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The astral plain

That’s right: plain. Vanilla. Honestly, it’s worse than that. It’s fucking boring. We angels trod along these celestial spheres, and everyone pretends to be happy, but all I can think about is Sisyphus. Worse, I suspect most of my fellow dipshits actually are happy! Can you imagine?

To review: a) you die; b) you’re abruptly dropped into what feels like the inside of an enormous clock, landing atop a linear sphere, multitudes more of which are in the sky, all rotating in harmony; c) you meet your peers on the same “plane” as you, and they inform you that this is pretty much your existence until you get magically transported to another “plane”; d) that’s fucking it! That’s the afterlife!

We just shuffle around killing time all day without anything to discuss, not even the weather. There is no weather! And even if there was, we have no sense of touch here, so we cannot feel cold or warmth or rain or even another’s embrace. Not that I’m complaining about the last one, because I certainly don’t want to hug any of these goddamned fools, but still. It’s weird how you miss the weather, even the shitty stuff.

But there’s no escape. Believe me, I’ve walked in every conceivable direction on this damn orb and you always arrive back at the same spot. I could barely even tell the difference in the routes, because every peer I encountered was such a fucking snooze that they’re all basically clones of mannequins. These idiots only stare into the sky, hypnotized by idea of transferring to the next sphere, when it’s obvious that those worlds are no different from the one we stand upon.

So I walk. I walk and walk and walk. I talk to the dumbasses around me wherever I go, hoping someone will exhibit some level of cognition, but it never pans out. Maybe someday, but I can’t rely on it. I just keep walking. Fucking Sisyphus, man.

Categories: death
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