Zeit finished his painting of the dead man in the grave.
He tried to end the piano sonata playing in the background, but his device didn’t register his voice.
He tried to pull the cord from the outlet but it wouldn’t budge.
“What is going on?” he mumbled.
He tried to physically grab his phone. As he did, texts came in.
From his mother.
His boyfriend.
Friends he hadn’t spoken to in years.
They all said the same thing: I miss you.
He went back to his painting and only then recognized the face of the dead man in the grave.
