The Life Exchange Program

My eyes flung open, and I looked around at the unfamiliar environment. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, and the harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Wait… a waiting room? My heart raced as I took in the stark white walls and rows of plastic chairs. I glanced to my right; a woman sat there, her brow furrowed in confusion, mirroring my own thoughts. Where the hell am I? Is this what being dead looks like?

“Royalty Prince,” a voice called, slicing through my chaotic thoughts. I winced at the sound of my name and turned toward the source. A lady sat behind a reception table, her expression neutral yet expectant. “Is that you?” she asked.

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.

“Your next,” she stated simply, her tone flat.

Next for what? My mind raced as I stood up, hesitantly following her pointed finger to a room just across from her desk. The door loomed before me, and with a deep breath, I pushed it open.

Inside was an even stranger sight: everything was white—the walls, the office table, the chair, even the couch looked as if it had never seen another color. Who designs an office like this? A chill ran down my spine as I stepped further inside.

“Please have a seat, Mister Prince,” came a voice from behind me.

I spun around to find a middle-aged man dressed entirely in white, looking at me with an expression that was both serious and oddly comforting.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to sound brave but failing miserably.

“Please just have a seat so we can talk,” he replied softly, gesturing toward the white couch by the window. Reluctantly, I walked over and sat down while he took his place behind the desk.

He picked up a file that lay open in front of him and cleared his throat. “Royalty Prince, 22 years old… cause of death: overdose on antidepressants—suicide.” He looked at me intently. “Is that true?”

I gulped hard, struggling to process his words while trying not to panic. “Ye-Yes it is, but wh-what’s going on? Ho-How do you know that? Aren’t I supposed to be—you know—dead?”

He nodded solemnly. “Well yes, you are supposed to be dead—actually, you’re not fully alive; you’re in the waiting room.”

“What?” My mind raced as confusion washed over me again.

“The waiting room, it's like a space inbetween life and death,” he repeated patiently.

“But why?” My voice trembled with anxiety.

“Because you committed suicide,” he explained gently. “You see, mister Prince, suicide cases around the world are becoming alarmingly common. So we up here decided to create what we call the Life Exchange Program.”

“The what?” My brows knitted together in disbelief.

“The Life Exchange Program,” he reiterated slowly as if explaining it to a child. “This program is specifically for suicide cases like yours. We exchange the lives of two people who have committed suicide; they both live each other’s lives for two years. If by the end of that time they choose to embrace their new life, they are allowed to keep it.”

I felt my heart drop into my stomach as I absorbed his words. “But what if they don’t want to?”

He sighed heavily. “Then they choose death over life; they will actually die.”

“So that’s what I’m going to do?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Yes.” He picked up another file from his desk and opened it with deliberate care.

“We’ve already found someone for you to exchange lives with; you both committed suicide at exactly the same time.” He stood up and walked over to me, handing me the file.

“Oliver Hicks,” I read aloud from the cover page. The name sounded oddly familiar but slipped away before I could grasp it fully.

“So will you do it?” he asked again, his gaze steady.

“But won’t people who know him realize something’s off? They’ll know it’s not really him!” Panic began bubbling inside me again.

He shook his head calmly. “No, you’ll have his life—his memories, not all—but you will still use your own name and face. The memories of those who knew him will adapt; they will only see your face and your name in their recollections.”

“To guide you through this process,” he added as another figure entered the room—a little robot hovering just above the ground. It didn’t look like any robot I had ever seen; its features were soft and human-like.

“Hello! I’m Leon!” it said cheerfully with an animated smile.

“Hey,” I replied weakly, still grappling with how surreal this all felt.

“He’ll be your personal guide—a friend who will help you navigate your new life,” explained the man in white.

“So this Oliver Hicks is going to be me?” I asked hesitantly.

“That’s right.” He leaned back slightly in his chair as if gauging my reaction.

“But if Oliver committed suicide too… how can I be sure his life wasn’t just as miserable as mine?” Doubts flooded my mind like water filling a sinking ship.

The man sighed again but didn’t rush me. “That’s true; we can’t guarantee anything about his life or experiences. But think about it: isn’t there any part of you that wants to try? You’ve already chosen death once.”

I looked down at the file in my hands—my heart heavy with uncertainty yet strangely lightened by curiosity at what lay ahead. If there was even a glimmer of hope that Oliver’s life could be different from mine… perhaps it was worth trying?

After a long pause filled with swirling thoughts and emotions, I looked back up at him with newfound determination shining in my eyes. “I’ll do it.”

A smile broke across his face like dawn breaking after a long night. He immediately took back the file from me and nodded approvingly. “Good! Now hold on.”

“What do you mean—” Before I could finish my sentence, he snapped his fingers sharply.

In an instant, it felt like every breath in my lungs was violently ripped away from me; everything around me faded into darkness until there was nothing left but blankness enveloping my senses…

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