I hadn't intended on entering the All Souls Day contest, but, on the very last day, I realized that I had a partially written story that fits.

It can kind of stand by itself, but it can also be continued -- if there is sufficient interest.

It all started one chilly fall day when my family was out doing some shopping. I considered going with them, but I decided that my time would be better spent doing some last-minute yard work. The snow was about to fly, and I needed to put away all the summer stuff, clear the garden, cover the perennials, and mow the lawn one final time. We lived in the outskirts, and had a pretty big yard. Still, I was getting the job done -- despite the distraction of our hateful neighbor running around and pointing his shotgun all over the place.

I'm not aware of anything that we might have done to piss him off, but he still hates us with a passion for some odd reason. From what I have heard, he hates everyone.

I was raking the leaves out of the corner of our fenced yard when I heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked. I looked toward the sound, right at the business end of a Mossburg twelve-gauge pump.

I was in a white featureless room -- or maybe it was a featureless void. Anyhow, it had no visible corners.

There was a man dressed in white facing me. I really couldn't place his age. He showed no wrinkles or gray or other signs of age, but he looked very mature.

"Am I dead?"

He smiled. "Do you feel dead?"

"I don't feel anything," I replied. "Where am I?"

"Nowhere."

It sounds to me like something a kid would say, but he could literally be correct in a way. We could very well be outside of the standard time and space that we normally inhabit.

But I started to get concerned. Through my mind floated some of those scriptures that have always comforted me when I lost loved ones.

"We are of good courage, I say, and are willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be at home with the Lord."

"I will in no way leave you, neither will I in any way forsake you."

I looked down at myself, but there was nothing there. It was like using one of those programs where you can look up and down and all around the scenery, but never see yourself or the camera.

"You are a disembodied spirit," he said.

"What's your name? Why am I here? I'm washed by the blood. I'm in the Lamb's Book of Life!"

He made a calming motion. "Your ticket to Heaven is punched. You'll get there, but only after a slight detour."

"Slight?"

"I can't tell exactly, but I would guess in the neighborhood of seventy or eighty years."

Apparently, he could somehow tell that I had calmed down. He certainly didn't get any information from my body language.

"My name is Phil, and you're here to be briefed before you get sent back."

"It is appointed for men to die once, and after this, judgment," I quoted.

He rolled his eyes. I didn't know that angels roll their eyes -- if, in fact, that's what he is.

"Your generation is good at turning generalities into hard and fast rules. Think about it: The Bible has a number of exceptions to this 'rule'. A number of people have been raised from the dead, and two others were taken up without ever dying."

Then he smirked at me.

"Besides, who says that you're going to die when you're done with your second go-around?"

He had me there.

I sighed. "OK, I guess I'm ready for my briefing. Still, why do you have to guess how long I will be staying on my second go-around?"

"God knows how long it's going to take, but he doesn't tell me everything. I'm a servant, and he just tells me what I need to know."

He seemed to sit back and go into lecture mode. How can he sit back when he's just kind of floating there?

"First of all, as you can guess, John Karston killed you. He was planning on waiting for your family to return and shoot all of you, but he became seriously unhinged and full of hate just watching you work around the yard. The fact that you got shot saved the rest of your family, as well as a number of your neighbors. He's in jail right now, by the way."

I raised my eyebrows. At least, it felt like I raised my eyebrows. It's funny how it feels like my body is still there until I try to look at or touch myself.

"I would have gladly made the sacrifice to save my family. I feel really bad about the pain that they are going through, though. My kids have to grow up without their daddy!"

I started sobbing. Then, I felt a warmth -- like I was receiving a hug. I prayed for divine comfort upon my family. Does that work in the here and now of 'nowhere', or wherever we are?"

"God hears your prayers, and your family is fine. Also, he takes your willingness to sacrifice yourself as permission. We both know that God isn't limited by time."

That one is hard to wrap my mind around, but I don't let it shake me. When you study physics and theology together, you learn that there is a lot beyond what we can experience from our limited point of view as objects stuck in time.

He calmed my concerns. "Your kids now have a wonderful step father. Joan married Dave Marston."

"What happened to Martha?"

"She was killed in a car wreck the day after you died. Joan and Dave spent a lot of time comforting each other, and ended up falling in love."

I smiled for the first time since I got my head blown off. David and Martha were always our best friends, and the kids always got along great. They'll be good for each other.

"Well, it looks like good things have come out of my death. What is my new mission? Will I remember my previous life?"

"Your mission is just to live your new life as best you can, and yes, you will remember your previous life. Otherwise, how would you know that you are you?"

OK, so angels roll their eyes, smirk, and sometimes have a dry sense of humor.

"There is a child who grew up in a professional family. Alas, this youth has fallen into bad company, made bad decisions, and has generally made a mess of things. Rather than face the prospect of going back to school, this misguided kid has decided to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills."

"So, I'm supposed to take his place?"

Phil laughed like I just said the funniest thing in the world.

"What's so blasted funny? Are you going to dump me down in the middle of a class without knowing what's going on or even my name?"

Phil gave a couple more guffaws. "No, nothing like that. You'll have your own memories that are held within your spirit, and you'll have the kid's memories that were stored in that wet gray thing. You'll essentially wake up in a new body with the memories that you need to live your new life."

"So, what do I do?"

"You'll get up a couple hours early, get yourself oriented, and sift through some of your new memories. Then, you'll tear up the suicide note, throw out the cigarettes and pot, and get ready for school. After that... hey, it's your life. Try to be nice to your new mom and dad. They have had a rough time of it."

I found myself laying in bed.

---

Was that a weird dream or what?

I opened my eyes.

Nope, it's no dream. I'm in a kid's room. I think about yesterday, and realize that there are two yesterdays for me. I think to my last day as Mark Spanner, then to my summer as... Darcy Woods?

My hands automatically go to my chest, then my groin. So that's what Phil was chortling about! He coulda warned a fellow!

But I'm not a fellow. I'm a member of the fairer sex, except my memories of her (my!) life are not all that fair.

But there's no use in stewing over it. I've got things to do.

The bedroom is neat because Mom made Darcy... Mom made Me clean it up yesterday.

I walked over to my desk, picked up the suicide note, tore it up, and threw it into the wastebasket. Then, I dug the cigarettes out of my purse, crushed them, and tossed them out. Next came my stash from under my bottom drawer. I crushed the cigarettes and tossed them in the trash, then flushed the pot down the toilet.

Once I was sure that I had everything, I tied off the bag and threw it into the large kitchen trash can downstairs. Then I came back upstairs and put all my school stuff together. Darcy, God rest her soul, hadn't planned on attending school. I reached back in her memory and thought to when she had gotten saved back when she was in third grade. That makes me feel a whole lot better. She's with God and I get her old life.

I went to the bathroom and started my new morning ritual. First, though, I had to examine my body.

In the mirror stood a somewhat scrawny thirteen year old girl. My skin had the kind of pallor that one would expect at the end of a long winter. I guess that's because I spent so much time at home in the chat rooms and watching TV.

It looks like I still have some developing to do. I'm at about an A cup, and my hips still have some of that childhood scrawnieness. I have a few pimples, and my black hair is limp. It doesn't seem to go with the rest of my face. In fact, it emphasizes the pallor of my skin. I lifted it up and noticed that I have blond roots. It's going to be interesting when it starts growing out.

With a sigh, I started gathering my shower stuff together. I found the shampoo and conditioner, but couldn't find any soap that wasn't full of perfume and disinfectant. I know from experience that wiping out the natural flora on the skin will allow the bad bacteria to attack. If I want to get rid of these zits, I need to ditch the deodorant soap.

A quick search in the downstairs bathroom yielded some plain old Ivory soap. That'll have to do for now.

The shower was an interesting experience. I don't know if it's the youth of my new body, or because I'm now a girl, but my skin is quite a bit more sensitive. I spent more time than strictly necessary exploring my new body.

Feeling fresh and clean, I toweled off and pondered what to do with my hair. I'm used to just rubbing my short hair with a towel and letting it dry naturally, but this big batch of stringy black hair that I now own will need more care. I sorted through some of Darcy's memories, then used the blow dryer to fluff my hair out. I wasn't about to adopt any of Darcy's old hair styles, but neither did I want to run around with stringy matted hair. After some effort, I got my hair to behave itself.

I wrapped a towel around myself and went back to my room. I opened the closet and scowled. What is with this chick that is now me? It may not be the correct term, but her stuff looked awful goth to me.

I sifted back through my Darcy memory to get an idea of what is appropriate for school, then searched through my closet. Off to the side was a brand-new outfit that Darcy... I mean I had gotten for my thirteenth birthday. I smiled wryly, then pulled it out and removed the tags. It didn't take me too long to figure out how to put it all together and put it on. It's not like I haven't watched my wife get dressed plenty of times.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my door. Cute. Really cute. Why hadn't the previous Darcy liked that outfit? Probably because it wasn't harsh enough.

But now I'm in the driver's seat. It's time for Darcy Woods to turn over a new leaf. I wonder how much of her... my old wardrobe I'll be able to salvage.

The door opened, and a strange woman stuck her head in. "Darcy! Time to get... Oh, you're already up."

"Morning, Mom." I smiled at her.

Her jaw dropped. "I thought you hated that outfit!"

I just smiled. "A girl's allowed to change her mind, isn't she?"

She just shook her head and went downstairs. I picked up my mostly empty bookbag and followed her down.