1847. It pays to check

When Clyde got out of bed that morning he had no idea (who does?) how his day would end.

There he was in early afternoon innocently sitting on the window ledge of his girlfriend’s new apartment when suddenly Tracey pushed him out the seventeenth story window.

As she pushed him suddenly out she was heard to exclaim, “Die you selfish toad. I love Shane now and I do this for Shane.” What Tracey didn’t realize was that her accommodation unit was set in the middle of a high-rise rooftop garden. Clyde fell no more than three feet onto a soft paving.

Clyde got up, brushing a little sandy gravel off his knees. He was half bemused and half shocked. It was the last thing he had been expecting.

Tracey had jumped out the window herself when she realized her murderous plot had backfired. She turned her shock and agitation into concocted horror. Naturally she pretended it was a practical joke. She was merely playing around. Of course she didn’t love Shane; she didn’t even like him. Shane was a creep. Everyone knew that the window seventeen stories up opened onto a rooftop frequently used for barbeques.

Clyde didn’t believe her for one minute. The rooftop was surrounded by a safety balustrade. Clyde picked up Tracey and threw her over it. She almost floated down to splat amongst the ant-like figures busy about their business way, way in the street below.

It certainly pays to check before throwing someone from a great height. That got rid of Tracey. Now there was no one to come between Clyde and his boyfriend, Shane.

1779. The days were drawing out

The days were drawing out. Summer was approaching. Spring had not fully run its course, but the sun was definitely rising earlier and earlier. Soon it would be the summer solstice.

Young Grant was about to turn twelve. His birthday was on the last day of spring. “The start of a new beginning”, his mother would say. “Grant’s birth was the start of a lovely summer.”

Grant asked his parents if he could watch the sunrise at the solstice. “Of course you can,” said his mother. “What a silly question! There’s no school tomorrow.”

The next morning, the day after his birthday, Grant watched the sunrise. The day had dawned cloudless. It was a perfect start to summer.

Grant wasn’t the only one watching it. His parents were there, as was his older brother and younger sister. It was a family affair!

After the sun rose, Grant went to bed. He was dog tired having stayed up all night. The rest of the family were fine. They had gone to bed, had a good night’s sleep, and simply got up early.

1619. Such a pretty garden!

Monica had what could only be described as “a pretty garden”. It wasn’t very big but it was perfect in every detail. It was all flowers, and through careful planning Monica managed to get it to flower (prolifically) for a good ten months of the year.

Monica didn’t let the time she spent on the garden come between her and having a tidy house. It was neatness to the core. Even the books in her bookshelf (which contained mainly well-read classics) were carefully arranged on each shelf from tallest to shortest. To say nothing of the cupboards! The pots were a picture. And the pantry! Oh my word! One quick peek at the rows of carefully labelled spices and herbs was enough to convince one that God had put the alphabet on earth for a reason.

And yet, Monica wasn’t a fusspot. Nor was she neurotic in her tidiness. She would enjoy making a mess as much as you and me. It’s just that, unlike you and me, she always cleaned up afterwards.

As happens to most people, she eventually died. And what a pretty cemetery with well-kept gravestones! The flowers placed on each grave were removed once the bouquet had wilted. Honestly! It was a pleasure to stroll down the row upon row of dead people and simply take in the orderliness and (dare I say it?) beauty.

And then what happened? Progress doesn’t step aside for anything. All human remains were removed to a common grave (with relatives permission of course) to make room for an extension to an industrial plant. They were reburied (in bulk) in a park nearby with a makeshift memorial saying that a list of the names of people reburied here was available for perusal at the city council office.

Eventually the makeshift memorial rotted away. Long grass and brambles took over the entire park. It was an utter mess. It was a jungle. Few remembered it was once a burial site. The world moves on.

If ever proof was needed that there is a life after death it is here… Monica was clearly pulling strings. The local community got together and created a community garden on the site. It was all flowers, and through careful planning they managed to get it to flower (prolifically) for a good ten months of the year.