Lloyd would reheat a mug of coffee twice a day. He would place the mug in the microwave, press the one minute button, and start.
Every time he would impatiently pace up and down in front of the microwave; this was one minute of his life wasted. One minute wasted! How things would add up! Reheating twice a day meant two minutes wasted a day. That was almost quarter of an hour a week. Multiply that by the number of weeks in a year and it would come to thirteen hours. In round numbers that was one whole day wasted every two years. In a decade that would be five days. In fifty years it would amount to a month or so.
How he would appreciate that extra month at the end of his life! “Hey!” said God. “You didn’t waste two minutes a day reheating your coffee. You drank your coffee cold. You saved a month! Here’s that extra month tacked onto the end of your life!”
Time went by. The end was near. Lloyd lay on his hospital bed wracked with bone cancer. The pain was excruciating. Things dragged on for an extra month.
(Someone asked me, why don’t you write something depressing? I think they were being sarcastic. Anyway, here it is.)
Lachlan had lived an average sort of life. He’d told the odd fib, but it didn’t amount to much. He’d given the occasional dollar to the Salvation Army during their Annual Appeal. He’d paid his taxes. He never once got a ticket for speeding. He’d been worn to a frazzle rearing his kids and driving van-loads of exuberant youths to this game and that, and so on. It was an average sort of life.
Eventually he died. He joined the line at the Pearly Gates.
Saint Peter said, “You lived an average sort of life. The standard here is very high. I’m sorry but you’ve missed out.”
“Oh, dear!” said Lachlan. “So I’m going to Hell?”
“No,” said Saint Peter, “as a consolation prize we’re sending you into oblivion.”
Shauni and Campion were a fairly happily married couple. They were without offspring even though they had made repeated attempts on a fairly regular basis. That is why they volunteered to be the first people to visit an exoplanet inhabited by intelligent creatures: Shauni and Campion had no ties to Mother Earth.
How different things were on the exoplanet! Thank goodness there was plenty of food available; both animal and vegetable. The Gdtmzxpqians were nurtured via something akin to photosynthesis, so there was no competition for Shauni and Campion on the food chain. All in all their life was fairly interesting. The Gdtmzxpqians were peaceful creatures, although Shauni and Campion were unable to learn their extraordinary complex language. The problem was that the Gdtmzxpqians conveyed speech sounds by squelching their hands under their armpits – rather like young boys on Planet Earth when they wanted to make rude noises. The aliens’ mouths were openings solely for inhaling nitrogen.
After several months Shauni discovered she was expecting! What excitement! Everything was near perfect, except they were tired of being caged in the Gdtmzxpqian zoo.
Now that summer’s over
I’m a season older, and find
each summer season mines
less memories. It’s kind of sad
to think of times we had.
The heat-strewn days were glad when we
were children; so carefree,
chasing bees, climbing trees – the days
all melded in a haze
of ever-sunshine glaze. And yet…
It’s easy to forget
age casts far wider nets to catch
a varied vaster batch
of joys than those dispatched to girls
and boys. For in life’s twirl
of memory there swirls wise dreams
far deeper, so it seems,
than younger days we deem as fine.
Here, in my autumn time,
(I thank this God of mine) there calls
no need to live it all again.
(Based on the Vietnamese luc bat poetic form. For those who don’t know, I usually challenge myself with a weekly poem using a set poetic form each month).
Harvey had, as is the lot of every human, passed on. To his astonishment there was some sort of continuing existence, and he discovered that if he travelled out into space far enough he could watch himself in the different stages of his life. It was all to do with the speed of light and watching that light present images of his past as it sped through space and so on…
There’s Harvey now, watching himself as a toddler. He’s crawling through a field of tall grass. Oh isn’t he so cute? So adorable!
And there is Harvey now, at his wedding. What a magnificent wedding it was! He can move unseen among the guests and hear their comments:
“God Milly, I’ve never been to such a boring wedding. What an old fart that preacher man was.”
Oh well… and here’s Harvey simply walking down the street when he was about 52.
It’s so fascinating viewing one’s life as if in a movie. Harvey’s been doing it now for 472 years. He’s obsessed with himself. He hates it but he can’t drag himself away.