The White Feather

Strange.

That's the only way I could describe it. It was like when one feels a phantom caress, causing them to twist around only to find nothing there. That feeling of knowing that something was there but having no proof is an unstelling one. It's the feeling of leaving something important behind but being unable to remember what it was.

I couldn't remember my name.

I was enveloped in a haze and the air around me rippled when I moved. I only remembered walking into a light. I'm not sure how such light could be so beautiful yet so jarring. It burned. That much I remembered. Yet I stood there unarmed in this endless field. I fumbled with the pockets of my pants, trying to find something that could jog my memory. But the only thing that I pulled out was a single white feather.

"Are you ready?"

I jumped, startled by the new voice. My surroundings had shifted again, leaving me standing in front of a large oak tree. There was a red door inbeded in its trunk, almost beckoning to me. My attention shifted to the person standing besides me.

They were nothing more than a tall pillar of bones and weaving vines. I couldn't see its eyes, a veil of spider webs covering its face. But I could feel its gaze on me, waiting.

I summoned my courage to speak up. "Ready for what?"

It nodded towards the feather in my hand. "For judgement of course."

Something clicked, a faint memory surfacing from the depths of my mind. "This is it. It all comes down to this feather."

"If you have led a righteous life then you have nothing to fear. The weight of a soul never lies."

"And what happens after?" Despite the implications, I was strangely calm. I think the light burned away my fear as well.

"I don't know. That is up to you." It said simply.

My fingers curled around the feather, feeling its edges tickle my skin. "I'm ready."

It said nothing and I took a step foward, my gaze locked in onto the red door.

It swung open.