“You, know, you talk too much.” George thought.
He was staring at his friend, Sean.
George couldn’t move any of his limbs, didn’t seem to feel anything physical at all.
Hell, George couldn’t even blink.
Long story short, George was dead and Sean was sorry.
Sean sat next to George’s dead, white corpse, sobbing and confessing to thousands upon thousand of things that George didn’t give a shit about.
He had passed on, or rather, was passing on. For some inexplicable reason, George’s soul never seemed to leave his body. So George’s conscience was alive and well. The same couldn’t be said for the body.
“This must be purgatory,” he thought, “What did I do to deserve this?”
Sean confessed to things that George never even knew happened.
George really just wanted Sean to shut up. He chuckled to himself thinking how humorous it would be for his dead body to just reach up and grab Sean, screaming, “SHUT UP, YOU PRICK!”, just to fall back, dead.
But, he just laid there, wondering when this Hell would be over.