My name is Daniel. I was giving my last breath. Lying on a stretcher in a crowded public hospital—one not suited for the disease that was consuming me—I felt my body weaken. Truthfully, I was already tired, yet I do not know why I managed to survive for so long.
My family is deeply devoted to God—the God of the Christians, if we must be specific. They prayed endlessly, believing a miracle might come. But I knew. I had lived with this illness for years.
On this stretcher, I suddenly felt my body becoming light. The pain that had chained me for so long began to fade, little by little. My consciousness blurred like fog over a mirror. The sharp smell of chemicals used for cleaning and disinfection also disappeared. For all its shortcomings, this hospital at least followed the minimum protocols of hygiene, though it had never been enough to heal me.
Then came the sound.The patient monitor began to beep erratically. A thin, continuous tone followed. My death had arrived.
Oddly, I was not afraid. I had lived with death since I was ten years old—the day they told me I had lung cancer. For eight years, every morning was a reminder that I could die at any moment.
"Ha…" I sighed, though it felt more like a thought than a breath. My body no longer obeyed me.
The door opened. I heard hurried steps. Doctors and nurses entered the room, the same ones who had cared for me for years. I wanted to thank them. Despite the odds stacked against me, they had extended my life far beyond expectation. It was, in its way, a miracle.
What I regretted most was not being able to help my family. They had sacrificed everything for me. If there truly was a God, I wanted to tell Him: You are cruel and indifferent. I cannot understand how people can pray to someone they do not know, someone who ignores them.
The sound of the monitor flattened into silence.
I could no longer hear anything. I could no longer see. My body was numb, my senses gone.
Darkness. Infinite darkness.
And yet, I did not feel afraid. If eternal night awaited me, then so be it. If there were a God who judged good and evil, what could He say of me? Was I good? Bad? I had made mistakes, but I had also done my best. Perhaps that was enough.
At least I had my family. For that, I was thankful. I had never questioned God before, but in these final moments, it did not matter. He had ignored me anyway. My family's devotion had saved no one. I died with regret, but not with fear—only with uncertainty.
On July 20, 2050, in a country where public health had long since failed its people, an eighteen-year-old patient lost his life after fighting cancer for eight years. A small obituary might read: Condolences to his family and friends. May this serve as a reminder that the health system must improve.
And then—
I felt as if I were floating.
Seconds passed. I expected nothing, yet something emerged, something beyond words.
A light.
No, more than a light. A ball of brilliance, brighter than the sun itself, so radiant that my eyes could not comprehend it. I could not see past its glow.
My first thought was foolish: a giant lightbulb.
Ball of Light: "I can read your thoughts, Daniel. And no, I am not a lightbulb. I am what your race calls God. But it is more accurate to call me the administrator of this planet. I have watched over it for more than a billion years."
Daniel: "So this glowing ball, this… lightbulb, is a god? Then tell me—what is a god? And what kind of god are you?"
God: "I already told you. By your race's definitions, I am a god. But in truth, I am also an administrator of this world. I am not one of the gods your people worship. Those beings—yes, they once interfered. They pretended to be sons of God, just to control humanity. That is now forbidden. In your understanding, gods are omnipotent and omnipresent. But I am not that. I am the result of universal laws, shaped over millions of years. A manager, if you will."
Daniel: "So… the universe is like a company, and you're the manager here. Did you bring me here because I insulted you?"
God: "No. I am tolerant. I ignore curses against me; you are far from the first. I only intervene when people commit great evil in ethical or moral terms. Such people I condemn to reincarnate as animals—uncivilized races with no memory of their former lives. The good are rewarded: they reincarnate among civilized races, free to choose their own destinies. But people like you, you lived a short life, did little harm, but also little good. For such souls, I offer a choice. I speak to them and allow them to face their fate. That is why I created the roulette."
Daniel: "Roulette? You mean… a game?"
God: "A wheel of destiny. Spin it, and it will decide. It may grant wishes. It may assign you to a new world, civilized or uncivilized. I swore never to interfere with its outcome. Your fate will be yours alone."
Daniel: "That sounds… suspicious. Like you're playing with me."
God: "No. I made an oath to never intervene in the roulette after I created it. Your choice is yours. If you don't wish to spin, I can simply send you to reincarnate without memory. But if you dare, you may gain something more."
Daniel thought in silence.
If I'm wrong, what does it matter? I will lose nothing. If I spin, maybe I gain something. Even if I die again, I won't remember this moment. But there's a chance. A chance to live again… with power, with purpose.
Daniel: "God, I'll trust this roulette. Show me."
God: "Very well. Listen carefully. On the wheel, most options are empty—no reward. But a few hold destinies: the worst is reincarnation among uncivilized beasts; the best, three wishes to reshape your future. Spin, and accept your fate."
Daniel stood. His legs trembled, but his determination grew.
Daniel: "Let's do this."
Before him, the roulette appeared. A great, golden wheel, shining with symbols he could not understand. It spun with endless possibilities, each outcome a new life.
He placed his hand upon it.
The wheel spun. Faster, faster, until the symbols blurred together. Daniel's heart pounded. Without realizing it, he whispered a prayer to the very being who stood beside him.
God twitched, almost laughing. "How ironic. Even those who curse the gods will pray when faced with fate." But He kept His vow: He did not interfere.
The wheel slowed. Slowly, carefully, the golden symbols clicked past one another.
It was almost time.
God: "Well, Daniel. Come. Sit. And receive your reward."