Death... It seemed like everybody that was here had died. A few were rather taciturn about it, and the lady in the fancy dress even said she didn't remember what had happened, but from the awkward way she held herself, Zach assumed that she just didn't want to talk about it. That could've just been his bad habit of looking into things too deeply, though, and even if he was right, he could understand why she might've been uncomfortable. Some deaths could be rather... grisly, he imagined.

So, he was dead. Somehow, the thought hadn't quite registered with him, yet, but confronted with these people talking about how they died, well, he couldn't exactly ignore the fact, now. What was he gonna do...? Thinking about it, he hadn't really accomplished much while he was alive; he got good grades in school, but what the hell were grades compared to actually doing something with your life? There were so many things he could've done, and now he couldn't.

And then there was his brother. Yeah, his parents would probably be sad, too, but he was more worried about how this would affect little Omi. Zach didn't like to admit it to himself, but he was something of a role model to his little brother, and that wasn't just him looking into things too deeply. He could see the younger version of himself picking up certain habits from him everyday, like walking up to the fridge just to see what was inside and swearing like a sailor when playing online games (though it was thankfully still limited to things like 'fudge' - he really needed to cut back on the vulgar language...). It was bad enough seeing how disappointed Omi got when he had to tell him he was busy; how about now, when he was dead?

[i]"No,"[/i] he thought, silently berating himself, [i]"Just because I'm here now doesn't mean I can't go back."[/i]

Did it, though? Had he really died, or was he just in some sort of coma? He supposed he wouldn't find out by just standing here. However, as much as he wanted to run off and find some answers for himself, it was still probably best to stick with the group he found himself in, now, mostly because he had no idea what was out there. If castles here could float in the sky, who's to say there weren't things like dragons and stuff, as well? He looked up from his reverie as the round of introductions being made circled round to him, and he lightly cleared his throat as he began to speak.

"Zach. I got hit by a car," he said, simply, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible. There was a whole new world out there to explore, and nothing was gonna happen until they got this out of the way. Thinking on it, though, he probably should've been paying attention to their names... Whoops. He looked through the group, trying to at least give them some temporary nicknames so he could organize them in his head. 

[i]"Let's see... the lady who started this is Glasses. Then there's Vest guy, Dress lady, Professor..."[/i] he went on, his gaze wandering over to where two of their number had gone to examine the river.

[i]"There's Mr. Curious, over there... Let's call him George. Plus Blondie..."[/i]

This continued for while, with him labeling them by their most striking feature. Galaxy (for her radical shirt), Frenchie (at least, he believed it was french she was speaking), Asia (nothing else really came to mind). Good enough for now, he supposed; he didn't talk much, so he figured their names would come up before he had to speak with them, personally. Now, there was just this thing about being on some alien planet...

The first thing he noticed was that there really weren't all that many of them here. Even in the short amount of time they'd been here, if this was where everyone went when they died, then they'd be counting in the hundreds, at least. So maybe they weren't really dead, after all, or there were other places people went when they kicked the bucket. But then that brought up the question of how it was decided, whether by some higher power or random distribution... he decided not to think about it too hard, yet.

So then, what about their bodies? Were they real? He could feel the grass tickling between his toes (there was something weird about it, but he couldn't quite say what), so there was that. Did he still need to breath? To eat? He tried holding his breath for a minute or two, but once he felt the burning in his lungs, he concluded that yes, he still needed oxygen. Or, was it oxygen, here?

[i]"Overthinking things, again,"[/i] he berated himself, once more. There really wasn't any certain way he could tell if he was 'alive', he supposed; all things considered, him still being alive defied any sort of conventional logic he could come up with. Still, the curiosity burned within him. How did he know he was really dead?

...How did he know if he could ever go back? So many questions...