Here's the outline of a recurring idea for a short fictional piece that keeps running (more like jogging) through msnowe's head:
A person observes a wake and funeral. They can only hear what's going on--no sight. Also, they are dead. Pretty run-of-the-mill idea, wanting to be present for your funeral and hearing what people have to say. However, in msnowe's story, the dead listener would not realize it's their funeral, at least not at first. The overheard observations and stories and shared experiences relayed about the dead person would be so divergent from what the deceased thought of herself/himself that it would be an extreme blow to realize that in point of fact--your life was completely different from what you intended, and what you thought it was. In other words, not only is mortality beyond our control, but practically everything in life is like a small representation of death's beautiful dominion--we are, essentially everything we think we are, while at the same time completely nothing--a blank slate others need to write upon. We are nothing until we are defined by everything around us. It's the same argument as our concept of the world--we have one view of what it is like to live right now, in America or wherever else, but that view dies with each of us, and so there are some collective things agreed upon, but none of it exists outside our conceptions. The world without us would assuredly be here, but it would not have a name. And it surely wouldn't care anyways.
Perhaps msnowe and others would have a better go of it if they just accepted a little more death in their lives.