It’s always bad to be late on your first day.

That’s what I had learned from the fifteen years I had been alive; one of the few lessons I had retained from endless hours of sitting at a school desk that could barely contain my incredibly small physique. I always remembered that day in sixth grade when I was late to my first period class – my teacher had locked me out of the classroom, making me sit on the ground outside the door.
Todd had told me not to be late, but sure enough I was. My long mane of hair flew behind me as my small legs continued to pump along the marble floor. The room was huge, mostly empty besides a few benches and some odd statue that seemed rather out of place for the setting. I began to hurry up the steps, taking them two at a time. The steepness caused me to trip on the slippery material. I fell down two steps, banging my knee on the hard surface. I cursed under my breath, realizing the scrape would show; my dress didn’t quite cover it.

I quickly glanced down at my watch, following the second hand chase the minute like a heartbeat. Four minutes late. I continued to jump up the steps, finally reaching a landing that meets the large wooden doors that are my destination.

I walked quickly to the door, forming a fist to knock on the wood. I realized afterwards that it was a little too loud. Hopefully I didn’t come off as presumptuous.

An older man answered the door, his smile receded like his hairline the minute he saw me. “Come in,” he said with an icy tone. I straightened my dress and followed the order, sitting neatly towards the edge of a cushioned chair.

“Hi, I’m –” I began, but was interrupted by his cold voice.

“Do not speak unless spoken to,” He snapped. It was almost as if he was quietly yelling, if that makes any sense. His glare matches the one I got from Ms. Lange back in sixth grade.

“Sorry, sir,” I responded. I wasn’t big on the sir’s and ma’am’s, it made me feel petty, but it seemed like a fitting enough time to do so.

“Name?’ He said, grabbing a notepad.

“Phoenix Miller,” I replied. I cringed as I said it. I had never liked the sound of it. Too weird. Too different. “But you can call me – ”

“No nicknames in Above,” he snapped.

Above. It took me a while to get used to the term. I had been so used to thinking of it as Heaven – not that I was super religious or anything – but it had been comforting to think there was some place you would go after you died.

And now, here I was. Dead. The thing is, I don’t even remember dying. Todd said that they remove all memories of death, they don’t want those gruesome thoughts floating around in your head.

“Who was your tour guide?” He asked, looking down at the pad of paper. He had put on a pair of old spectacles with dirt around the rims.

“Todd Skylar,” I responded. Todd had been one of my best friends for the first few years of my life, but he died when we were four. In Above, someone that you used to know is your tour guide. They show you around, get you caught up on everything.

“And you’re here for your first task, is that correct?” He asked, looking me dead in the eye. It was almost as if he was asking me more than that. He was asking if I was ready for the next step in living on Above. I was nervous, Tasks were your job on Above, what you had to do to be a true citizen, you might say. I wanted to go back to the touring days, when it would be just me and Todd laughing about something that wasn’t funny at all.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m ready.” He laughed. I didn’t think people made of stone could laugh, but I guess I thought wrong.

“Trust me Ms. Miller, no one is ready for their first task. They just do it.” Suddenly, he was back to be being serious. More than before. I didn’t look at him; didn’t want to. Something about him frightened me. “You understand that when you are not working on your task, you take classes? For three years?” He asked. Todd had been through it with me a million times. I work on my task for a week, then have classes. So on and so forth. It really wasn’t a hard concept.

“Yes,” I responded emotionlessly, “I understand.” He handed me a fat envelope, papers seeming to expand it’s normally thin appearance.

“Read this,” He said, “Carefully.”