Peter Shale

Peter stood in the field, surveying the situation. At his feet laid his body, cold and pale. His shirt had a burn mark on his chest. He looked up, nodding to himself with conviction.

Mom always said not to jog in thunderstorms.

Peter hovered above his body for moment, unsure of how to proceed. He didn't really have anyone in his life besides his family, and the cat was at the vet, so all the loose ends were taken care of. There was just the issue of this underwhelming afterlife.

Not being one to panic, he curiously prodded his body with his foot. He couldn't move it, but he could somewhat phase his toes into himself.

Peter came to realize two things: One, my toes shouldn't be out; I was wearing shoes. He was wearing his birthday suit for the whole world to not see.

Second, he felt a distinct coldness in the body. It was like he had went out into a winter storm without a coat, and the cold was beginning to penetrate his being. He was pretty certain what this meant.

Phooey. He thought to himself. Well, I never did take theology in college, but I am pretty sure that physics won't make an exception for me.

Without a body, he was as good as gone. He shrugged, resigned to his fate, and floated down near his body to rest. As he floated down however, he felt something burn his side like a warm coal.

My cell phone?

His cell phone, lying on the ground unharmed, seemed to radiate heat. Instinctively, Peter put his hand in the cellphone. Suddenly, he felt his body being pulled into the device, feeling his form contorting to it shape.

The feeling stopped, and he looked around. He could feel his arms and legs crammed into the buttons, the panels, the circuitry, as if it were an ill-fitting bodysuit.

After a moment of relief, he found he had control over the screen. He texted 911, and the emergency crews arrived in minutes.

In speaking of minutes, the battery only had a few minutes itself.