Bweh

I had died, my body laid to rest in a fine wooden casket. After a quint funeral, they closed my lid and lowered me down into the hole I'd call my eternal rest, buried in six feet of dirt and pebbles, marked with a chiseled stone semi-circle with my name destined to fade away. It was peaceful in the abyss, but abruptly my tranquility was interrupted as I heard a choir of jokes, each funnier than the last, seemingly from no where in particular. I chuckled at first, kicked my legs a bit, but as the jokes ramped up in their humorous qualities my reactions got more extreme. Soon my muscles ached and spasmed, my lungs choked on the air they couldn't find, my eyes rolled around their sockets until the tendons detached, and my body was bruised from hitting the walls of my chamber repeatedly. My frantic movements and kicks weakened the interior walls, letting the rot seep in early; worms and beetles of all creepy crawly manor inched into my tomb, with the mushrooms in the dirt following suit and laying claim to my lower torso. As weeks past, I still couldn't stop laughing, my bones cracking as I slammed them against my casket over and over again, my body ached beyond anything describable. Muscles I no longer had burned with pains I had never lived, my cheeks were so sore my nonexistent face had gone numb, and my missing lungs still reached for the air as they choked. My body burned, and as my silent cackles and crumbling rattles continued, I came to the realization that this was hell. Not what they had pictured on the brochure, but still, it was absolutely, positively, hell.