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George felt...weird.

His mind felt muddled and his vision was blurred. He stood stick straight and awkwardly, feeling trapped in some random room. It was huge, empty, but obviously made to be some kind of party room.

Moving felt difficult, like walking through air made of honey. His fingertips tingled and his chest numbly ached.

As he looked around the room, lights were dim and flashy. Colors danced around, soaring across the walls in a swift, repetitive motion. 

Classical musical hummed through the room, so piercingly loud and driven with anxiety. It was a juxtaposition from the normal, calming, suave sounds of classical music. At the crescendo of the song, the height of the violin, things went dark.

Basked in darkness and earie silence, George felt cold chills trail down his spine. 

But in a flash, the lights and music resumed.

As George walked into the room, it had bloomed alive with people, dancing in ballgowns and fancy suits. In fact, as George looked down, he was wearing a suit that he didn't recall even putting on. 

The music was no longer the anxiety inducing classical sounds, it was more of a jazzy, light hearted song. 

"George! You're here!"

The second George whipped his head around, he was pulled into a dance. Hands gripped his shoulder and his waist, shoving them into an awkward, clumsy rhythm. George looked up to see who was forcing him into the dance, shocked.

"Eret? What?" George was perplexed, "Why are you here? What's going on? I'm so confused."

Eret swung him around, attempting to match the beat of the song. George yelped, unprepared for whatever the hell he was trying to do. 

"So glad you made it, George. We're all here to celebrate!" Eret grinned, taking a second to straighten his tie.

"Celebrate? What? Where are we?" George was thrown for a loop. Why couldn't he remember anything beyond this moment? His mind desperately grappled for some kind of context, but everything was too muddled and foggy to remember.

Eret smirked, forcing George into a clumsy spin, "Celebrate your death, of course!" 

George's eyes widened. Flashes, bits and pieces of his jumbled memories forcing their way back to him. "I'm dead?"

"Well, not yet, if you want to be technical about it," Eret shrugged, saying his words as if it were the most casual thing in the world, "But soon."

"That can't be right. I'm too young to die." George despaired, "Am I dreaming now, then? Is that what this stupid place is? A dream?"

"You could say that." Eret pursed his lips, as if he was deep in thought. George waited for some kind of elaboration, but Eret kept quiet.

"Well then how do I wake up?" George asked, trying to appear calm. Eret latched his hands on his arm, swinging him around, "And could you stop pushing me around?"

"You don't wake up from this, George. Don't be stupid." Eret chuckled as he swept his hands through his hair. He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Anger was beginning to bubble up inside George, threatening to burst out. Nothing was making sense. Why was Eret, of all people, in his dream? Sure they were friends, but they didn't really talk much out of streams. And why was George in some kind of ballroom? As he looked around, searching for answers, the room only blurred more in his deeply rooted confusion.

"I can't die. Not like this," George meant to say it with conviction, but his words only came out in a raspy whisper.

Eret had a sad look in his eyes. "Oh, George. You do realize you did this to yourself, right? No one forced you to throw up."

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