[ WP ] Shortly after arriving in Heaven after being brutally murdered , you bump into your killer .

With his last blow, I was dead; my skull crushed into hundreds of pieces. 
 
 What I saw next surprised me. I expected darkness with death - just black nothingness. Never really believed in anything besides myself. 
 
 Anyway, I just popped into existence, or re-existence rather, in a deli down the street from where the bastard had just clobbered me. 
 
 I had just died. At least I'm pretty certain that's what happens when you get your face beaten in. And yet, I was there, in Chicago. Nothing was different. 
 
 I looked down at my body. I lifted my arms to show my hands. To my surprise, they were completely clean after being covered in blood just minutes earlier. 
 
 I then further analyzed my surroundings. Customers filled the deli, car's and bicycles filled the streets, pedestrians filled the sidewalks. It sure looked like I was there on that same street - it had even begun to sprinkle just like the weather had predicted. And yet, I could n't help but feel a bit strange about the whole thing... Maybe due to the fact that I had just been brutally murdered on the same street just minutes earlier. Any sane person could deduce that. 
 
 So what to do. What does anyone do after they die? I did n't even believe in the afterlife. I guessed that I was in fact in the afterlife. But how? Why? I never prayed to Jesus, Allah, Buddha, The Alien in the Sky, whatever you want to call it. 
 
 I decided to grab a Coca-Cola and go investigate the scene of the crime. 
 
 After taking only a few steps outside the shop, I saw a huge crowd forming right wear I had just been killed. I ran over to see what the fuss was all about. I pushed and squeezed my way into the crowd until finally I reached the object of everyone's fascination. 
 
 When I reached the middle of the crowd, I instantly understood what all the fuss was about. Two men lied in the street, battered and bloodied and dead. One of those men was me, and the other, my killer. There was a small knife wound in his chest. In his left hand was a meat tenderizer and in his right, a switchblade. 
 
 I did n't know how to react. In fact, I did n't know how to react to any of this. 
 
 Slowly, I looked up into the crowd. I noticed the boots of one man. They were eerily familiar to a pair of boots I had seen earlier that day. A pair of boots that were worn by the fucker who was lying there next to me on the street. I worked my way up toward his eyes to find that he had already been glaring at me from across the crowd. 
 
 Once our eyes locked, he moved towards me, holding the same meat tenderizer with which he bashed my face in just minutes earlier. I tried to run, but the crowd blocked me in. He began swinging at my head. I could n't stop him; I had nowhere to go. He struck me in the head repeatedly. And with his last blow, I was dead; my skull crushed into hundreds of pieces. 

