White. The first thing she sees is white. All around, surrounding her on all sides. No up, no down, no light, no sound.
It’s strange. She remembers being in a hospital bed, her children and grandchildren around her, crying. Why were they crying? She lived a good long life. She found love, she found happiness. So what if the monitor's small beeping sounds became softer and further apart? She had no regrets.
While listening to her family say goodbye, (Why say goodbye? She could barely turn her head, much less leave the bed) she thought to her youth. It wasn't particularly exciting. She wrote. She wrote short stories, long stories, brilliant stories that would have been amazing, had they been published. Many were fanfiction, things she wrote based on TV shows and other books. That was the highlight of her childhood.
So imagine her shock when she saw her favorite characters standing, waiting for her in the whiteness.
It wasn't the actors who played the characters in TV shows or movies, it wasn't the artwork authors had for the characters. It was the characters. Just them. The way she pictured them in her mind, the way she wished they looked. It was them.
Harry Potter stood next to Ron and Hermione, giving her small, sad smiles. Percy Jackson had his arm around Annabeth Chase, smiling as Annabeth scolded him about one thing or the other. The Doctor and Clara Oswald were the last people there. They watched as she looked around the whiteness in awe.
Clara came to her side, “Hello there,” she greeted, “Been a while, eh?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was caught in her throat. She looked at her feet, embarrassed. That’s when she noticed her clothes. She was wearing her favorite outfit from when she was around thirteen. Her body wasn't that of an old woman’s; it belonged to a teenager. She looked back up at the other’s in the room.
“Yeah, it’s a bit confusing,” Harry laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “It makes sense after a while, but at first . . .”
“Oh, Harry, be quiet, you’re confusing her,” Annabeth chastised, “This is when you were at your happiest. Simple as that.”
She nodded, still not talking. Percy gave her a slightly concerned look. “You okay?” he asked her.
She wanted to say ‘Yes, I’m fine, just a little shocked,’ What she actually said was, “Am I dead?”
They were all silent. The Doctor spoke first, “This is why I hate endings.”
No one moved. But then, Ron smiled. And he began to laugh. Hermione glared at him, trying to tell him that now wasn't the time. Then Harry started to laugh. And Percy, and Annabeth, and Clara, and the Doctor, and, finally, Hermione.
All she did was stare. Stare and smile. Tears ran down her face slowly. The characters calmed down and they came to her. Clara hugged her and Annabeth put her hand on her shoulder.
“How about one last adventure?” Harry asked. She nodded and the whiteness became brighter and brighter, blocking the characters from her vision.
White. That’s the last thing she saw.