The Boredom of Being
I remember the first time I realized I was dead. It wasn't the light or the tunnel; it was the dust. I spent the first decade of my afterlife watching dust settle on a small, cluttered attic in Brooklyn. Being a ghost is, above all else, an exercise in profound boredom. You can't eat, you can't sleep, and you certainly can't have a conversation with anyone who isn't currently screaming in...
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