Someday, or perhaps soon, I will take my last breath. Then the body will stiffen. It will start to cool down. Slowly. When it's at room temperature, it will slowly begin to decompose.
It will gain the attention of spiders and flies. Unless someone notices in time and takes the body to the morgue. Refrigerator.
Maybe it'll be an interesting case and an autopsy will be necessary?
Will I be alone? Will I be old? Is it going to be a big accident at home, or a bravado behind the wheel? I'm clumsy. I'm inattentive. And quite often mused, so I guess it's going to be some kind of absurd death.
Full of the grotesque and making everyone around me uncomfortable. Not that the death could ever be described as 'comfortable'. But I am sure it will be something bizarre.
Will I be aware that I am dying? Or do I just fall asleep so that I don't wake up again?
Should I have a preference? A plan? Is it time for a will?
I recently read O. Tokarczuk's book 'Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead ' and maybe that made me think about death a bit more often than usual.
I often come up with various dramatic scenarios, from romantic suicides, through preceded by a long hospitalisation classic death surrounded by loved ones, to an intimate, lonely, decadent, silent demise.
There are these quick kicks in the bucket - domestic accidents, car accidents, a random brick falling from a dilapidated historic building which has been forgotten by the restorers.
Boring. In books death is usually shrouded in a mist of mystery. It is shrouded in a cobweb of doubt. Death is preceded by 'circumstances'. Death is a beginning, not an end.
A riddle.
A dull ploy from a cheap detective story.
Picture created by me, all rights reserved @strega.azure ©
I've used black regular BIC pen, innk-pen 'technic' 0.05 - Rystor, white Gelly Roll 08 - Sakura and little bit of solvent to achieve 'water colour' effect