That's all I can see. Where am I? What happened?

Wait, I went to the bar, Jack wasn't there, Lennie was, Lennie was drunk, I drove him home, looked out my driver's window, bright light, loud noise, darkness.

Think, Claire, think. As long as I can think I'm not dead. Or am I? I never really thought about the afterlife. I was young; I didn't think God cared. I remember floating above myself, looking down at the mangled remains of my Escort. Are those my brains on the passenger window? Wait, passenger. Lennie. Where's Lennie? He's at the driver's door. My door. He's crying. Oh God. My neck is at a weird angle.

Still dark. Is that a voice? Male voice. Can't make out what he's saying. He's crying. Female voice. "It's 11 o'clock, Mr. McCoy. You can come back and see her tomorrow." Now more silence. And still dark. What if this is it? This is forever. Is this all there is? Why didn't I believe in God? He just never seemed to care. If He did, why would there be so much violence? Why would Scott have committed his crime? Why would we supposedly advanced beings seek revenge instead of leaving it to the hereafter? The hereafter. Still, forever in the dark. Nothing. The void. It's too late now, too late to believe. If this is it, oh my God, oh my God.