It's a sort of story that's fashionable in certain places, lately.

An ordinary teen from a rich and well-developed country is suddenly struck and killed by a truck, in a tragic and unfortunate accident. Sometimes it's even a sort of self-sacrifice, like jumping in to keep a dog or small child from the same fate.

That is what happens to Alistair. One moment, walking to school. The next, a large SUV's horn blares. And then- 

There's no sensation of bones cracking and blood flying. There's no pain. There is just a smash cut to black emptiness. Time might be passing, or it might not, and nothing can be felt or heard. There's no room for thoughts. There is simply a sense of vastness and eternity.

Suddenly enough that one might blink in surprise, he is sitting in a comfortable chair on an elaborate and comfortable rug which is resting on some kind of tower. The landscape all around is bucolic - rolling green hills, pastoral rivers, and friendly-looking forests. An old woman in a bright floral dress smiles warmly and gestures to a fancy porcelain tea set on a round table between them.

"What kind of tea would you like, dearie?"

It's a sort of story that's fashionable in certain places, lately.

An ordinary teen from a rich and well-developed country is suddenly struck and killed by a truck, in a tragic and unfortunate accident. Sometimes it's even a sort of self-sacrifice, like jumping in to keep a dog or small child from the same fate. This unfortunate soul then finds themselves somewhere... Else.

That is what happens to Alistair. One moment, walking to school. The next, a large SUV's horn blares. And then- 

There's no sensation of bones cracking and blood flying. There's no pain. There is just a smash cut to black emptiness. Time might be passing, or it might not, and nothing can be felt or heard. There's no room for thoughts. There is simply a sense of vastness and eternity.

Suddenly enough that one might blink in surprise, he is sitting in a comfortable chair on an elaborate and comfortable rug which is resting on some kind of tower. The landscape all around is bucolic - rolling green hills, pastoral rivers, and friendly-looking forests. An old woman in a bright floral dress smiles warmly and gestures to a fancy porcelain tea set on a round table between them.

"What kind of tea would you like, dearie?"

It's a sort of story that's fashionable in certain places, lately.

An ordinary teen from a rich and well-developed country is suddenly struck and killed by a truck, in a tragic and unfortunate accident. Sometimes it's even a sort of self-sacrifice, like jumping in to keep a dog or small child from the same fate. This unfortunate soul then finds themselves somewhere... Else.

That is what happens to Alistair. One moment, walking to school. The next, a large SUV's horn blares. And then- 

There's no sensation of bones cracking and blood flying. There's no pain. There is just a smash cut to black emptiness. Time might be passing, or it might not, and nothing can be felt or heard. There's no room for thoughts. There is simply a sense of vastness and eternity. It's peaceful.

Suddenly enough that one might blink in surprise, he is sitting in a comfortable chair on an elaborate and comfortable rug which is resting on some kind of tower. The landscape all around is bucolic - rolling green hills, pastoral rivers, and friendly-looking forests. An old woman in a bright floral dress smiles warmly and gestures to a fancy porcelain tea set on a round table between them.

"What kind of tea would you like, dearie?"