"Reuben..." the voice was soft and feminine. "Oh, Reuuubeenn," it called. "Wake up, sugar."

Slowly, I was able to open my eyes. The surroundings were a very bright white, almost blinding. I squinted and tried to rub my eyes, but found I could not move my arms.

"There you go, Reuben," said the soft voice. I finally managed to open my eyelids comfortably and look around. Above me was a pretty, but heavily made-up, dark-skinned lady wearing a starched white lab coat, a white coif that covered her hair, and she was holding a clipboard of sorts. Was I in the hospital? I wondered.

"Hello Reuben," she said, smiling down at me. "Glad you made it."

"Where am I?" I asked. All I could see around me was white. The walls were white, and there were a few people on the other end of the room who were also dressed in all white. The only one not wearing white that I could see was myself, in my green suit. The ceiling was white, as well, and had what looked like fluorescent lighting, yet something didn't seem quite right about it.

"Why, you're here, sugar!" she exclaimed joyfully. She didn't bother to explain just where exactly "here" was. "Hold on a moment, I'll be right back."

I could hear her footsteps, the presumably white dress shoes clicking on the hard floor. I tried to move my arms again and realized that they were strapped down to the bed I was lying in. Either I had just been operated on, or I'm in a nuthouse, I thought. I felt no pain whatsoever, so I figured it was the loony bin for me. Well, I thought, I'd never been locked away as a mental patient before. I'm sure it would be an experience.

Pretty soon, the lady came back with another woman. This one had blonde French braided hair, green eyes, and was wearing a matching gray jacket and skirt. I presumed she was a lawyer and that I must've done something terribly wrong and was being held here because I was too insane for prison.

"Hello Reuben," she said, almost as softly as the first woman, but not quite.

"Where am I?" I asked again. The two women looked at each other and smiled, as though they were sharing some weird secret.

"I'll take it from here, Laurita," said the potential lawyer.

"Sure thing," answered the possible doctor, "Take care, Reuben." Her shoes clicked on the floor again.

"I'm Sylvia," said the woman, unlatching the straps that held my arms pinned to my sides. "I'll show you around." I sat up in the bed and looked around the room. There were other beds, and other people strapped down, with the white clad people hovering around them.

"Is this a mental institution?" I asked.

"Oh no, darling," she answered, patting my head with her perfectly manicured hand. The other hand held a rather stuffed manila envelope.

"Come with me," she said, taking my hand and helping me down from the bed. It was a little difficult to walk. I wondered how long I had been lying down in that bed.

We came to a set of double doors and exited the white room. We were in a large hallway. The carpet was pretty fancy looking...deep forest green with a burgundy and light brown paisley pattern. The walls had shimmering gold wallpaper, and white crown molding along the ceiling, baseboard and chair rail. We walked along the hall and passed several dark wood doors with gold numbers on them. Sylvia opened door number 513. A small plaque was under the number that said "Sylvia Lawrence, Advisor". I walked in. The room was small, and contained a nice sized cherry wood desk and some chairs.

"Have a seat, Reuben," she said, going around to her side of the desk. I sat down in the slightly too small leather chair, and placed my hands in my lap. There was a sound. It was kind of mid-range, like a buzzing, but in short bursts.

"Oh, pardon me, Reuben," said Sylvia, and she got up and left the room. I took the time to eye the items atop her desk. There was another little plaque with her name on it, a desk calendar, a pencil holder, that manila envelope she was carrying, a stack of blank paper, and some unidentifiable piece of blue-green matter. I guessed that it must be some sort of stress relieving executive toy. I wanted to touch it, but, having no idea where on earth I was, decided better of it. I wondered why no one was answering my question.

Sylvia came in a few minutes later.

"I'm terribly sorry, Reuben. Where were we? Oh, that's right, we haven't really started," she said with a small laugh. Her face became much more serious. "Now Reuben," she began, "I understand that you may be a little disoriented right now. This isn't exactly the best state to be in, in order to accept the information I need to give you." I tried to figure out what exactly she was trying to get at. I nodded, attempting to understand. "Reuben, try to think back to the last thing you remember before you woke up today," she said.

I stared at the blue matter and really thought hard. The last thing I remember was that woman, the flames, and the wolf. I didn't think I wanted to mention that. And before that, I just remembered lying down on my satin, surrounded by candles.

"I was lying on a fine bed of satin," I replied, the humor somehow not existing as I wanted it to. Sylvia looked at me, her hands folded on the desk.

"Reuben, what were you doing on that fine bed of satin?" she asked.

"Where am I?" I asked again.

"Reuben, please think real hard," she said. "What were you doing before you came here?"

"Why won't anyone answer my question?" I asked.

"It's policy here for you to answer your own question in this situation," she replied.

"But didn't you just say you had information for me?" I was beginning to get a little irritated.

"Reuben, what were you doing before you came here?" she asked again, firmly.

"Why should I answer that for you, when you won't answer my question for me?"

"I'm asking this question on your behalf," she promptly replied.

"What? What does that mean?"

"What were you doing, Reuben?"

"Where am I, damn it?!"

"Reuben, please think."

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Reuben, what were you doing?"

"Answer me!!"

"Why were you on the satin, Reuben?"

"What does that have to do with anything? Tell me where I am!"

"It has everything to do with anything."

"Huh?"

"What were you doing?"

I was just about to call the woman a crazy, twisted, sac of slime, when I really did start to think about it. A sense of dread filled my body.

"I was committing suicide," I mumbled, sinking back into the chair. The room became silent. I guess I didn't make it. Or, I guess I did. This isn't quite what I was expecting. But what was I expecting, after all? "Is this heaven?" I asked, meekly. "Or...hell?"

"It's whatever you think it is," Sylvia replied. I mulled that over for a while. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

"Yes, please," I said. She stood up and silently walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Well, isn't this something? I thought. The whole thing confused me, yet I was comforted that there was no fire and brimstone awaiting me. But then again, I didn't really know that for certain. She did seem to take an awful long time for the coffee. Maybe the kitchen was all the way down at the other end of the hall. I turned around and looked behind me, hoping for a clock. There was no clock, but, oddly, there was, above the door, one of my paintings. I guess I had a fan? I stood up and looked at the painting more closely. It appeared to be the original. How could that be? I realized at this point that here, logic works on an entirely different method, and I should just go along with whatever they tell me and not expect anything to go as it "should". Sylvia returned with the coffee in one of my goblets. I didn't even ask about it. I held the bejeweled goblet to my lips, found it was the perfect temperature and that she had sufficiently creamed and sugared it to my liking.

"How's that?" she asked.

"Perfect," I replied.

"Now, let's get down to business," began Sylvia.

"All right," I said, sitting up in the chair, "let's."

"You will be staying in sector 5409, apartment 329A. You will not need a key. Rent is not an issue; so don't worry about finding a job. As it is, there are no jobs here for people like yourself," she said.

"People like myself? What does that mean?" I asked, almost expecting another argument like before.

"The deceased," she answered. I briefly wondered what exactly she was, since she obviously was employed, yet she was here with me. "Let's go take a look at your place," she said, standing up.

I followed her out the door and into the hallway. We took a long walk past several presumably non living people, some of whom waved and called hello to Sylvia. After so many twists and turns of the corridor, we came across a sign that said "Sector 1". Behind it was a huge room that seemed self-contained. We continued down the path for what felt like three hours until we finally reached 5409. We entered through the narrow glass door and entered a lobby. The black and white tile floor was dusty, and a few of the tiles appeared to be chipped. A series of silver metal mailboxes lined the wall. A staircase was in the middle of the floor. We proceeded up the stairs until we reached the third floor. The third floor hallway was covered with a light brown unassuming carpet. The walls had ecru wallpaper and a chair rail. Chair rails seemed to be popular with the interior decorators around here. I followed Sylvia to room 329A, wondering why the room number had an "A" when there didn't seem to be a 329 B anywhere nearby. The door to 329A had chipped dark brown paint on it, and the same gold numbers on the door. Sylvia turned the tarnished brass doorknob and held the door open for me.

"Here's your room, Reuben," she began, "I hope you find it comfortable."

Well, it wasn't exactly the Ritz-Carlton, but I guess it could've been a whole lot worse. The main room was small, with some nondescript furniture, and bland creamy wallpaper. Bradley Brenneman would be right at home here, I thought. The highlight of the room was a big, round, Oriental rug in the center of the wood floor. "This is your "living" room," she said with a smile, accentuating the word ‘living' with little quotation mark finger gestures. I felt that was really unnecessary, considering that it was extremely fucking obvious that I wasn't alive and would be doing no living in that room. But I guess she was trying her best to light up the situation.

"Most of our residents find the sofa to be exceptionally comfortable," she continued. "Over here is your kitchen," she said, walking over to a doorway. "You'll find there's no refrigerator or range."

"How do I cook?" I asked, looking around at the rather bare kitchen.

"You don't need to," was the reply.

I nodded, not sure what the purpose of a kitchen was without fridge or stove. Of course, there was no dishwasher, either. But there was a sink. One corner of the room had a counter that was empty underneath, and a few barstools. Sylvia pointed them out.

"This is your breakfast nook, with a couple extra chairs should you decide to have company." She walked out of the kitchen and I trailed behind. There were two doors on one wall in the "living" room. Sylvia opened the one closest to the kitchen.

"Here is your bathroom," she said. I peeked in and found nothing extraordinary about it. At least it had all the normal things you come to expect in a bathroom. "And here is your bedroom," said Sylvia, opening the second door. This was another fairly boring room. The only thing that struck me was that this room had a big window, through which I could see a blue sky and some clouds. What was odd about it was that it seemed Sector 5409 was completely enclosed by walls. I know I didn't see any blue skies while in the big hallway.

We went back into the "living" room and sat down on the beige sofa. It was really comfortable. And the cushions seemed to conform to the shape of my bottom perfectly, which felt a little unusual at first, but I soon grew to love it.

"So how do you like it, Reuben?" asked Sylvia, smiling brightly.

"It's a pastel paradise," I replied, looking around at the various shades of off-white that adorned my new home.

"You can always change it later, if you like," she said quickly. She opened the manila envelope and handed it to me. "This is your welcome packet. It has all the information you need to adjust to your situation. Any questions you might have should be taken care of in the paperwork. Also included are your access cards for shopping, media and recreation facilities, your personalized address labels, and communications code." Sylvia spoke from her memorized script. "If you need any assistance, Reuben, please stop by my office." She stood up, shook my hand and walked to the door.

"Enjoy the rest of your day," she said with a big, bright smile.