Come on already! Where’s my life-flashing thing? Where’s my revelation? Where’s my free hour? Where’s my phone call? Where’s my godsdamn cookie?
Come on already…
I, Stef Mimosa, damn well refuse to believe that this is all the afterlife consists of. I mean, what happens with all the boring people?
All the people who aren’t as strangely comfortable with talking to themselves, you mean?
I can accept that I’m dead, but, please…take the pause button off.
Take me to wherever I’m going next.
Don’t leave me here alone.
I’m sick of being alone.
Time, if it was time, if any of it was real, slipped by.
There was some passage of time, some recognition that there had been a “then” and that this was “now”. Whatever disembodied state this was, at least she wasn’t entirely dissociated from time.
Just mostly.
Counting was imprecise, and she’d failed to get to a million a dozen different times now.
It was just…endless.
For a moment, there was an impression of red, and then it was gone.