Ficlets

“I’m not really enjoying myself here,” said Carl.

“Oh, come on!” laughed Bernard. “Where’s your Joie De Vivre?”

“I’m dead.“

“Alright, your Joie De Mort, then.”

He didn’t need this. When he was alive, Carl had believed in Heaven. He believed in some form of eternal life after death, some wonderful reward for all of the unnecessary rubbish he’d had to put up with in life. He didn’t expect the unnecessary rubbish to join him. He’d lost count of how long he’d been stuck here with Bernard, but he was fairly confident it could be counted a) on both hands, and b) in Ice Ages.

“I’m just saying,” he just said, “That we’ve been doing this since Forever. Maybe it’s time for a little variation? Some change, perhaps? Something new, maybe?”

“Oh, come on.“

“No ‘Oh, come on.’ I’m done with ‘Oh, come on’ and I’m done with this. Alright?”

“Okay, okay,” Bernard conceded, reluctantly. “Can we at least finish this one?”

“Fine.”

“Alright then.” Bernald consulted the device once more, then said, “Left foot green.”