Norbert hadn’t realized he’d died. He got up in the morning totally oblivious to the fact that he had died in his sleep. He made breakfast. He made plans for the day. He even made his bed! In fact he hadn’t made his bed he just thought that he’d made his bed.
It wasn’t until several days went by that he realized no one had any perception of his presence. Everything in Norbert’s existence was simply his imagination. For example, he saw them sell his car, but he still drove it to town. It seemed like he was travelling in his car, but he wasn’t.
The only difference at first was that life would have no end. Fear of death had gone. Immortality reigned. Life had the same pains and joys, the same ups and downs. And then he began to have nightmares. He began to wonder if he was in hell. He began to believe he was in hell. The plummet into hell was a slow and deceitful process. It got worse as the years went by. It became horrific. He began to scream “Let me out! Let me out!” There was no escape.
He’s still there.
Honk if you believe in hell!
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I would honk but I’m not a goose!
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That is Sartre and Kafka rolled into one.
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Thanks! That’s a compliment indeed!! If I ever had to choose my name, I would choose Thorkell Kafka!
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Agree with Uma. I too thought of poor Gregor. Everything is in our heads, folks, and we just refuse to be happy where we are. What a sad story.
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Thanks. Yes, it is a sad story…
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