"MUY BONITA," she replied with a smile to the older lady that sat beside her. Occasionally, the light would hit them in an odd way where it looked as if they were glitching out. The glitching out didn't bother her as much as it should have, so she ignored it. To keep her smiling, that was the important thing here.

"Gracias, Círa," she told her with a pat to her arm.

Círa smiled in kind and took a sip of her coffee. The silence that settled was comfortable. Suddenly, the elderly woman exclaimed, "¡Mira, Círa! ¡Mira, es mi hijo!"

The young woman glanced up as a tall man with tanned skin waved. He motioned quickly with his hands. The younger of the two women thought that it meant something like "Come on" or "Let's go" but felt rude intruding. The older lady hopped to her feet and shuffled toward him. "Hasta luego, niña."

As the older woman waved goodbye, Círa's eyes widened slightly when the two disappeared right in front of her.

They glitched.

Still, it wasn't enough for her to question. The bright blue and neon lavender were pretty. Círa felt no pain as she watched her hands quickly pull apart in pixels and colors before coming back together. Her curiosity begged to know why it happened, but the warmth of the sun shining through the skylight paused the question.

What did it matter?

"I must be dreaming," she muttered as she stood up. She stretched, the tightness in her back probably due to the chairs, and began walking. If you asked her, the brunette couldn't tell you where she was going.

She needed to move around.

This place left her feeling slightly lethargic.

In the quietness of the lounge area, the sound of a train's horn ripped her from the tranquility. That's where she would go.

THE FARTHER SHE WENT, the creepier it got. Her glitch slowly increased in frequency. She was sure she passed the same Nos Bara restaurant at least twice now, if not more. The lounge area felt odder than it was before. A few more restaurants opened their doors. Kiosks popped up too. They weren't there when she sat with Marci, the older lady.

The warmth never died.

Her body never acclimated to it.

The glitching still didn't hurt.

Something about all of this felt off.

When Círa noticed that the plants changed, she walked in a circle a fourth time. She dubbed this point "the Center" because she half-drank her coffee, and creativity failed her. Her reasoning for it was sound, though.

The brunette took a turn down a new hall. The gold and cream striped walls branched from the left corner of the Center. It originally contained a fir tree in its planter, but it changed into a large palm tree as the corridor opened. Círa blinked a few times when it happened right in front of her.

Suddenly, a voice filled the air. "Incoming passengers from the Florida Keys, the Caribbean, Egypt, and the Pacific Islands. Please wait a moment for the adjustments." It reminded her of those voices in British television shows that reminded passengers to "mind the gap" or something like that. Cold, too polite to not be a script, and why was it always a girl-sounding voice?

She looked in awe at the wave of people that flowed out from the new corridor. "Please wait here and enjoy some fine dining. Your Reapers will be with you shortly. Also, don't mind the glitch."

But Círa never came through a hall with a bunch of people. She would've remembered the pushing and shoving and cursing quite a few people off in Spanish and Italian. She knew herself. She knew if an opportunity to yell "¡Carajo!" or "Fangul" ever presented itself, nine out of ten times, she'd take it. Not out of vulgarity or lack of vocabulary, Círa knew too many words. She got going and never stopped. The problem of being put on the spot with all the words running a mile a minute and—thud!

Next thing she knew—splash! The coffee spilled all over.

"Sorry, miss. I'll buy you a new one," someone told her. It sounded monotone with only a hint of regret. It was deeper than hers but still calming. Enough to intrigue her, yes, if she was in any other situation. This time, she wasn't even looking at the voice's owner. Instead, her eyes bugged out of their sockets at the coffee vanishing right before her.

"¡Carajo! What the hell just happened?" Then Círa caught the glitch out of the corner of her eye. Her body seemed to be pulling itself further apart. The pixels lasted longer before they disappeared in the air. "And why the fuck am I glitching out?"

Her eyes attempted a poor excuse for a glare. The sudden fear and rage drowned with warm light and soothing waltzes that played over the speaker. "No! No! No! Stop, right now! Why am I suddenly so calm? I know I'm not calm," she began with flailing arms and multiple accidental backhands. "But it feels like the emotions are under sedation for some reason! I am glitching out! Coffee disappeared right before my eyes! And, not to mention, this labyrinth of wherever-I-am refuses to let me go further than here! What the fuck is happening?"

"I GUESS YOU DON'T KNOW," the man told her as he handed her a new cup of coffee. He was taller than her by a foot, roughly. He had a head of messy black hair too. He could be about her age. However, his skin seemed to be cared for so well that he could be older.

"Nope. I remember a dog, closing my eyes, then I ended up here," Círa answered after taking a sip of her coffee.

"Well," the man—or would it be "the guy"? Technically, he looked to be only slightly older than her, so mid-to-late twenties wasn't a man yet, was it?—said while running a hand through his hair. He's done that quite a bit since he met up with Círa. She noticed that it was a tick if his facial expression was anything to go by, but it didn't explain what was causing it. "I guess I should rip off the band-aid then, huh?"

Rip off a band-aid? What ban—

"You're Almost-Dead. It's different than Dead-Dead, but if you got this far into the Station, then you're a lot closer than you should be." He took a deep breath and returned to a more blase manner. The rigidness left his posture, and, almost immediately, he looked despondent. He controlled everything about his voice with the following few sentences. From his tone to his inflection, every word felt measured and rehearsed. "However, when you are Almost-Dead, you do have a choice. Either I take you to the ticket booth, and we send you to your afterlife, or you have the choice to live at a cost."

"Cost? What cost?" She asked with her voice rising in pitch.

"You become like me and—"

The young woman found herself speaking before even a single fully-formed thought crossed her mind. "I'll do it. Whatever it is, I'll do it!" She exclaimed. Her voice still rose in pitch. Her words tumbled out. "I'm only twenty-four! I haven't lived because of an education I worked my ass off for! All I've done is work and school and—¡carajo!" She paced around now. Her hands rhythmically pulled her hair up into a ponytail and took it down.

Her heart pounded rapidly against her ribcage. "I'm still young! I haven't seen Italy, Cuba, Greece, Japan—I haven't left my small slice of the country at all! I'm supposed to have until I'm at least ninety before I die, and now y-you're expecting met-to die without even living? Fuck no! Hell, I have no clue who the fuck you are! Who are you even to tell me the options I have in my own life?" She couldn't tell if she was anxious, angry, or sobbing.

Her emotions registered as slightly more potent than they have been. Fire pulsed through her veins. Spanish and Italian curses primed themselves at the tip of her tongue. Cold tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt the sudden urge to grab a tissue.

The guy only let the right side of his mouth quirk up in surprise. He held out a hand. "My name's Saito," he said with some warmth coming back to his voice.

Círa took his hand hesitantly. She shook it as firm as she could and replied with, "Inga. Círa Inga. I like my coffee whipped, not stirred."

Her sight began to lose focus as he laughed deeply.

Everything turned black.

THE HOSPITAL ROOM BLINDED HER. Any room that was all stark whites and florescent lights never worked well with regaining sight. Círa struggled to lift her head, but it felt too heavy. She dropped back onto the pillow right then and there.

She smelt bleach.

It assaulted her nose and caused minor pain to form in her temples.

"I guess it was just a dream." It was the only thing said as she drifted off to sleep once more.