Tag Archives: death

2624. Pet rat’s lifespan

The good thing about a pet rat, said Cameron, is that their lifespan is generally only two to three years. At least it’s a pet you know you’re going to outlive, and don’t have to worry about making arrangements for it if you die first.

Anyway, at Cameron’s funeral Maisina, his second cousin twice removed, said she would be happy to look after the rat.

2620. This morning’s coffee

Adriana’s main room was an open kitchen, sitting room, dining room. When she got up in the morning, in the dark, to make a coffee, she would turn on the light over the dining table. To turn the fluorescent kitchen light on was far too bright. It would be a rude awakening, especially before the first sip of morning coffee. The light over the dining table was softer; a dull, warm light.

On this particular morning Adriana groped her way towards the light switch as she usually did. She turned on the light. There was someone sitting in an armchair. Adriana screamed. The person did not move. Adriana tentatively approached. The person was dead.

Adriana phoned the police. Apparently the person was some sort of uncover agent so no matter how hard the author of this tale has tried, the person’s identity and why they were there remains a mystery. I apologise.

P.S. I MAY be away for several days as I have piles of work and little sight!!

2614. WARNING!

It has been brought to my attention that a few people who have read this blog over the last 8 or so years have died. Read on at your own risk.

Perhaps this blog carries a similar curse to the one associated with Tutankhamen’s tomb. Of the blog’s several thousand followers I know of at least two who have passed on during those 8 or so years.

BEWARE! Everyone who reads this blog will one day die. Sure as eggs. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

2587. A gruesome departure

Liam was absolutely horrified. He’d just seen his wife dead on the bed. Her body was twisted unnaturally. She must have died in utter agony. Her face was as purple as a purple grape. Her mouth looked like she had died in the middle of a scream. Her eyes were vacant and wide open. It was the most horrific thing Liam had ever seen.

He had no idea she would die in such torment when he gave her the poison.

2576. Here’s to your health

Ian told Mia, his wife, just how shocked he was with the news. The husband of his ex-wife had died suddenly. Ian was the last to know. “You’d think my kids would have mentioned it or something,” Ian told Mia. “After all the kids live with him and Mary most of the time.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead. He was here only last Monday to pick up the kids. He seemed fit as a fiddle. And to think he’d barely got home when he dropped dead. I must admit that I’d never warmed to him much, but it’s still a shock when something happens that you’re not expecting.”

“Thank goodness he didn’t do it when he was here. I wouldn’t have known what to do. I’m no good in an emergency. And then given what Vivian told me about him and what he did to her, I wouldn’t be surprised if I would not simply have stood there and watched him die.”

“Vivian said that the coroner reckoned it wasn’t an accident. He was poisoned or something. I don’t believe that for a minute. My ex-wife, Mary, is not like that. She wouldn’t have it in her. Besides, unlike me, she’s no good at chemistry and poisons and stuff.”

“One good thing about not been told he’d kicked it was that I didn’t feel compelled to go to the funeral.  It was all over before I could blink. On a lighter note I offered him a beer when he came for the kids. He took it and given that he dropped dead about thirty minutes after I can’t help but think it was a waste of bloody good beer.”

2505. Afterlife

Claudéric had a funny feeling that he’d died and yet everything was the same. He mentioned it to Marion his wife, and she said it was a funny thing but she felt the same way.

“Surely we can’t both be dead and still living in the same house in the same way,” she said.

“Well,” said Claudéric, “I mow the lawn and weed the garden every week without fail. You do many of the same household tasks such as cooking and laundry. And yet it seems exceedingly strange but I get a very clear feeling that we’re both dead, and have been so for several months.”

“Surely it can’t be true,” said Marion. “We would know one way or another if we had died. Either we would have ceased to exist and wouldn’t know anything at all, or we would be in heaven. And since we’re unaware of either condition I can only conclude that we haven’t died after all.”

“Let’s get on with life then. What a silly and unrealistic thing this has been,” said Claudéric. “Dead indeed! Goodness me!”

There was a knock at the door. “Anyone home?” shouted the policeman. “The neighbours have complained that the place is unkempt and the lawns haven’t been mowed for several months.”

2478. What is the most effective poison?

Charlene was bitterly disappointed. She had spent months researching poisons. She had gone to the library. She had scanned the internet. She even asked a professional autopsy expert what the best way was to poison a man. The professional autopsy expert was at first reluctant to impart knowledge, but in the end Charlene seemed a nice enough and pretty harmless person. She was given a list of almost impossible to detect fatal poisons that could be used.

Charlene’s husband was no help. He was an ignorant, lazy spouse. Charlene never asked him anything, and in this scenario she simply smiled despairingly. She wasn’t going to waste time with his witlessness.

In the end she narrowed it down to two poisons. To be doubly sure Charlene made an appointment to see an industrial chemist at the local woollen factory. These industrial professionals are experts at all sorts of things, and their experience in practical chemistry seems to extend their ability to explain things simply. “Which of these two poisons will be most effective and lest detectable?”

The industrial chemist was very nice. He pointed out, however, that neither of the poisons would result in death. He said that one of them if used would require the imbibing of several large containers of liquid and the other would need the equivalent of having to eat seventeen to twenty indigestible potatoes in twenty-four hours.

It was indeed a disappointment – and after all those hours and hours of research.

Charlene had had enough. She went home and threw her uncompleted novel in the trash.

2393. Angel of mercy

(The stories are back! – albeit erratically. I shall restart with a story that some readers may not like!)

It was extraordinary. Drew was more than aware that he had died suddenly. He was sitting in his armchair early on a Friday morning. Next to his armchair was a little coffee table with his mug of coffee and a slice of marmalade on toast. He had just had his first bite of toast when next thing an angel was leading him towards the gates of Paradise.

What a lovely angel! So seraphic! So kind! The angel led Drew by the hand.

“We are heading towards the Gates,” said the angel. Drew could already feel the effects of Heaven emanating towards him.

“To quote Saint Paul,” said the angel, “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart the things that God has in store… You know the quotation I’m sure.”

 “Of course I do,” said Drew.

“You realize,” said the angel, “that if you hadn’t put so much salt in your food and into cooking that you could have extended your life on earth by almost two years.”

Drew hung his head in shame.

“You realize,” said the angel, “that if you had been more careful to eat only organically grown vegetables that you could have extended your life on earth by two further years.”

Drew hung his head further in shame.

“You realize,” said the angel, “that if you had bought an electric car instead of that beat-up old bomb you drove around in you’d be going through that gate there into Paradise and not through this door here where there is an eternity of weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

“The old bomb was all I could afford,” said Drew.

With that the angel opened the door and flung Drew in.

“Now who is next on the list?” asked the angel looking at her clipboard.

“How Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez got that job as the angel I have no idea,” said Drew as he disappeared into the nothing world.

2346. Miranda’s first day

It came as a terrible shock to Miranda to discover, upon her death, that her husband of forty-seven years had been a bigamist and he was sitting in the heavenly choir slap bang next to Henrietta, the recently departed mother of his seven children. And to think that Miranda’s obituary read, loved wife of the late Elbridge for forty-seven years. There was no changing it now.

At least Miranda would have her pets. She had spent her life adopting cats and dogs from the local pound. What sadness each pet-passing had caused in her life. What an irreparable gap they had left. Rather quickly she discovered that all the dogs and cats she had cared for were now back in the heavenly keeping of their original owners. The pets had been lost and now were found. What a delight it was for the original pet-keepers. What sadness for Miranda.

Well, she would seek out her favourite aunt. At least Aunt Nina would be a familiar shoulder to cry on. Nina had always understood Miranda; the two were in emotional sync. But no one in heaven had seen Nina; in fact no one in heaven had ever heard of her. Could she in fact have gone to the other place?

There was only one last thing to give her comfort: her pet canary, Aria. Aria was a yellow canary that had been Miranda’s companion in the kitchen for almost a decade. These beatific days Aria wouldn’t need a cage. There she is now! Oh! She’s in a cage. She has taken the fancy of the head angel in the Contralto Section of the heavenly choir. The head angel is in no mood to share. Just listen to that canary sing!

That about ends this account of Miranda’s first day after death. “Just wait until dinner!” declared a rather plump personage that Miranda had never met in her life. “Dinner is out of this world!”

Miranda said she wasn’t hungry.

2344. Old bones

Great Aunt Imelda said that twenty-year-old Harold would “never make old bones”. He was sickly and took no interest in living a healthy existence.

Well, how wrong can one be? That was seventy years ago. That would make Harold ninety; that is if he hadn’t died when he was forty-two. But his bones have certainly aged.