A random scenę, perhaps from the afterlife.
+ + + + +
He had a fuzzy feeling, the kind you have when you’ve just awakened from a vivid dream and don’t remember any of it.
“What am I doing here?” he said, then noticed he wasn’t alone. “Who are you?”
“I am the dispatcher on call,” said the other man, who seemed friendly at least. “You’ve been dispatched.”
“Wait, you mean like dispatched? as in I’m dead?”
“You could put it that way.”
“Well, how would you put it?” the dead man said indignantly.
“Just the way I did — you’ve been dispatched.”
“Well, patch me back up or something! This is inconceivable!”
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re dead.”
“Was that so hard to say?”
“It’s just not the way I’d say it normally,” said the dispatcher.
+ + + + +
I’m afraid that’s all I found in my notes. I’ll have to tuck this away for a day when the rest of the story strikes my fancy. Sorry about that.
