>Archivist: Think.
If I die, I don't think I'll be going to any place that's written down. I don't think there is a Heaven, and I don't think there is a Hell, for people like me. I don't have wings, so even if the clouds I've read about are real, I think I'd fall through. And I'm not heavy enough to sink through the pits of despair that I've heard about from so many books about good and evil. And I think.. I think I'm okay with that, wherever I end up going. Sometimes I wonder if it's going to be cold, or if it'll hurt. Will I be able to see anything, I wonder? I wonder if I'll be able to feel, or if it'll be lonely. But I hope, even though it's slim. It's slim, but I hope that maybe, just maybe, the Creator will let me see my family again, before I go. And if I could say anything to him. To her? Memories always change things, but I'm certain that he'll forgive me. He always does. And if I could say anything? I wouldn't. Because he already knows what I want to say. And I know he won't let me say it, because in the end, it'll be worse than any goodbye that we've ever spoken to each other.