Having her say

It was a cosy hangout with some friends. There were no drinks nor sweets. We weren’t pinging; only talking. It felt good to hear the other’s voice, to see his eyes light up with a smile, to feel the struggle she put up to keep the chuckle down. The discussion turned 45 degrees to centre on death. What was the best way to die? Everyone had something to say. Some didn’t even want to die. None shied from the topic anyway.

‘The way I would like to go’ he was saying ‘is such that I won’t be a bother.’

Not too much bother, I should think, seeing that death doesn’t alienate one from the commune. One is still part of it though in another mode.

He told the story of his mother’s friend, who died sitting, taking a rest after a hard day at the studio.

‘That’s the way I want. Like a bourgeois’

A loud gasp from her end. ‘Like a bush rat?’ she asked horrified

What else but laughter.


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