Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

(Miniseries) Life and death and buffoonery: Postmortem

Essay By: parkelis
Literary fiction


Join Igneous as he recounts the stories of his life, on grand topics such as love and friendship down to the trivialities of daily life (like the double-poop). Each contains a little bit of life, death, and buffoonery.


Submitted:Jul 6, 2012    Reads: 16    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   


Well… does it not seem like any and all awkward, verbose dosages of the human language (most often in the form of public utterance) begin with the word "well?" Why introduce an innovative thematic proposal of some merit by providing your everyday audience with a word that conjures up the insignificant image of a mere pit in the earth's figure - specifically, an obsolete contraption used to retrieve water? Obviously, there are many shapes connotatively and denotatively the word may fit into, but that is wholly beside the point.

Well. By the looks of things, it would appear I have passed on from my earthly form, now a drifting soul, an itinerant walker among the living dead. I wander around what seems to be another realm. As I am certain the gates of Heaven would not have had me enter, if you are trying to ascertain my present position, I think it would suffice if you just look straight down into the fiery pits of our Earth's core. Hmm. I do feel a little warm (and there is that man over there on fire).

Now comes the interesting part. As I have absolutely nothing to do whatsoever with my time (you would think that there would be toys in Hell but I can assure you there are not), the thought that floods my mind is what I would like to be remembered for by the earthlings I have so tragically left behind. For that matter, I wonder how they manage to move forward in life without my constant assistance. Stupidity astounds me.

Follow me as I ruminate upon the events of my life: what had I achieved in my lifetime, that ever so diminutive elapse of time from 1993, the year my sweet mother gave birth to me, to 2012, when the reaper stole from me my precious life?





1

| Email this story Email this Essay | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.