"I've always thought..."
What have I always thought? Have I ever really paused to think about it?
No, I haven't. There has never been any need. It's normally limited to 'is that other person right or not?', and then I need not worry any more.
Who'd have thunk we'd get a choice?
"I've always thought we would end up on an island," stated Carl, mainly stalling for more time to think. However, as soon as this was said, or maybe even as soon as it was thought, an island decided now was the time to spring into existence. That is, if anything in the afterlife can be considered to actually exist.
"An island?" questioned the man, who seemed to be little more than a disembodied voice at the moment. The island was, at this point, little more than a roughly circular patch of dirt with nothing on it other than Carl. Indeed, it appeared that nothing at all could be seen other than the largish mound of dirt and its sole occupant. There wasn't even an ocean, just blackness.
"Yes, an island," confirmed Carl, toeing the ground as though kicking the tires of a used car. "But a far nicer one than this. With... sand," he tried hesitantly, remembering the image of a desert island. "And clearer oceans than you'd ever find in your living life. With a gorgeous tropical forest, and a bar on the beach, and a volcano in the distance that's always smoking and never erupting, just for show."
His eyes were closed as he recalled these images, and he smiled at the thought. However, as each word (or thought, the possibility has not been disregarded) came to him, they popped into 'existence' as a part of his island. And with each addition to his perfect afterlife, the little man took more and more of a physical form, until he resembled a portly native of a pacific island, in a flowery shirt and surfer shorts. "Well that sounds quite nice," said the newly acquired form, though it still possessed the voice from before.
Carl opened his eyes to answer to his companion and was far less surprised than he would have thought to see the changes that had taken place. He grinned openly and ran across the sand to the tiki bar that he had ordered, fiddling with cups and bottles as if he knew what he was doing. "Care for a drink?" he asked of the other man.
"No thank you, I'm on duty. In fact, if you're all settled, I should probably get going."
"Don't be such a buzzkill!" Carl laughed, having a drink for himself. "But before you go, what this place really needs is other people."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Surfer McShorts said, as though only an idiot wouldn't already be aware of the fact.
Carl, who had begun to frown as soon as the people he wanted to appear did not appear, frowned even more. "What do you mean by that? Of course it is; everything else worked!"
"Well the island is easy. But people are not. You see, all the other people who believe they will live in an island paradise for their afterlife are on their own ideal islands. You can't expect everyone to agree on one island layout, now can you? What if someone doesn't like your bar?"
"Then they can play beach volleyball instead!" Carl said, sounding rather offended. It was then that what the other was saying truly kicked in. "So you're saying I have to enjoy my island by myself?"
"More or less, yes. These things happen when you try to invent your own afterlife," he responded knowingly.
"Well that sucks."
"Yes it does. Does this mean you'd like to try another idea?"
He took one last longing look at his paradise. "Well..."