Are my words ever actually audible, or do they just echo in my head while people stare at me, waiting?

What I'm saying is, when you have weight like that in your life, you have to start looking for the bigger picture or you are gonna sink.

Is this muteness a real physical handicap? One of the many symptoms of being Dead?Or do we just have nothing left to say?

What's wrong with people?" she says, almost too quiet for me to hear. "Were they born with parts missing or did it fall out somewhere along the way?

I adapt to things quickly, including good things, which I wish I could shut off sometimes.

The shadows of the room pool in the lines of our faces, draining our eyes of hue. "There's nothing left worth saying.

Now I’m just standing here on the conveyor. Along for the ride. I reach the end, turn around, and go back the other way. The world has been distilled. Being dead is easy. After a few hours of this, I notice a female on the opposite conveyor. She doesn’t lurch or groan like most of us. Her head just lolls from side to side. I like that about her. That she doesn’t lurch or groan. I catch her eye and stare at her.