From Death Onward

Prompt: Every soul is bound to the location their body is buried. Crypts have turned into nightclubs. Cemeteries have become more like Woodstock. You, however, were cremated.

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You sigh as you hear the thumping bass beneath your feet in the catacombs below. If only you could join the other Dead in their eternal party, with the flashing lights and the centuries of good music. Even ghosting around with the acoustic-guitar-twanging free spirits would be a change of pace – something new, just once. But then the body on the cremating table catches fire, and a small bubble of happy warmth grows inside you as someone passes you a bag of marshmallows. Truth be told, you never get tired of the crematorium’s New Dead welcoming ceremony.