I have no idea what made me special from everyone else. Perhaps I was the only one who was truly sapient in my universe. Perhaps it was a gift from God Himself.
I remember little from my life as a human. My place of birth suggests an involvement in Catholicism during my living years, but it gets rather hard to remember after such time. My father died before my mom did; when or how they did is a mystery. I had three children, two of whom attended my funeral. I remember dying after an explosion, but can't quite remember where.
I first realized I died when I woke up to a room of sad people. It was odd knowing you were dead, because I felt perfectly awake and nothing else. I didn't hear or see them crying, yet at the same time it was perfectly clear. I tried to reassure them, but I couldn't.
The first year was the worst, especially since my family decided to have me buried. I wanted to scream at them during the funeral, to insist they stop, to pull me out it, anything; but of course, there's not much you can do inside your own corpse.
It was probably a few hundred years I laid underground with my body, with nothing to do but think. The first few decades were as you'd expect from having nothing to do but think for several decades; that is, think for several decades. I thought of everything, first my fate, then the fate of others, then the fate of my family, then things not related to fate, like books I read and movies I watched and food I ate and how I'd never do anything of that sort again, then I thought of the fate of Earth, than that of the universe, then that of God, then bees for some reason, then math, science, history, jokes I thought up, how one could only think about seven things at once, how one would think of eight at once, then marshmallows, Dali, phones, the color green, hats, cats, rats, and bats, all at once. Then I thought about what I just did, and asked myself if I could think of nine things at once, which I then did. That quickly progressed into ten, then eleven, then twelve, then more, but I got bored of that around sixty-two, so I stopped.
A whole new world of thought came to me. A disproved a thousand theorems, then quickly disproved the theorems that disproved them, while simultaneously proving them. I proved the existence of my mind without using any words or numbers starting with "T" or "4", then did so only using those words and numbers. I recited in my mind the eight inaugural speeches of the last eight presidents of the United States who served before my death simultaneously. For the first time in years I was happy to think, so happy I almost ignored the little voice coming from several feet to my right which wasn't a voice at all.
We spoke for a while without really talking, though he was a bit hard of "hearing" and hard of accepting our existences. He told me his name, his age, his age minus how long he'd been laying there, how scared he was thinking whether or not God would deem him worthy for Heaven, his former job, his views on whether or not the author of that one book series about those undead people was a hack, how weird it was talking to me, and many other things I don't quite remember. I talked and talked and talked without talking, eventually hearing another voice to my left, which I talked to at the same time, then more voices, then more and more, learning new things and making new friends from around the world within the confines of a wooden box fit for one.
The dead people were very interesting, if I must say. Mummified people always had the cheeriest echo in their voice which they didn't have, yet your throat which you didn't have would feel dry if you talked to them for too long. The cremated bunch were always the saddest ones, but you could smell the amazing not-barbecue while not smelling it. There were also the weird "five" people who would make your not-head hurt if you spoke too long to them or thought too hard about what they said without being able to think about one thousand two hundred eighty-five things at once. It once got so bad I had to climb out of my body and get out of my grave.
It was then I was really weirded out, so I stopped talking to the others and looked around the graveyard. If I remember correctly there was a bit more dirt and graves than I remembered, but otherwise the same as it had been. I think I scared a few people coming up, or maybe that was a trick of seeing the sun for the first time in several hundred years.
My time as a ghost wasn't so bad, I guess. There were plenty of people to talk to, ghost, dead, or otherwise, but I had grown tired of the second and didn't do well around the third given the prevailing dread surrounding others of my type.
Oh, hi. Haven't seen many humans around here recently. Not since that Peter fellow.
Me? I'm a native, at least as much as a one can be outside a universe.
Yes, I know. You aren't the first to stumble into here, and you certainly wont be the last. Yes, many have come before you, although "before" isn't a very accurate term considering our current location. No, you aren't trapped here. The door's over there.
You again? Didn't think we'd meet up so soon. What brings you back?
I mean, I guess you could do that. I couldn't stop you, unless you're from the reality where I do stop you, in which case I'd have to stop you. I guess that's up to me to decide, considering the relation between here and your reality.
Hold up, you mean you came here without knowledge of the intricate workings of existence? How'd you get here in the first place?
Huh, that's interesting.
Cecil, what the fuck?