A two paragraph narrative of one who doesn’t cross over after death.
| The darkness around me held a thickness. I can’t quite describe it, but the air was incredibly thick. It was hard to believe. I probably only had three inches to my left and three inches to my right; maybe six inches of head room and six inches for my feet. I know that I couldn't have moved, because I felt the smooth silk fabric touching my nose.|
I was in a casket. I didn't know the time of day or if I was buried or not. For all I knew it was still the service. I thought it funny that the preacher was preparing me for my passage and I had not yet reached the great boat. I could see it in the distance though, the great boat of death, that is. I was timid and didn't want to cross the large field covered with strange miniature volcanoes like those you see on the deep ocean floor. I don't know why I waited, for now I decay in this box. On a stand or in the ground, I am not sure. All I know is that the pain is gone. And this, my friends, is a joyous decay.