The skeletons were sinking in merriment. They spoke loudly and with voices droning to all outsiders, though there were none. One talked of an ear he’d lost before the flesh, another of her great hunting career. Their flesh was there too, by now the fog around them. It was all foggy with white and slow patches of them in it, and they were festive. With no mind, that was the closest they could get to sincerity, and they’d feel that too, if only they could. They told only stories, interrupted without shame, and did not mind, for their hearts and minds had become the fog around. They spoke and in their speeches, one told of how she’d been turned into her dead self. “My car broke,” she droned, “that man got out of his own car and pushed mine down the valley. I screamed and was pained and I came here.” No emotion could be sensed from the voices. A tale of no passion was droned out of every skull, with the fog outside. Another bunch of bones monotoned. “I pushed you. You were my friend, you betrayed and made me mad. And so I pushed. My revenge.” The female bunch replied, “I did not know you.” The skull nodded. “Then a mistake had been done.” And they droned on. After a time, a wind came around. The fog was gone, and the skeletons fell around, into the wet graves. God droned out, “Justice has been done. All life must be gone.” And so all life was gone.