“I’m dead.”

The mirror said nothing back but my face began melting slightly. This could be the weed,  I thought.

“No, this is purgatory.”

I was quite certain this was purgatory. My face slid outside of view, gray and drooping. Rearranging itself like that,  I tendentiously began my plight to prove I was in on it too. My phone sat on the dresser but soon you would hear from me and soon I would convince you of my death. My face melted like that and I watched it for minutes, ten at the least. In theory, ten minutes is nothing. Try it. Watch your face for ten minutes. In retrospect, everything is devastating. As a series of events, life is here to corrupt and kill you.

“This is purgatory,” I repeated to the mirror.

And then the laughter. It was the laughter that should have given it away.

“Yes, I am really dead.”

Prove it, Cat. Jump off the bridge, Cat.

“Yes.”

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