Temporary Souls

The world ended on a Tuesday.

It was disappointing honestly, we wanted the end to be as exciting as the beginning. If it all started with a bang, then by default, it should have ended with a bang.

But no.

Tuesday came, the sun rose high above the crisp blue desert sky, and the world ended. The month was March, short and mild, like most of the population cramming to file their taxes on time. Moms drove their children to school, their manicured or bitten nails tapping away at the steering wheel while other more patient moms led their kids through the cross-walk. They shoved snacks into tiny hands while ushering little bodies into classrooms. The moms did this all while holding a purse, car keys, wallet, and a phone - in one hand.

Then there were all the buildings with all the people sending emails, fixing ties, pouring second and third cups of semi-bitter coffee that ate away at their vitamin deficient enamels. You could have inhaled the stress, it was so potent.

Hundreds of eyes skimming blue-light protected screens, thousands of fingers punching out words. The aggression of an office worker is always recognizable through the never-ending clicks of their computer keys.

Mundane, Tuesday activities.

No one was drinking except for the alcoholics, whom, the end was always a hairsbreadth away from. Sure, a couple teens may have skipped their morning classes, stolen a pack of their parent’s cheap beer. But the fun had on a Tuesday, was nothing compared to the raging fire of a Friday night. If those insufferable world-ending fools actually knew what they were doing, they would have given us until at least the end of the week.

But no. It had to be Tuesday.

That morning I was banging a copy machine.

Not like that.

Though, my boyfriend in that life had as much personality as one. The copy machine at work was giving me hell. Agreeing to go to hell would have been easier than coming to work again. Another day banging my foot against a useless piece of metal, making copies of documents that would just end up in a waste bin after being briefly skimmed over.

My feet were already sore from the ugly brown heels I had to wear because red heels were not “appropriate attire.” I kicked and kicked at the copy machine, until I realized a few of my co-workers had dragged their eyes away from their precious keyboards, to look at me. I noticed a few of them had the same sterling silver, heart-shaped locket, dangling around their necks.

Temporary souls, just like me.

I stopped kicking the machine, apologized, walked back to my desk.

I didn’t want to be pulled out early for causing trouble. I was only given a quarter of life, a punishment for how things ended the previous time around.

They didn’t tell me what I did, but I know it had to be bad if I was cut down to 25-years and sent me back as a temp worker. Twenty-five years is barely enough time to do anything interesting or noteworthy. I had heard of the really bad souls only getting a day or two, never making it past infancy. That had to be really shitty compared to what I got,

but still.

It took me until that Tuesday in the office, the Tuesday the world-ended, to realize that I would die as a meaningless office worker. A girl with no friends and a photo-copy machine boyfriend. Someone whose name and actions would never be remembered, praised, someone –

Temporary.

If I had been good, but not too good. Bad, but not too bad. A soul with only a few vices and a desire for love and positive change, they would have made me permanent again. I would have gotten to be brand new. A different time, a different place, a better body.

I wouldn’t even have known, that I had done it all before.

But, I failed somehow. I didn’t meet their standards.

Looking around that office, on my last day, running my fingers along the cool metal of my locket, jealousy overtook me. I became envious of every co-worker who thought the damn thing was a piece of jewelry. Something you could get for $20 at Walmart. Maybe that’s how much I was worth, that locket containing the essence of who I was,

my soul

strung on a necklace.

Unworthy of being bound to a human heart.

As a temporary soul, you come into a new world with the weight of the life you somehow messed up before, while everyone else is a blank slate. You walk on eggshells every day, hoping each footstep, each breath you take, won’t set off an invisible alarm. The clock starts ticking the day you arrive, but unlike the permanent souls, you are aware of every second you have.

Which is how I knew the world was going to end.

I could feel it in the weight of the silver, heart-shaped locket. It pulled at the curly hair along the base of my neck. It was hot and I started to feel feverish. And then, all the other temp-workers in the office started fanning their necks too, tugging at their lockets.

That’s when all the oxygen left the planet.

I still don’t understand the science behind it, I wasn’t alive long enough to know the type of catastrophe that had to happen, the type of experimental error that eradicated the thin line between earth and space. It was all very…unremarkable, they said.

No one saw it coming, so no one had time to scream or huddle close with their loved ones. We all just stopped breathing. That was the end.

What a disappointment.

The world-ending fools didn’t give me much of an explanation after I died. But whatever I didn’t do in that lifetime, made up for what I did the lifetime before. My unremarkable life must have been enough because they are now going to remove me from this metal prison.

I was invisible enough to earn back my place among the permanent souls.

I won’t remember any of this, most of us don’t remember our time doing temp-work. It’s supposed to be a lesson. A passive aggressive punishment.

In the next life, I will have no recollection of those 25-years. Though, they say I will be able to feel it.

In moments when I’ve chosen the mediocre path, made the decision that leads nowhere. I will feel it as a longing in my chest. I will feel it every time a kiss a person I don’t love, every time I choose to settle.

It will feel like I’m being choked, like all the oxygen has left the planet.

They say I won’t know who I was. I won’t remember the broken copy-machine in that horrible office, or the ugly brown heels. But I might feel it every time I pass the shoe isle in my new life, or when I'm forced to duplicate a document.

They tell me all these things, but even their words will be erased.

So, maybe this moment is the real end.

These precious seconds before I’m bound to a human heart, once again a permanent, clean soul.

I hope this time, the world doesn’t end so soon.

Or at the very least, not on a Tuesday.