A CONVERSATION WITH DEATH

This may be my last post about death in a while as I have decided to move on to happier topics and endings.

Yet, there is something alluring about this dark topic. I hate how much of an enemy it can be and I am sure you do too.

So, what if you could interview the enemy.

You sit him down in that chair and make him answer for his crimes.

Perhaps, you may not have the power to convict him and your sword may just be a pen in this instance.

What questions would you ask death?

That was the place this flash fiction piece came from.

A friend did a rewrite with a serial killer as the enemy.

Below was my first draft.

It is hard not to be biased when interviewing the enemy.
I had been a talk show host for over two decades and seated across was my most notorious guest yet.
There was the tradition of a hearty banter before the cameras swung into action.
I should have skipped the niceties for today’s guest.
“How do you like your tea?” I ask.
“Cold,” he replies.
I am not surprised.
As I lean forward with the pitcher, a shiver runs down my spine.
I smooth down my dress. It is a poor attempt to conceal my fingers.
They have a strange beat of their own today. Tremors and movements beyond my control take over.
“Parkinson’s?” He jokes. “I can fix that too you know.”
He laughs.
I don’t.

***

The Head of Programming at the Network had requested this interview.
It would help the ratings.
Everyone has questions.
This is the most famous person, alive.
Ha! I laughed at the irony of it all. He had succeeded where many had failed.
The lure of asking whatever question I wanted did it for me.
I yearned to hear him talk about his famous and not-so-famous victims.
Did he hold a work ethic?
What was his daily routine?
Were there plans for an early retirement?
“Short hair suits you by the way.” He spoke with a smirk plastered on his face.
I held his gaze for a minute as I contemplated a response.
My entire being throbbed. The pain traveled to my brain’s center instantly. The effect was similar to slamming a car door on your right thumb.
It hurt.
I fingered the growing lump on my left breast as I re-positioned the clip-on microphone and switched it on.
“Thank you for coming in today”, I began.
It was time.

 

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One thought on “A CONVERSATION WITH DEATH

  • December 31, 2015 at 7:46 pm
    Permalink

    Too too sad to. Read when so many friends are ‘actually dying ‘ pleas more on to happier stuff.

    Reply

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