELL".
She looked at the other gate; HEAVEN.
Slightly dizzy, her stomach hurting, she stepped onto the train as it left, looking around her. People like her lined the benches, looking weary, tired, like her.
She expected the surroundings to become fiery, hot, but it was simply an endless black abyss. Slowly, the train pulled to a stop, everyone standing up and filing out the doors.
She stepped out, expecting some kind of warning that yes, this is hell, but it was still a black abyss.
Wait. She turned. There was a table, with nothing but a spool of thread and a needle.
What was this?
As soon as she drew close, her hand seemed to move of its own accord and snatched up the needle, flying towards her face, but it stopped at her bottom lip.
A voice came through, not her own but not quite another's: sew it shut.
She tried to scream, tried to move, but she could not. Sew it shut. Sew it shut. She yelped as the needle dove into her skin. Sew. Sew.
She quivered, the needle and string winding between her lips, wondering what kind of torture she would have to sustain next.