For a long while that day, you question your faith in God. As a Christian, you assume he will save you (you are Catholic, afterall). This must surely be a test administered by Him. You have seen in it in movies, the Biblical sermons on Wednesdays and Sundays, and your widowed neighbor spoke of it when her Shitzu died of a cancerous tumor. 

A loving God would do this for your own personal strength, for your own divine suffering. Were the corpses simply the reminders of those who couldn’t pass the test? Had they failed too frequently in life? Surely not. You had failed, too. You too are a human.  You too are sinful. You’re boasting right now about being the sole genius who could pass this God-given test.

You are soaked in sin. Drenched in it! So maybe you are dead, or alive. It does not matter because this is purgatory. A zone of luxury and horror. The sensual dream and the nightmare of violence: you are experiencing this alone.

This is a test administered by God, and He is grading your performance.