Harry Crimson was sleeping peacefully in bed, dreaming.  The warm sun kissed sand underneath of a coconut tree,  crystal clear waters rushing up and tickling his toes, birds flying and steel drums chinking away in the distance...

BEEP BEEP BEEP! 

Harry looked up as his dreams broke over his plain white ceiling, crashing against the rocky shores of reality.  

Lisa, Harry's beau stormed in through the doorway, hair straightener in hand. She was sporting a tight black dress--considering the event.  

Lisa was usually a pretty big bitch.  She had her good moments, but that's not why Harry stayed with her.  Harry liked Lisa because she was the center of her own universe.  This meant less questions for Harry.  He liked that.  Plus she knew her way around a twin post bed, and the shower, and the hall, and...  

But today she was snappier than usual. "Harry, get up!"  

Harry hated being woken up unnaturally.   Alarm clocks, phones, people yelling at him all were his enemies.  The only one who Harry didn't mind being awoken by was the sun, and even that irked him sometimes.  He crunched his face and stretched his arms toward the heavens, or whatever.  "Mmph, what for?"  

Lisa crossed her arms and tilted her hips, as if to signify impatience.  "Are you being serious?"  Harry closed his eyes.  

"Why can't I remember anything?"

Harry sat up and pretended to be half asleep.  He muttered some nonsense and laid back down.  This was Harry's patented move.  Ever since he was little, Harry could never remember what had happened the day before.  In order to keep up with the events of his life he kept a journal.  So whenever he was being rushed out of bed, he would act like he was utterly confused.  I mean he was confused, but he had to act like he was confused because he was sleepy.  Not because he was actually confused.  It was all very confusing.  Harry reopened his eyes.

Lisa threw a suit on the bed.  "Hurry up!  The pallbearers have to be a half hour early.

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I swear it's the weirdest thing.  I've imagined my own funeral before but I never thought it would be like this.  Actually seeing peoples faces?  It's a trip.  Looking through the crowd, I can tell who gave a **** about me and who didn't.  It's all right there.  Right there in their faces.

I read a story once.   I think it was in the Bible or something.  Or the Koran, I forget.   One of those old ones.  It was about two sculptors.  One used rock and one used clay.  They decided to have a showdown.  The day before the contest came and everyone thought that the guy with the clay was sure to win.  His was already painted and pretty, and the rock guy's was still all gnarled and ugly.  That night before the contest there was a terrible storm.  It tore throughout village all night.  The next day was sunny, clear, and beautiful, despite the wreckage.  

Standing in the middle of the now roofless town square was the table that the contest was being held on.   That ugly stone statue was still standing, undisturbed by the wind.  The pretty clay one was obliterated.  I hope I made a rock one.  I hoped I chiseled out a solid place in the world.  Why, you ask?   

Because being dead sucks.  Your life doesn't just flash before your eyes and then done.  It flashes right before you die and then keeps flashing forever.  Anyway you've affected the world stays with you.  You see all of your decisions play out to effect the great order of everything.  It's nuts.  I gotta get back there.  I gotta fix it.  At least help Harry.