*It was fun* ~ yep that was my last thought, so can you explain why I can hear myself still... opening my eyes I blinked. Or at least, I thought I blinked. It was hard to tell when there was nothing to see. The void stretched out before me like a cosmic PowerPoint presentation with only one slide: "Welcome to Oblivion."
"Ah," I said to the darkness, "so this is where all the fun people end up."
My voice echoed, bouncing off nonexistent walls. I wondered if I should've packed a snack for the afterlife. Maybe some ghostly popcorn. But then I remembered: no mouth, no stomach, no problem.
"So," I continued, "what's the deal here? Is this the VIP section of the afterlife? Reserved for those who died while doing something utterly ridiculous?"
I imagined a celestial bouncer checking names off a clipboard. "Let's see… Death by selfie stick? Right this way. Death by vending machine? Over there, next to the existential crisis corner."
I floated—or at least, I thought I floated—through the void. It was like being stuck in an eternal elevator with bad elevator music. I half-expected an automated voice to announce, "Floor 666: Eternal Damnation. Mind the gap."
"Hello?" Dave called out. "Is anyone up there? A little help, please?"
Silence.
"Fine," I grumbled. "Guess I'll just keep floating. Wheee!"
I tried to enjoy the ride, but it was hard when there was nothing to see. No pearly gates, no fiery pits—just an infinite abyss. I wondered if I'd accidentally stumbled into the universe's lost-and-found bin.
"Attention, lost souls," I announced. "If you're missing a sense of purpose, please report to the nearest black hole. Thank you."
And then, I saw it—a faint glow in the distance. I squinted. Who's that... he looks like....
Menma Uzumaki, the enigmatic figure from the hidden realms, lay sprawled on a sun-kissed field. His crimson hair fanned out like a fiery halo, contrasting against the lush green grass. The air hummed with an otherworldly energy, as if the very fabric of reality had frayed at the edges.
My character, a mere mortal with wide eyes and a heart racing like a caffeinated squirrel, peered through the shimmering portal. It was a cosmic peephole—one that shouldn't exist but did. The kind of portal that made interdimensional customs officers scratch their heads and consult their manuals.
"Menma," I whispered, as if my voice could ripple across dimensions. "What secrets do you hold?"
He stirred, eyelids fluttering open. His irises were twin galaxies, swirling with forgotten memories and lost dreams. Menma sat up, brushing off imaginary dust from his midnight-blue cloak. His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I felt like a moth drawn to a black hole.
"Ah," Menma said, his voice a haunting echo. "Another lost soul."
I nodded; my tongue suddenly as useful as a wet noodle. "I… I've read about you. But... which one are you, are you Menma Uzumaki or Menma Namikaze."
Menma chuckled, a sound like distant thunder. "Read, huh? Well, I'm neither. For they're both me and not me at the same time *is he saying that he's the real Menma and that they're his clones of some sort* ~ my thoughts shifted as He gestured to the field—the grass bending under the weight of impossible flowers. Each petal held a universe, and each dewdrop cradled a dying star. Menma plucked one of the flowers, and it bloomed into a miniature galaxy.
"Life," he said, "is a cosmic joke. We're all punchlines waiting to happen."
I squinted. "And what's your punchline, Menma?"
He leaned back, resting on his cosmic elbow. "Oh, mine? 'Why did the time-traveling chicken cross the multiverse? To get to the other side… of eternity.'"
I groaned. "That's terrible."
Menma grinned. "Exactly."
We sat there, mortal and fictional character, staring at the sky. Or what passed for a sky in this liminal space—a swirling canvas of nebulae and paradoxes.
"You know," Menma said, "most people fear the void. But it's where the best parties happen. Black holes throw killer raves."
I blinked. "Really?"
"Nah," he said. "I just made that up. But it sounds cool, right?"
And then, Menma did something unexpected. He reached through the portal, fingers grazing mine. His touch was like stardust and forgotten wishes.
"Curiosity," he murmured, "is the only currency that matters."
I nodded, my heart doing somersaults. "And what's the exchange rate?"
Menma winked. "One lifetime of wonder for an eternity of questions."
As he faded back into the field, I clung to the memory—the taste of cosmic coffee, the scent of interdimensional flowers. And I realized: Maybe the best punchline wasn't a joke. Maybe it was the journey itself.
And so, I watched Menma Uzumaki vanish into the kaleidoscope of existence, while I slowly began to awaken from my slumber.