“I mean I was once a man, and now that I’ve died, the mourners will come. They will deliver a eulogy, all my friends will stand here and say I was a kind man, and that I lived a good life. And then they will cry that I am gone.” The corpse spoke softly, silently and the casket did not understand.

“Why would people cry over a corpse?”

“Well I wasn’t always a corpse. I was a person, once. I was a husband. Look, there’s my wife.”

“I can’t see. I’m a casket. You can’t see, either. You are a corpse,” the casket said.

“I can see. I’m here to see my funeral before I go to Heaven.” He watched the people mill about in their dark colors, holding each other, placing flowers, some crying.

“Corpses don’t go to Heaven. People go to Heaven. Corpses just rot.”

The corpse tried to fidget uncomfortably, but was immobile. His arms were crossed impeccably over his waist, and his shoes were laced tightly. He again spoke to the casket, as if it cared.

“I am on my way to Heaven.” He stated.

“Again, corpses do not go to Heaven. I’m just a casket and even I know that. If you were going to Heaven, why aren’t you there yet?”