Another dusk came as he laid in his coffin, dreaming: a nightmare that he once lived but failed to breathe. He loved no one. He didn't know how. He never cared to. Didn't learn love as a kid. And so, no one loved him. How could they? He lived too busy in sin to be in love or loved. Now, forever in death, he lie restless full of hate, stuck in the earth, wondering if he were in heaven or hell, rotting and rotting as Death became him. Death was him. A dirty soul. His fate was now the meat of worms.
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