I have all the books here – the Qu’ran, a Torah, Bibles, the Book of Mormon, an Egyptian Book of the Dead, and dozens more. Water flows under the thick smoke of incense and burnt offerings. My sweat dampens the white robes; a priest rubs the ointment on my head. Priests and priestesses crowd around me. Their chants drown out the monitor’s alarms; my last heartbeats and breaths are recorded for posterity. Hundreds of traditions. No-one knows what lies on the other side, but with their help, I am ready. I breathe my last.
The Flying Spaghetti Monster is real? Damn.