MY WORDS, MY WAY

THE RED FILE

 The Selection Room shimmered with white light—walls like breath, endless and soft. There were no corners. No ceiling. Just an infinite white expanse filled with floating files, distant laughter, and the sound of timelines unfolding somewhere far away.

Five of us stood together in the center of the room. My soul cluster. We always arrived together before selection. Same formation every time. Same arguing every time too.

One of them paced dramatically in front of us with his hands behind his back. “Okay. New rule this cycle. Nobody picks struggle.”

“That feels targeted,” I said immediately.

“Because it is targeted,” another replied. “Last time you picked emotional damage, taxes, abandonment issues, AND personal growth.”

“I learned things.”

“You learned suffering.”

“I learned resilience.”

“You learned overdraft fees.”

The group burst into laughter. I crossed my arms. “Why so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” one said. “You picked a life where you cried in parking lots and still told everybody you were fine.”

“That was character development.”

“That was depression with snacks.”

Another soul floated upside down beside me, glowing softly around the edges. “Listen, this time pick something peaceful. Nice parents. Stable finances. Maybe a vineyard.”

“Oooo,” another added. “Or one where you randomly inherit wealth from a mysterious aunt.”

“I don’t even like wine,” I said.

“You don’t like peace either apparently.”

The room pulsed around us as glowing files drifted by in slow motion. Some were gold. Some silver. Some dim and untouched like nobody wanted them. One file floated past labeled MINOR INCONVENIENCES, GREAT HAIR. Another read LOVED BY EVERYONE, BORING STORY.

The group pointed immediately. “That one. Pick that one.”

“Absolutely not.”

Then I saw it. At the far end of a long translucent table sat a single red file. Alone. Still. Waiting. Above it, soft glowing letters pulsed gently: DO NOT SELECT.

The entire group went silent.

“Oh no,” somebody whispered.

“Nope,” another said. “Don’t even look at it.”

But I was already walking toward it.

“You always do this,” one groaned behind me.

“It literally says DO NOT SELECT,” another yelled.

“Which honestly feels aggressive,” I replied over my shoulder.

“That’s because the universe knows you don’t listen.”

The closer I got, the quieter the room became. Even the floating files seemed to move aside. The red file opened before I touched it.

Childhood instability. Repeated abandonment. Emotional isolation. Financial struggle. Late blooming. Motherhood before self-discovery.

I swallowed hard. Behind me, my soul cluster had gone completely silent.

One of them stepped closer carefully. “Okay… maybe close that one.”

But farther down the page, beneath all the suffering, words shimmered in soft gold ink.

Four radiant children. Classy. Cash. Cilver—yes, with a C. English doesn’t even make sense anyway. Chance.

I laughed softly at that. Then more words appeared beneath their names.

Unexpected peace. Stories that reach people. A calm home. Freedom.

My chest tightened. “It ends well,” I whispered.

“For moments,” someone said quietly behind me. “Human lives are hard even when they’re beautiful.”

I looked around the room again. Some souls picked easy timelines. Predictable love. Supportive families. Comfortable lives that moved straight forward like clean lines on paper. But the red file felt alive. Not happy. Not safe. Important. Like one of those stories people carry forever.

An Attendant appeared beside me—tall, faceless, draped in white so bright it almost disappeared into the room itself.

“Selection confirmed?” it asked.

Behind me my soul cluster started panicking.

“NO.” “Absolutely not.” “She’s doing it again!” “We just got her back from the LAST life!”

I laughed. “Come on,” one begged. “Pick something easier this time.”

But the truth was already settling into me. Some souls come to rest. Some come to build. And some come because deep down they need to know whether love can survive difficult things.

I looked at the file one last time. Then nodded.

“Selection confirmed,” the Attendant said.

The floor beneath me cracked open into pure white light. Wind exploded upward through the Selection Room as the portal widened beneath my feet.

“Oh you have GOT to be kidding me,” somebody screamed.

I started laughing as gravity pulled me backward into the opening. The room stretched farther and farther away above me. My soul cluster ran toward the edge yelling over each other.

“DON’T FORGET WHO YOU ARE!”

“WATCH OUT FOR MEN WITH GUITARS!”

“TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS!”

“AND STAY AWAY FROM MLMs!”

I was crying laughing as the portal swallowed me whole. And just before it closed, my voice echoed upward through the light:

“SEEEEE YOU IN THIRTY-THREE HUMAN YEARSSSSS!”

Then darkness. Wind. Movement.

My first memory. I was three years old falling out of a moving car. Concrete rushed toward me. Impact.

I remember standing up before the adults noticed. My knees burned. My tiny hands shook. And for one impossible second, I remembered the white room. I smiled.

Then reset. 

The timeline had begun.