Death
By Ben Kharakh
No one can escape death; no matter how hard one may try. I’ve got no beef with death, but have several thoughts on it, one of which concerns the actual act of dying. I would like to go in a way that will leave a lasting impression on all. I want people to remember it and say, “No one dies like Ben. I’ve seen people go, but, oh man, that Ben. You remember that?”
“Do I? He shot me in the foot!” I’ll be running around and people will point and exclaim, “Wow, is that thing actually consuming his life force,” and others will respond, “Yes it is. Watch out, it likes to jump hosts.” I, of course, will be whooping and attempting to inconvenience as many people as possible in my last moments of life. “Remember when Ben died?”
“Remember? I’m still paying off the bill from when he drove a flaming golf-cart through my living room wall. And that chocolate stain on the ceiling, how it got there I don’t know, but I can’t get rid of it.”
If, instead, the end comes with my lying in a hospital bed, with machines doing all my stuff, I would like this to go on for as long as possible, at the expense of my family. And no insurance; I want the full charge on their bill. And my possessions, I’m keeping them. People will question the will, “Are you sure he wants the house, money, and car, all burned?”
“Yes?”
“And it says I have to be present?”
“Yes. Also says you have to pay for it.”
The body? Cremated and thrown into the eyes of my enemies by my loved ones so that they become the enemies of my enemies, perpetuating the circle of hate. Donating my body to science and organs to those who may need it? No thank you, I don’t want people benefiting in anyway from my death. If it’s possible to inherit debts and diseases, I’d like one of those.
“Says here you get to pay off his mortgage, and your kidneys will be pummeled until they’re in the same condition as his were.”
The funeral will begin with all of the guests gathered in a room that is locked soon after they enter. A booming voice will sound, “Ben wants you to join him,” and green gas will fill the room, “In the greatest party of your lives,” and with the gas, which all will assume is poison, will fall confetti and balloons. There will be cake, dancing, games, and special appearances by the body, disguised as various people.
“Hey, barkeep, I’ll have a, hey! Why is the body serving drinks? That is definitely a health code violation ”
“Hey, baby, you having a good time? What? No! It’s the body and it’s dressed as a lady.”
The coffin will be armed with an alarm, and certain guests, through out the event, will be encouraged to open it to confirm that I am dead. And when this happens an alarm will sound, informing all that my watch is being stolen. I’ll put the fun back in funeral.
Do I really feel this way? Of course not.