[ WP ] You died . You were reborn . You remembered your previous life . But that 's actually pretty useless - because you were n't reborn human .

*I'm a traffic cone! * is the thought in my mind when I spot my reflection in the mirrored window of a black Toyota 
 Corolla cruising down Wilshire. *I'm a traffic cone! * 
 
 I watch people going by left and right around me. Cars merging left because of me. One silly boy kicking me softly 
 as he crossed the street. 
 
 *I'm a traffic cone! * 
 
 `` Yes, you are,'' a voice replies, seemingly from inside my head ( head? Can I say head when I do n't really – 
 whatever ). 
 
 *What? * 
 
 `` Here,'' the voice says, and I look to my left. At a mailbox. 
 
 *Who are you? * 
 
 `` I'm John Francis Beckindale, attorney of law'' the mailbox tells me. `` Well, was. Now I'm mailbox number 2494 
 Westwood, 90024.'' 
 
 *What is going on? Is this my life now? Was I reborn as a –'' 
 
 `` Yes,'' the mailbox answers. `` You're taking it quite well, actually. Most people scream bloody murder when they –'' 
 
 *AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! * 
 
 `` There it is.'' 
 
 I pull myself together. 
 
 *So… what? People are reborn as inanimate objects? * 
 
 The light turns green on Wilshire, and the influx of pedestrian is replaced by the cars reaching me and merging left 
 into Westwood Boulevard. 
 
 Then the light says, `` Yeah, dude.'' 
 
 *Holy shit the traffic light's a person too? * 
 
 `` Yeah, I'm Jeff,'' the light replies. `` Nice to meet you.'' 
 
 `` Everything has a soul,'' the mailbox tells me. `` Everything is alive.'' 
 
 *Well, surely you do n't mean everything. Like the pavement under me, it's not –* 
 
 `` Hey, I have a name,'' the pavement says, in an offended tone. `` It's Levon.'' 
 
 *Oh… Hi, Levon. * 
 
 `` People take for granted that they're people,'' the mailbox says, `` but the truth is that you can be born as anything, 
 when you come to this world.'' 
 
 *But I was a person. * 
 
 `` Before you died,'' the traffic light argues. `` Hey, at least we got one life as humans. Old number 3045 Wilshire here 
 has been a building since he's known himself.'' 
 
 `` Word,'' says the building just to my right, as the light turns red again and people start going around me towards 
 the opposite sidewalk. 
 
 *This is crazy, * I say. *What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and be a cone forever? * 
 
 `` Well, not forever,'' Levon the pavement says. `` If someone ever destroys you, you get to die and be born again. 
 Hopefully as something more fun.'' 
 
 *Should n't be hard, I'm a cone. * 
 
 `` Dude, I'm pavement. Check your privilege.'' 
 
 *Sorry, * I say. 
 
 `` Everything is alive, cone,'' the mailbox tells me. `` Look at these people around you. Browsing by. Talking. Driving. 
 Having ice cream. And none of them have any idea that every single thing around them is a living, thinking being 
 with memories, emotions… feelings of their own.'' 
 
 *Yeah…* 
 
 `` They just go by their day to day life thinking they're alone. Thinking that their shoes are just shoes, and their cars 
 are just cars and their husbands are just husbands. They never turn their heads around and stop to think that 
 everywhere around them, a theater of consciousness just like the one inside their heads is playing. Inside every 
 other person, every light pole, every table and every chair. Everywhere they look, a different version of reality. And 
 none of them is the *real* one. They're all sketches. Versions of a story that has no original author.'' 
 
 Jeff the traffic light turns red again, and the cars start rushing past me. I look through their tinted windows at the 
 drivers and the kids in the backseats and the wives watching themselves in the mirrors, and it's true. None of them 
 stop to look around. None of them seem to give the traffic cone forcing them to merge left a second thought. Or 
 the light telling them to move or stop. None of them notice the mailbox that gets them in touch with their friends... or the cell phones that get them in touch with their friends in case they are not Amish. 
 
 `` Everything is alive,'' the mailbox tells me, `` and no one stops to notice, because they are too busy noticing 
 themselves.'' 
 
 *Yeah, * I think to myself. Jeff the light turns red again, and the cars stop, and the sun is shining bright over my head. 
 
 *Everything is alive…* 
 
 `` Oh, Jesus!'' Levon the pavement cries, as a hobo spits on the floor by my side. 
 
 _______________ 
 
 *Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca = ) * 

