Min stirred in her bed. She felt strange, but she didn't feel sick, just strange. Empty. Her stomach, her head, the strength in her limbs, and even her heart were overwhelmed with the feeling of sheer emptiness. Yet the strange feeling was oddly familiar, but Min pushed that thought back into the recesses of her mind. Maybe I'm just hungry, she concluded. Finally gathering enough willpower to get out of bed (Min was never a morning person...or an evening person. She wasn't exactly pleasant in the afternoon either), Min rose out of bed, and immediately she stumbled as soon as her feet touched the floor. She was feeling incredibly light-headed, and there was throbbing in her temples. She closed her eyes and rubbed her aching temples. "Am I hungover? ! I didn't drink that much last night," she mumbled to herself. 

She opened her eyes just enough to make out a blurry path to her fridge in her small studio apartment. Then she proceeded down the path in a manner that probably made her look like a ravenous, slow-moving zombie. Once she reached her destination, Min reached for the fridge’s handle, only to have it irrationally escape her grasp. She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at her hand. It must be sweaty. She wiped her palms off on her pajamas pants and tried for the handle again. She couldn't grab it. She tried with both hands. Failed. After attempting a few more times and utterly failing, she kicked the door in frustration, only to see her foot sail straight through it. Min finally opened her eyes properly and aimed them straight towards her bed.  Lying facedown in a pool of tangled sheets was her body; her arm was dangling over the bed's edge lifelessly. "! NO! Not again! You've got to be kidding me!" she cursed.

"Hehehe," Min heard a giggle come from right next to her. "This is always my favorite part, when people realize that they've died." Min sighed, knowing all too well the owner of that childish yet raspy voice. 

"Hey Death," she growled. "Long time, didn't really want to see."

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" he said putting his long fingers on her shoulder. Min couldn't see his expression from under his hood, but it sounded like he was hurt by what she said.

"Friend?" Min scoffed, brushing his hand away from her shoulder. "You have a funny way of showing it. I was doing just fine. Why did you have to go and kill me again?"

"It wasn't me. I didn't kill you. You killed yourself," Death defended himself.

"Huh? How?!" 

Death pointed with a long finger towards the nightstand next to her bed. Remnants from her take-out dinner last night were still there, as well as a couple assorted bottles of alcohol. "See," he began. "There were cashews in your food last night. You had an allergic reaction, but you were too drunk to realize or do anything about it. So your throat closed up, and you suffocated to death. See, if you look really closely, you can see where you peed after you passed out.," he ended with a fit of laughter. Not only had she died, but Min also wet the bed.

"Shut up!" Min demanded punching the immortal being in the chest, and he responded with a groan. She smiled; not many people don't even have the confidence to stare Death in the face, let alone punch him. What they didn't know was that he was essentially harmless. You were already dead, what worse could he possibly do to you. He wasn't the one you had to be afraid of. No, not by a long shot.

Then a sudden realization flashed across her ghostly mind. "Wait a second! I'm not allergic to cashews."

"Ddaeng!" Death shouted joyfully. "Your old body wasn't allergic, but your new one is!"

"That bastard!" she spat. "Leave it to Him to pull that kind of crap."

The hooded figure gasped. "I wouldn't be going around calling Him by any sort of names. Especially when you are about to see Him soon," he said wagging his finger.

"What? The Grim Reaper is going to tattle on me for calling Daddy bad names," Min threateningly said like a school-yard bully.

Death chuckled and hit Min on the head. "Idiot! I don't have to. He's omnipotent. Which you've seem to have forgotten." He looked over at her corpse and tutted. "Up to your old tricks again, I see. You really screwed up your second chance."

A sly smile appeared across her face. "I don't know what you mean. I had a great time," she joked. But deep down, she knew that the tall guy in the long black robe was right. She had the best intentions to reform herself when she made it back to the land of the living, but some habits were hard to break, especially the fun  and unfortunately illegal ones. "So what now, Grimmy?" she turned towards and asked Death.

He then pulled off his hood, revealing his large, round eyes and slightly puffy cheeks. If Min still had a heart, it would've skipped a beat. She had always forgotten how good-looking Death was. He was a far cry from the emaciated or skeleton-like figure from fairy tales and ghost stories. "I told you not to call me that!" he whined, pouting his lips. "I have a new name now," he said proudly.

"You can do that?"

Death started to get agitated, Min knew that he was about to launch into a tirade. In addition to him looking like a pretty boy, this Death also differed from the fairy tales in another regard: he wasn't the silent, stoic type, not at all. He could not shut up, especially after you've gotten him off like Min just had. "Why not? Celebrities do it all the time! I've had the same name for thousands and thousands of years. I'm sick of it! I hate it! It's not a cool name, 'Death.' And the Grim Reaper isn't any better. Do I look grim to you?" he asked flashing Min a large and dashing smile. But he didn't give her anytime to respond and continued, "Recently this girl died; she told me that she was an Inspirit or something weird like that. Anyway, she said that I looked like one of her Oppas, Lee Sungyeol. Isn't that pretty? Sungyeol just sounds nice. Everybody runs away from Death. Everybody hates the Grim Reaper. Do you know how hard that makes my job? I spend most of my time hunting down souls who freak after they hear my name. But Sungyeol, people would come along more quietly with that name."

"Sungyeol? You want people to call you Sungyeol," Min spoke in disbelief. Death/Sungyeol nodded enthusiastically. Min burst into laughter. If people had really known that Death was such a child at heart, they wouldn't be running away. And did he seriously think that changing his name would change humanity's opinion about him? He was in for a rude awakening.

"Fine! Laugh! But it's going to work," he insisted. "Then I'll be the last one laughing. MWAHAHAHAHAHA!" and he launched into an evil laugh. Min rolled her eyes at him, but the reaper didn’t appear to notice and instead turned his attention to his wrist-watch. “Damn! 1,000 people already kicked the can since I got here. We gotta go! Come on, you know the drill,” he finished, stretching out his hand.

Min sighed and limply placed her hand in his. “Seriously, is there no other way to get there?” she asked, speaking through her clenched teeth.

“None just as fun,” he answered with a smile. Sungyeol then nudged her. “You know you like it,” he said as he tightened his grip on her hand and started to swing her arm back and forth.  “Ready?” Min reluctantly nodded her head. “Let’s go!” he shouted and grabbed her other hand. Then, the two began to spin each other around, as if they were playing ring-around-the-rosy. Min saw the room spin quickly behind Death’s head until it became a blur. She started to become incredibly dizzy and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were no longer in her apartment but a dark, foggy forest. Sungyeol had already let go of her hands, causing her to tumble to the ground.

“Hey!” Min shouted, rubbing her bum which had landed on a knobby tree root. “Help me up!” she commanded, reaching out to Sungyeol.

Sungyeol shot her an unapologetic smile. “Sorry! I really have to go!” he said pointing towards his watch. Then he pulled up his hood. “See ya later!” he shouted as he disappeared in a swirl of black fabric.

Min gritted her teeth and growled some curses against the Grim Reaper. The first time she died, Sungeyol would pester her all the time, gossiping about the other immortals to her and telling her of his grievances, acting as if he had all the time in the world. But now, when she actually needed him, he literally lives her flat-out on her . He did this on purpose. He knew how much she hated to be alone with the person she was about to encounter. Shivers shot down her spine at the thought. The man was pleasant enough, but just…entirely gloomy. He gave her the creeps, but she had no choice. He was the only person to get here across the river. Damn it.

Min grumbled as she stood up and wiped the dark dirt from her behind. She was still wearing her plaid pajama pants and oversized t-shirt that she had died in. That was one thing she never really liked about Hell, among many other things, the only clothes you have is what you died in. Last time she died, she was wearing a y little outfit, something that someone would be proud to die in. No one wants to wear a large t-shirt with an out-stretched collar, covered in wine-stains for the rest of eternity. This was starting to become a day from Hell…ironically.

Min slowly made her way to the riverbank, stalling her inevitable encounter with the ferryman.  She looked up past the fog and through the skeletal canopy of the dead tree branches at the purple sky. It was always twilight in this corner of the universe, and spooky too. But the familiar sight was oddly comforting to Min. She had spent quite some time in this forest last time, playing pranks on the unsuspecting specters of the recently passed. The deity formally known as Death would lure the souls into a certain spot, and Min would jump out from behind a tree and attacked them, pretending to be a demon, and she would scream “Welcome to Hell!” The souls would escape from Sungyeol’s grasp and tried to find the exit from the forest, a way back into the land of the living. And Sungyeol would chase after them like a chicken with his head cut off. It was an entertaining way to spend her eternal sentence. But what those new spirits didn’t know was that this dark and gloomy forest wasn’t Hell, only the entrance to the Underworld, and they were probably going to Heaven anyway. Most people did. Not everybody had the privilege Min did.

Then she saw what she was looking for, that tree, the biggest one in the black forest. The trunk was as wide as a house, and its roots crept into the glistening surface of the river. She rubbed the rough tree bark with her hands and traced the deep cut with her thumb. She had made it herself: M + L. She sighed and started to claw at the bark fruitlessly. She wanted to remove it, pretend like last time didn’t happen, like it was her first time here. He probably would want it gone too. “Grr! Why won’t this come off?” she  mumbled in frustration. Both of her hands were now working at tearing off the carving. But for all her effort, all she was rewarded with was sore fingertips. When she decided to finally give up, she turned around and was confronted with another figure in a long black cloak. “Holy ! How long were you there?” she asked, instinctively grabbing her chest at her dead heart.

The cloaked man shrugged in response. And this was the reason why Min felt so uncomfortable around the ferryman. He was like a ninja, able to silently creep up on you, scaring the crap out of you. And he rarely talked. Ever. Or at least not to Min. He was the exact opposite of the chatterbox Sungyeol. Heck, the name Grim Reaper suited the ferryman more than the cheery Death specter. He had a way of genuinely striking fear into your core with just one, blazing look. A thing that Sungyeol was completely unable to do with his gentle owl eyes.

Instead of exchanging the usual greetings, the cloaked man just extended him palm towards Min. “Alright! Low five!” Min exclaimed as she slapped his hand.

He just kept his hand still extend towards her and gave it a little shake. “Payment for the ferryman,” he said in a low breathy whisper.

“Aish! Silly! Don’t you have a discount for second-timers,” Min said playfully patting his upper-arm (flirting to get what she wanted was a habit for her) but she immediately recoiled after seeing his dark eyes fiercely glint under the hood.

He suddenly tore off his hood, exposing his round head and an oddly placed smile on his face. If his lips had not been curving slightly upwards, it would’ve been a grimace. “Min! It’s you!” he said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Whoa! You sound genuinely excited to see me,” Min said, stepping back from the cloaked figure until her back touched the tree. His smile scared her more than his normal, empty expression.

He leaned on his oar, which he was carrying in one of his hands. “It’s not every day that I get return customers. You’re my first since Jesus.”

“What an honor,” Min said with a forced giggle. Then she noticed that his palm was still outstretched. “Do I seriously have to pay? I have nothing. I swear Death or Sungyeol or whatever pick-pocketed me right after I died. Just one time, puhlease?” she asked with a voice as sweet as sugar. She started to sneak onto his sad-excuse-for-a-boat (seriously it looked like multiple pieces of rotting wood holding together by just a prayer). But she felt a tug from the back of her collar. The ferryman had grabbed her, scowling. Min smiled sheepishly in response.

“How about a favor?” he demanded.

Min studied his stoic face, searching for any hint for what this “favor” might be. She wouldn’t be surprised if there were some erted thoughts rolling about his mind. He was a man after all, and even though Min was sloppily dressed, she still an attractive looking girl. She crossed her arms and responded coolly. “Sure. What do you want?”

“A new boat,” he said, looking grimly at his shabby raft.

She kicked the boat and said, “I don’t blame you, but does it look like I have one?” She flapped her empty arms up and down.

“Not now. Later. Ask your little friend to get me one. Have it made out of mahogany, and bigger, and oh! Maybe a figurehead of a mermaid like they do on pirate ships. Some flowers would be nice too,” the ferryman rambled excitedly. His normally hard face had softened in his fit of excitement, making him look, well, adorable. And Min would have never pegged him as a flower guy.

Min looked at the ty raft and bit her lip. She wanted to say yes, but she and her “little friend” weren’t exactly on speaking terms anymore. She hardly expected for him to even want to see her (which might be a good thing). But she had to say yes. She couldn’t exactly swim across the river. After all, the lost souls, hovering in between the land of the living and the dead, made the River Styx their home. And those souls were desperate and handsy, dragging souls moving on into the depths. Also it was bottomless and stretched on forever. It could only be magically crossed with the aid of the ferryman. Unfortunately for Min. So she had to say yes. “Easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy,” she said with a insuring smile that she had perfected from her years of being a conman.

The ferryman smiled and ushered her onto the rickety craft. The ride was slow and silent, which made Min uncomfortable. Nothing good ever came from silence for her. Plus, the souls swimming in the river were starting to creep her out as they grabbed and rocked the sides of the boat. Every so often, the ferryman would slap them away with his oar, but it would only temporarily stop them. She needed a distraction. “Soooooo,” she said breaking the still air, “did you hear that Death changed his name to Sungyeol?” He just nodded. Min frowned and continued, “It’s weird, right?” The ferryman shrugged. Min grinded her teeth in frustration and was determined to wheedle out a word from his tight lips. “What’s your real name anyway? It can’t be ferryman. That’s just a job.”

“Hoya,” he replied, without breaking his rowing.

“Like the flower?” Min asked. He nodded in response with a proud smile appearing across his face. Min just had to laugh. The colorful flower didn’t really seem to align with Hoya’s gloomy aura. What the heck was He thinking when He named Hoya? Then again, this kid seemed to have an unexpected cute-side. “I like it better than Sungyeol,” Min said jokingly.

“Right,” Hoya spoke back. “Mine’s a lot better. It’s cute like me.” To which, Min busted out into a fit of laughter. Hoya looked at her with a confused expression, but she didn’t care. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

She continued to laugh until the boat hit the bank on the other side of the river. Min opened her eyes properly and cleared them of her blurring tears. They were there, the famed Pearly Gates, which stretched to the heights of Heaven, fitted with gold, pearls, and gems. Clouds billowed under its entrance. Or smoke from Hellfire. She wordlessly waved to Hoya, who was already disembarking but he did surprisingly wave back to her. Maybe he liked her more than she thought.

Sitting at the front of the gates was the Keeper. He was stationed behind a tall podium made entirely of ivory. His sharp nose was buried in the pages of the Book. Not the Bible, but the one with everybody’s (who ever existed) name in it and their lives. “Laura Eileen Saltzman from Philadelphia,” the Keeper spoke not removing his gaze from the book even though he addressed a recently deceased soul in front of him. The woman was nervously touching the hem of her blush pink dress.

Damn. Even though that’s a bit too frilly for my taste, I would rather die in that than in this monstrosity. Lucky , Min thought. She continued to watch the judging.

“Elementary school teacher, a respectable occupation. You had good grades, studying is always important. Never done drugs or killed anybody, that’s always good,” the Keeper quickly summarized the details of her life. Then he saw something and pouted. His sharp eyes looked pitifully upon the anxious woman in front of him.  “AW! What’s this? You died a month before your wedding.” The woman nodded, but her eyes were still glued to the floor. “You suffered enough. HEAVEN!” he squealed as the gates opened up, and white clouds billowed forth. The woman gushed words of gratitude as she ran to the gates, as if she feared that they would close her out soon. The Keeper just smiled and nodded, always glad to accept words of thanks. Psh! What a softie! Min joked.

“Next!” The Keeper called, flipping through the Book.

“Yo!” Min said as she walked up to the podium. She placed her elbows on its smooth surface and placed her hands in them, staring face to face with the foxy-looking Keeper.

The Keeper stopped flipping and looked across the podium. A big smile broke out on his pale face. “Aigoo! If it isn’t Min-“

Min clamped his mouth with her hand and put a finger to her lips. “What did I tell you? No one needs to know my full name.”

The Keeper batted away her hand from his mouth and wiped it with his own hand, as if he was a 7 year-old boy getting rid of a girl’s cooties. “Doesn’t matter. We all know it anyway. It’s in the Book,” he said, tapping the yellowed pages of the immense codex.

Min rolled her eyes. “So what else does it say in there? Where am I going this time?” she asked trying to steal a glance of the Book.

The Keeper pushed her away and wagged his finger. “No, no, no. Step back where you’re supposed to be.” He waved at her to move backwards. “Come on, go. Let’s do this properly and professionally. Even though you're my friend. We have to go by procedure.”

Min pouted and did what she was told. She stood where Laura had stood moments before and tapped her foot impatiently. “Happy now?”

The Keeper nodded cutely. Then he cracked his neck and knuckles. “Let’s get started!” He studied the aged pages closely and tutted. “Looks like someone had a little bit too much fun. I thought you said that you were going to walk down the straight and narrow.”

“Well, I took a wrong turn. I’m directionally challenged,” Min joked.

“I’ll say. Because I don’t think that impersonating a priest would go over well with the Big Guy. How did you manage that anyway?” he asked, his eyes unconsciously drifting towards Min’s larger-than-average chest.

“It was for an art-smuggling con in the Vatican. Bandages and a bit of padding work wonders,” she answered with a wink.

The Keeper laughed, but that laugh quickly turned into a sigh. “What am I going to do with you? I really don’t want to do this.”

“HEAVEN!” Min shouted hopefully, mimicking the Keeper just moments earlier. He responded with a shake of the head. “No!” Min said in disbelief. “No! You can’t be serious! Not again!”

“My hands are tied,” the Keeper said sadly.

“But…but,” Min was desperately scrambling for words. She couldn’t go back there. She knew that she messed up again, but her second life was no where nearly as bad as her first one. She had barely killed anyone this time! “He doesn’t even want me there. He hates my guts!” she explained.

“The Devil liking you isn’t a requirement to go to Hell,” the Keeper said with a giggle.

Min ran up to the podium and grabbed his hands. The Keeper’s eyes widened at the sudden contact. “You know what I mean. You know what happened last time. You know why I can’t go back. I promised that I would never see him again. Please? Help everybody out and just fudge the record,” Min begged,  giving the angel sad puppy eyes.

The Keeper was unmoved. “I can’t. If I do the whole cosmos might implode.”

“Might implode. It’s not a sure thing. Come on, just try it.”

The Keeper removed his hands from hers and patted the top of her head. He looked at her with eyes filled with regret. Her eyes widened, knowing what he was about to do. “Hell,” he whispered.

The gates opened, and black smoke engulfed the area, talking hold of Min’s limbs and dragging herself down, down, down. She was falling through a dark hole. Flames would sprout up and her cheeks. They felt cold. Min hated the cold. This whole place was nothing but coldness. She forcefully shut her eyes, and when she opened them up again, she was there, Hell. The smell of sulfur, brimstone, and attacked her senses. She stood on dry, rocky ground in a area covered with bunkers as far as the eye could see. A bunker for every infernal prisoner.

The thing about Hell is that every description that you heard about it is true, in a way. See, everybody had their own personal ring of Hell in these bunkers. Each specifically designed by the Devil himself to punish and torture everybody for the rest of eternity. You hate peas more than anything in the world? You are forced fed them. Do you consider yourself to be a scholarly guy disgusted by the plebian rabble that surround you? Then you watch nothing but “The Jersey Shore” on repeat. Well, you get the picture.

Min stood before her own bunker. She the plaque with her name crudely etched into it (of course, she had scratched off her full name, making it look even uglier). A sad smile appeared across her face. “Home sweet home.”