It hadn’t always been that way, of course, but the longer Jason thought about it the harder it became to remember a time when he truly felt alive. Eventually, he resigned himself to the sad notion that he must have, in fact, been dead in one way or another for some time now.

So, Jason sighed, this is what death is like? Man, a whole lot of peolple are going to be disappointed.

“Quite, I’m afraid…” A cold, clipped British accent. Jason jumped at the sound. “Although one chap did seem to take a certain perverse pleasure in it. Author. Yank, like you. Wrote about electric sheep or somesuch.”

“Wait…” Jason’s voice sounded alien to his own ears. The that fact that it didn’t seem to be coming from his mouth certainly wasn’t helping. “If we’re talking, how can I be…” his not-voice trailed off.

“Dead? Oh yes, very much so, sorry to say.”

The cube started to spin, this was too much. “Who are you, anyways?” Jason finally stammered, “God? Angel of Death? Ghost of Christmas Past?”

“Well…”