Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-32118772-20170605044551

 Mortality is an oddly foreign concept to humans. It’s the one thing that binds them all together, and yet they reject it so readily. No sane person would ever accept the cold release of death, would they? People want to marry their lovers, have their kids, vote for their moronic politicians in the hopes of prolonging their existences with “healthcare” and “national security”. And yet they all face it one day, being forgotten soon after the corpse is thrown away like glorified garbage.

 Some pass somewhat peacefully. In bed surrounded by loved ones. The rest die horribly and pathetically with fear in their hearts and pain in their eyes. They’re killed in pointless conflicts of vain interest screaming out for their mothers as their friends flee, bleeding out in the street at the hands of some petty criminal, or sick in a smelly hospital as doctors prick and prod at their decaying flesh. It’s always interesting seeing the sorts of things they say as they die, the particularly pathetic individuals are especially entertaining in their final moments.

 This one guy I took recently was one of the best I’ve seen in years, a real comedian. Or at least what I would call a comedian. College dropout, shitty desk job, the whole shebang. He died wallowing in his own blood and vomit after he cracked his open on the concrete floor of his laundry room. He was completely drunk and couldn’t sleep, resulting in some mild hallucinations. However, being the insecure and anxious bastard he was, he frantically searched the house, trying to find the source of the sights and sounds that didn’t really exist. Ultimately he ended up slipping on some water in the basement near his leaky hot water-heater and ''POP! ''

 The hemorrhaging caused a slow, painful, hilarious death, barely being able to mutter his last uninspired words as he choked on the liquor he had been uncontrollably guzzling just a few hours earlier. As I stood before him, piteous as he was, I could see his sad spirit rise from his slowing dying corpse. I greeted him, barely being able to contain my laughter, and he responded with a muted “hello”. As he approached he began throwing-himself a pity party, as most of his kind do after they die. “Finally”, he said, “I’ve been waiting for you for a while now. I wasn’t necessarily trying to die, but I wasn’t exactly trying to avoid it you either, you know?” “Yeah” I responded, “You chug whiskey like a hungry child suckles on a fat teat. Pretty much a dead giveaway.” I could see the despondent look on his face, and then he started spouting all of his life problems to me.

 It’s always fun to listen to these sorry excuses for people go on and on, but this guy was especially entertaining. One moment he would have an unhealthy amount of self-pity, but then he would do a complete one-eighty and have a complete lack of a will to live. The hypocrisy was just priceless. After he finished I gave him some applause, it isn’t everyday someone manages to put on a show this good. I took his hand in mine and lead him to wherever it was he was supposed to go, and sent him on his merry way.

 I don’t know where I came from or why I do it, but I do what I must. This job would be so insufferably boring without you pitiful souls out there, so I thank you for keeping me motivated. I suppose this lack of understanding on my part is why I must find entertainment in the little things, a little something to fill that space. Before I go, I make one humble request: Keep in mind those of us that come after death, and make sure you’ve got something interesting to say, if just for the sake of our own sanity.



    