My idea. John's Fault. Matt and Trey's show and characters. Option to review: yours, and I'd appreciate it
Craig likes things boring. Routine is good. It's safe, secure. A frame of reference to how things should be. If he could, he'd have every day follow the same timetable.
Lizzy never agreed. She always wanted to do things differently. What was the fun, she said, of knowing that the same donut-punchers were going to try and fuck you over every day of your life? Life was better, she said, if you never knew what was coming.
She didn't know death was coming. She didn't know that playing chicken in the middle of the road would spell disaster. She didn't know that in her last moment she'd be doing the thing she hated most: being afraid.
Craig wanders through the graveyard. It's a nice, boring place. Quiet, conventional, except of course, for the McCormick corner of the cemetery, where all but one grave has been dug up from underneath, and post-it notes left on the headstones telling Kenny to swing by the grocery store and get some bread when he gets back. Craig stands by the single occupied grave. He doesn't cry. For a minute or so he doesn't even breathe. He glances up at his watch. 23: 57. He stands still, and doesn't blink. As the faraway clock begins to strike the hour, there's a thud from beneath his feet. He stands back, and watches, arms crossed, as the hand, with chipped black and pink nail polish reaches out from the earth, grabs hold of his ankle and pulls its owner up.
Lizzy stands up, dusts herself off, and scowls at Craig,
"Did you bring them?"
He nods, curtly, and hands over the possessions she left with him. Cell phone, skull earrings, parka.
"So what was it like? Dying?"
"Boring. You'd probably like it."
