This is Random.

The last thing I remember is whiteness. I don't know where it came from-- it was like a flash, but slower, fading in like a morning sunrise, filling up everything around me and inside me, its light touching the deepest corners of my soul. It felt beautiful, neither warm nor cold, but tender and lovely. I closed my eyes. Nothing changed. Whiteness surrounded me. This wasn't a sunrise. This was the end.

"What is your name, Isaac Middleton?"
The voice was like a cannon firing far away, like the memory of a thunder clap in the night sky. It was comforting. It was terrifying. If anything, it was confusing.
I looked around me. Nothing. Pure whiteness. Who spoke?
"Isaac Middleton, what is your name?"
The question. What could it mean? Was it a joke? Was I supposed to laugh? I did not. I was terrified, yet calm. Shaking, yet perfectly still.
For the third time the voice echoed into my ears, or my mind, I'm not sure which: "What is your name, Isaac Middleton?"

"Isaac Middleton" I called out into the whiteness. I felt very foolish, yet too far apart from myself to worry about my self-esteem.

There was silence in the whiteness-- not the silence of a city, where even in the quietest times you can still hear traffic or the general buzz of city lights, nor the silence of the country, where crickets and wind unceasingly sing. No, this was absolute silence. Thick and overbearing. I couldn't even hear myself breathe, but then I tried to and realized I didn't know how.

"Isaac Middleton, do you know where you are?" the voice was deep and beautiful, like the roar of a lion,  but not quite as terrifying.

"No, Sir," I quaked. I'm not sure why I said, "Sir." The voice just seemed so royal and honorable, and I felt so very dismal and insignificant that I couldn't help but say it.

"Isaac, you have died."

I would have gasped. I would have stopped breathing if I knew how to start. My heart beat would have risen, but I had no pulse at all.
I began to cry. I still had tears.
It was all over. I tried hard to remember life before death. Nothing. Before the flash, I might as well have never existed. How old was I when it happened? Did I have a wife? Kids? Did I live a good life?
"How did I die, Sir?"

There was a pause and the silence thickened.
"James Kingly shot you seven times in the back of the head."
I tried to shudder, but had no spine.

"Why?" I sobbed.

"You slept with his wife, Isaac."

"I did?"

"Yes. For years."

Silence.

"Your real wife was in intensive care for twelve years. She was in a coma." There was sadness in the voice, as if tears were swimming inside the words. "She loves you very much, Isaac. She talks to me about you whenever she's awake. She always looked forward to your visits, when she was able to see your eyes when you leaned in to kiss her on the forehead." The words were slow and piercing. I felt like screaming for him to stop, but felt terribly unworthy to ever break the Voice's words. What a terrible person I must have been. My stomach clenched to itself. I felt like vomiting.

"Isaac, do you know who I am?" the Voice rang in the whiteness quietly, as if hoping for the right answer, yet already knowing what I am going to say.

Words could not come to my mouth. I was transformed instantly from tears into terror. This was God. Him!

"You are God," I said. I'm not sure how I said it. It might have been a mumble. It might have been a scream. I was too frightened to notice myself. If I had knees, I would have been on them. I was shaking, terrified. I was in the presence of The Creator.

To Be Continued...
I'm tired.