[ WP ] After you die you get the choice of starting over - a 'New Game Plus ' . That 's common knowledge . After dying you encounter something different however : 'New Game Minus '

Death. 
 
 It sucks, you know? 
 
 You probably do n't know, actually. That's part of the reason why it sucks. Fear, horror, dread: All of those, rolled into one big'ol ball for you to swallow down right at the end. 
 
 Ca n't say I really recommend it, but I also ca n't tell you I know much of a way to avoid it either. 
 
 But Death: See, that's where this story starts. 
 
 
 -- -- - 
 
 I died a pretty miserable death. 
 
 There was no saving anyone with heroic acts, no humble life of service to others, and no tragic love story. Instead, I was walking the dog and someone wanted my wallet. 
 
 Then they shot me. 
 
 A handgun, something short barreled and nasty: The type good for one specific task and nothing else. I'd really like to tell you I fought back, but three bullets to the chest dropped me like a sack of potatoes and the dog ran away. My body just gave out right there as some desperate-bastard took the whopping seven dollars I had on me. 
 
 So yeah. That's how it happened. 
 
 Pretty sure I died soon after, though the details are a bit hazy. Knowing me, I was probably following the typical cliche of gasping in terror to the bitter end. I doubt I even made it to the hospital, or even to the arrival of the paramedics. 
 
 There's not so much you can do for a person who has a bunch of holes in his chest anyways. Important stuff beneath the rib-cage, after all. But, to set the record straight: I do remember one thing clearly, as I lay there dying alone on the pavement. 
 
 For at least a few seconds, I did actually reflect on my existence while my blood ran out of oxygen. Just a short skip in the cosmic sense of self, but if there was any clear thought that held precedence above the rest, it all condenses into a one sentence. 
 
 *'' I really could have done more. `` * 
 
 More with my life. With my time. With myself. I could have gone places, met more people, learned and practiced and done so much *more. * 
 
 But I had n't, and that was a damn shame. 
 
 Then the lights faded to black, and I fell back down the deep dark tunnel of nothing. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Something. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 I woke up, and it was cold. 
 
 Cold was the first thing I felt. More oppressive than anything I have ever imagined, it was cold. Chilly and damp. 
 
 But I did n't scream. I could n't scream. Even as I tried to reach out with my hands, I felt clumsy and confused. I could n't grab anything at all, I could n't feel my arms or my hands. Instead all I could do was push at whatever held me. 
 
 Push as hard as possible, over and over again beneath a closing sensation of claustrophobia. 
 
 Finally something gave, a tiny crack. Then another, then one more. 
 
 Before I knew, I was tumbling forward and out of the cold, and into the deeper chill. My whole body shivered. Instinctively I tried to wrap my arms around myself, but I found to my astonishment it was impossible. 
 
 I had no arms. No legs. 
 
 I did n't have anything but a long body, a portion still winding out from whatever I had emerged from. 
 
 Turning to look at myself, I tried to scream- yet all that came out was the quietest hiss. 
 
 I was a snake. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 Reincarnation. 
 
 It's something to consider, but never something I had taken to religious devotion or seriousness. I'd been more or less agnostic in my human life, and always figured I would find the roots of zealous fervor when I got older. Every time I thought about it, I kicked the metaphorical can further down the road. 
 
 That was probably a mistake, considering I did n't make it very far. 
 
 Reborn as a snake. The realization of this sort of thing is abrupt. 
 
 After full moments of panicked hissing, I decided this must be punishment and accepted it. A slothful and probably sin-filled human life, so that gets me reborn as a snake. The agony of never again being able to experience the joy of opposable thumbs, or arms... or legs. 
 
 A snake. A tiny little snake. 
 
... 
 
 Seriously, if the shedded skins that are all over the floor have any meaning, I must be tiny. Even the smallest of those is twice my size. 
 
 Hissss... 
 
 Though it does n't do anything, another bout of hissed terror makes me feel a bit better. Stress release, or something close to it. I settle in to the pressing sensation of reality. Even if I am a snake, I can decide to approach the matter with some semblance of stoicism. A stoic snake. 
 
 Lets consider: It could have been worse. I could have been born a bug or a fish or something. Maybe even a tree- what if I had been born a tree? They do n't even have brains! 
 
 Come to think of it, snake brains are n't very big: How have I been I thinking like a human, while possessing the body of a snake? That makes no sense... 
 
 The more I try to answer that question, the more pressing the serpent-migraine becomes. 
 
 Hissssssssss... 
 
 I give up that avenue of thought. 
 
 I am a snake with the mind of a dead person. Logic does n't need to apply just yet, context is required. Where am I? What has happened to bring me here? 
 
 With that in mind, I finally came to the self-awareness of observing my surroundings. 
 
 It's a cave. 
 
 A dark, cold, moist and unpleasant cave filled with snake-sheddings. 
 
 Oh. 
 
 Something moved. 
 
 -- --
