A Fate Worse Than Death

The moment of death doesn’t happen when the body stops breathing.

No, that’s just the final release.

True death happens a long time before the body gives up. It happens as the inevitability of fate settles on the mind like tar, poisoning thoughts and tearing the future away. Gone is the blue sky and sun-warmed skin. Gone is the sound of laughter and friendly faces. Gone is the smell of freshly cut grass and that moment when laughter gets so intense it starts to hurt.

There is no time to mourn happy memories. The silence is deafening, filling existence with its wail, its black light so bright that everything becomes a reflection of what it was.

And you take her hand and force yourself to look at her, really look at her, as the words sink in. Torture, stripped of its weapons and reduced to those seven words, finally reveal its purest form.

“There will be cheese on your food.”

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This post is part of Nicky and Mike’s 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing challenge. Today’s prompt is Cheesy. Go check out We Work For Cheese for a list of the other participants. *

A Fate Worse Than Death

How About a Nice Punch in the Face?

My boyfriend is an idiot. Today he willingly ran a half marathon. That's not a real marathon, but pretty freaking close. Well technically it's half the distance of a real marathon, but since a real marathon is, oh about a million miles long, I think a half marathon qualifies to make him an idiot. There was no gun pointed at his head, no money being offered, no cute African children to save. Nothing. He ran "just because it's fun." I tried telling him that going to the movies is fun, petting a puppy is fun, reading a good book is fun. Hell, even punching yourself in the face is fun compared to running a half marathon. In fact, the next time he's thinking about running for the sake of running, I'm going to suggest he punch himself in the face a couple times to see if that would satisfy his need to torture himself.

The weirdest thing is that he came home and was all happy. "Hey honey, I'm home! I just ran until I couldn't breathe and my legs fell off, but oh I feel sooo good now! Lemme just crawl over to you and I'll give you a nice sweaty kiss." Also, he wasn't the only one doing it. There were a ton of people there, all just as eager to cripple themselves as effectively as possible and compete about who vomits first. The guy with the bald spot won.

This is his own fascinating narrative of the run: "First there was the starting shot, then I ran, and then I ran some more and there were cows and then I ran and then I finished." That's awesome, Forrest. Personally I think he left out the part where he couldn't feel his feet anymore and he went into cardiac arrest, but I guess those are minor details.

And you know what? He's done it before! Twice! And he still did it again. You'd think after doing it once you'd be satisfied in knowing that you can do it. You'd know that you're the man and if for some reason all cars stopped working, all public transport ceased to exist and there were no more camels to ride on, you'd still be able to get to work on time. But to then go and do it again? Yeah.

M, I love you, but you're an idiot. I'm just saying.

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How About a Nice Punch in the Face?