When we die our souls become cuddly toys

I remember a dream I had when I was little. Me and my twin sister were in a car crash and we both died, but our spirits carried on being alive inside cuddly toys. We were for sale in a toy shop and a little boy came in with his mum and she told him he could pick any two toys, and even though me and my sister were far apart from each other on the shelves we were the two he chose.

He carried us home, put us in his room and it was like when we had to share a bedroom at Christmas because Grandma had come to stay. When we were little we would stay up late talking, sometimes until ten o'clock at night, and on Christmas Eve, even though we were tired and wanted to sleep, we'd make sure we'd stay up until midnight, waiting for the moment Christmas arrived. And so in the little boy's room me and my sister talked, like the old days, like we were meeting for a coffee. She said to me 'remember when we were little and had baths together and you used to drink the bathwater.' She said 'I bet all our primary school teachers are dead by now' and I thought about Mrs Philips and Mr Holland and realised she was probably right. We talked about people we worked with when we both had summer jobs at Safeway. We talked about how we'd watched every episode of Big Brother 2 and were pleased when Kate Lawler won. She reminded me she always beat me at paper, scissors, stone. I reminded her I was faster than her at front crawl. I told her that once when I was 14 I went into her room and read her diary. She told me that once she read mine, and I decided never to forgive her.

Neither of us mentioned that we were both dead now and had become cuddly toys, but it didn't really matter, because we were together, just me and my sister, and we liked it that way. The little boy came into his room and gave us a cuddle. I was Eeyore. Karen was a dog called Patch.