[ WP ] On the day of their death , every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become .

I sat up in the room, my eyes struggling to adjust to the light. As I finally adjusted, I realized I was sitting in a comfy armchair facing a fireplace, which was burning with a cool blue glow. I looked to my left, and the Man looked back at me. He was about seventy or eighty, the look in His eyes a mixture of pity and contemplation, as if He was an official that was trying to find the best way to tell me how badly I'd messed up this time. 
 
 `` So you have awoken,'' was all He said, his voice deep, hearty and fulfilled, like a man who spent his life laughing, `` How was your life?'' he asked, leaning forward. 
 
 `` Life?'' I asked, `` Then, are you god? You do n't seem very powerful to me.'' 
 
 The Man laughed, a beautiful sound, as if Apollo and his choir had descended to earth along with a band of Yahweh's angels to orchestrate it. He very well could have made a living by laughing. `` No, I am not a god,'' He chuckled, `` Though I believe I remember reading [ something like that in the past ] ( http: //www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html )...'' 
 
 `` Then what are you?'' I asked, `` And where is this? Why am I here? Do you expect me to simply talk about my life to a strange man in a strange house? How long have I been here?'' 
 
 The Man looked at me, a confused look on his face, `` I suppose I should not have expected that from the Is. Very well, I shall offer you a deal. For every question I answer, you shall offer one of mine. Is that acceptable?'' 
 
 I considered the question, sizing the Man up. Although He seemed a kindly old Man, He had still kidnapped me and kept me in this room prisoner for who knows how long. He had probably more than enough to think up the questions that would get the most out of me before taking whatever drugs had kept me asleep away from me. Except my hands were unbound, my clothes were freshly laundered, and it seemed that the clothes had been made especially for me. I looked up at him, looking into His eyes that were a pool of blue that shifted slowly to green then back again, as if they could n't decide which was more beautiful. His hair was a soft gray color, almost white, and His face had been recently shaven. `` I suppose I could agree to that,'' I said, choosing my words as if numbers for a password. 
 
 `` Excellent!'' He exclaimed, `` Now, since you have answered that question, I shall answer one of yours. I believe your first question was what am I? That one is easy, I am you, or at least, the you that could have, should have been. I lived to be Three Hundred and forty three years old, but everyone keeps telling me I look only Two hundred of those. During my lifetime, I created a vaccine against death, a small red pill I like to call,'The Stone of Nicholas Flamel'.'Just one a day keeps death at bay!' I was a billionaire, a savior, a Hero celebrated across the land. I only made one mistake in my lifetime.'' 
 
 `` What was-'' I started, forgetting all about my circumstances. 
 
 `` Uh-Uh-Uhh!'' The Man interrupted me, `` I still have n't heard how your life was.'' 
 
 `` It was short,'' I found myself saying, `` I was born in-'' As I continued my tale, memories began to come back to me, like old toys that had been discarded by accident, then found in the attic many years later as you cleaned out your house. I remembered elementary school, my first failure, middle school, my first crush, my first true friend. I remembered high school, I remembered my teachers, my enemies, my sadness, my happiness. All these memories came flooding back to me, as if I had accidentally pulled the plug on the world ’ s oceans then stood under the ensuing deluge, and all of these memories came pouring into me, and I told the Man everything. The story of how I had embarrassed myself once in a grocery store, how I had hardened myself to happiness in a misguided attempt to become stronger, how I had played with love as if it was a stick, to be directed at whomever I wanted, how I hated myself for existing, how I cried myself dry on my friends lap. All these stories and more came flooding out of my mouth, and then, `` I jumped in front of the two of them. That's the last memory I have.'' I looked at the old Man, and saw that His eyes were streaming tears, His eyes filled to the brim with sadness and respect. As I stood up to try and apologize, He waved me down, tears still streaming down His face. 
 
 `` I have talked to every single version of us,'' He began, `` and until now, each of us has believed that I was the best version, that I was the greatest, the best, the one that should have been, all ten million, four hundred thousand, and eighty four of us. Until now. You may have started out the worst, the most horrible, disgusting lowlife that ever crawled or walked this planet. You formed ideas that would endanger millions, and hated yourself purely for existing. I admit, when you started, I thought that you would be just like so many others, selfish and weak. You would have asked what my one mistake was. I'll show you.'' He walked over to a bookshelf, and pulled out an old newspaper clipping, handing it to me. 
 
 As I looked at the paper, I realized that it was the front page of the'Issaquah Times', the local newspaper in my area. The title read,'Shooting at local High School kills twenty'. As I looked down, I saw the pictures on the page flickering, as if shifting between realities. One second, it was me and another student I had seen in my final moments. The next, it was my two best friends. `` I... I do n't understand,'' I said, `` What happened?'' 
 
 The Man leaned down, and gave me the warmest hug I had ever felt, his warm tears streaming off his face onto my shoulder, `` You did it, my boy. You did what Ten Million, Four Hundred Thousand, and Eighty Three different versions of us never could, making slightly different choices, doing slightly different things. You saved them.'' 

