Tag: Death

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YOU REAP WHAT YOU SEW

Nancy's Notes πŸ–ŠοΈβ™¬

β€œGrundy, you old son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing here?” exclaimed Ian Simms.

β€œSame as you, Ian, and your brother, Carter. Attending the reading of your father’s will. May he rest in peace. 

β€œCarter, look who’s here!” declared Ian to his twin. β€œIt’s the one and only Grundy!”

β€œIt’s been a while, Grundy. I can’t even recall the last time I saw you” remarked Carter. 

β€œI believe it was your sixteenth birthday – the day before your mother deserted your father and shipped both of you off to military school.” 

β€œYou know, Grundy, there was a time when you showed a bit more respect to me and my brother. You used to call me β€˜Master Carter’ and my brother β€˜Master Ian’ – back when you were my father’s lowly valet.” 

β€œYes indeed – when you behaved like the spoiled crowned princes of Palm Springs. I’d say we’re on equal footing now, Carter.” 

β€œWatch your mouth, old man” snarled Carter. β€œRemember you were just a servant!” 

β€œWere being the operative word. Here’s your father’s attorney now. Let’s get on with this, shall we?” 

β€œGood afternoon, everyone. Please be seated. I’m Lester Garrison, Mr. Simms’ attorney, and we’re gathered here today for the reading of his will. All right then, let’s begin.” Garrison cleared his throat: 

β€’ β€œI, Franklin Theodore Simms, being of sound mind and body declare this to be my last will and testament.

β€’ To my former wife, Gloria Morrow Simms, I leave a dildo so she can go fuck herself. I’m sure she didn’t have the decency to attend today but there was never anything decent about her. 

β€’ To my sons Carter and Ian I leave both the amount of $19.79 which represents the year you were born. Perhaps if you had bothered to call or visit me just one time in the past 24 years the amount would be substantially higher; however that is not the case. You reap what you sow, boys. 

β€’ To the San Diego Zoo I leave $2.5 million dollars because animals are infinitely nicer than humans. 

β€’ The remainder of my estate, all my worldly possessions and $18.5 million dollars I leave to my one true friend – Samuel Grundy. Sam, you were never just my valet; you were my brother. You were the only one who remained when my family abandoned me. And when I became sick, you cared for me, refusing any income. We spent many hours in the garden by the weeping willow tree playing chess, sharing memories, baring our souls. 

β€’ A note to my sons: if you hadn’t been so self-centered you would have known Mr. Grundy’s first name. Instead you treated him like chattel and called him simply β€˜Grundy’. Shame on you both! 

β€’ My lawyer already knows that I don’t want a funeral. I’m to be cremated and my ashes buried under the old willow tree where I spent my final days with Samuel Grundy.

β€’ See you at the tree, Sam. The rest of you ingrates can go to hell.”

NAR Β© 2019

inspired byΒ Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC)of 24 September 2022,Β spite

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THE LOSER

Nancy's Notes πŸ–ŠοΈβ™¬

β€œInstantly Irresistible” read the label on the perfume bottle at a shop in Bangkok. I was, shall we say, drawn here after several misunderstandings with the Sydney Police Department. I called it β€œgaining a profit”; they called it β€œpickpocketing”.

Contrary to the Sydney Police, my parents and my friends, I’m not a complete loser – just a partial one. I worked in a book store back home but got canned when I β€˜borrowed’ a few dollars from the register. The shop owner called the police on me, even though β€œhe really liked me and hated doing it” . Then there was the β€˜incident’ which brought me here. 

Now I’m washing dishes for a restaurant, just barely getting by. The waitresses, all sisters, live together downstairs in a shoebox of an apartment near the supply room. I sleep on a cot in the basement and use the grungy bathroom – better than nothing. There’s a basement window which I crawl through when I get home late and the restaurant is closed. Only the owner and the eldest sister have a key. 

Sometimes when the sisters are working I’ll go downstairs for supplies, take a small detour into that shoebox and help myself to their tip money. I’m wondering – can I be considered a β€˜housebreaker’ if the door isn’t locked? 

I have a clandestine girlfriend, too. She’s a cleaner at the tailor shop nearby. I saw her through the shop window and she looked up and smiled. One dark night after work I waited for her outside the shop and asked if I could walk her home. She agreed but said only half way – her family would not approve. She lives with her parents and 11 siblings. All of what she earns goes to her family. She owns only a few clothes and a ragged cloth pouch. I surprised her with a bottle of perfume which I found in a moldy wood crate behind the shop. She smiled happily and slipped it into her pouch. Her name is β€œPiti” and she calls me β€œSam” which isn’t even my name but that’s ok. No one knows I exist.  

After dark the next night I waited for Piti but she never showed. Disappointed, I skulked home. The same thing happened the next two nights and on the fourth day during my break I glanced in the tailor shop window only to see a different cleaning girl. β€œWhere was Piti?” I wondered, becoming concerned. 

Several days later I overheard the sisters talking. Piti had become deathly sick – an apparent toxic reaction to old perfume from a bottle found in her pouch. She had been in quarantine, but died this morning. 

I was reeling. I did this to Piti. I killed her! She was a perfect angel, the sweetest part of my life. Everything I do hurts someone. In the course of three weeks I’ve gone from petty thief to murderer. Everyone is right. I’m a complete loser. I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself.       

NAR Β© 2019

Reposted for Fandango’s FOWC – http://fivedotoh.com/2023/02/08/fowc-with-fandango-perfume/

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THE EIGHTH OF DECEMBER

Nancy's Notes πŸ–ŠοΈβ™¬

While cradling my year old son in his bed after a bad dream, I sang softly to him my favorite Beatles song, In My Life. He stared up at me, his blue eyes moist with tears. Slowly his breathing became calm and his eyelids began to flutter. At last he was asleep and I kissed his eyes, removing the last traces of salty droplets as I pulled up his covers.

Closing the door gently behind me, I went back downstairs where my husband Bill was watching Monday Night Football. One look at Bill as he sat on the sofa, his head in his hands, told me his team was playing badly. I kidded him about being so serious about a game but he didn’t react. I softly called his name and when he looked up at me there were tears running down his face.

As I sat next to him he turned to me, took my hands and told me that John Lennon was dead, shot on the doorsteps of his home, The Dakota. I stared at him in shock. Why would he say such a horrible thing? Who would ever want to hurt John?

He turned the tv volume back on; the game had been interrupted by the report of an incident involving John. I fell to the floor sobbing as the reporter droned on about ‘rapid gun shots’ .. ‘police/John/hospital’ .. ‘dead on arrival’.

I cried uncontrollably and kept repeatingΒ no!Β no! no!Β as my husband held me in his arms and I sobbed in sorrow and disbelief. We sat on the floor for a long time, clinging to each other, unable to stop my tears or un-hear the words coming from the tv.

At one point my three year old son crept down the stairs, frightened and wonderingΒ “what was wrong with mommy”.Β My husband quickly scooped him up and returned him to his room, whispering thatΒ “mommy was very sad about something she saw on tv and she would be ok tomorrow.“

But I was not ok the next day. I was not ok the next week. I was never truly ok after that night. No living, loving soul in the world was ever ok again.

These days, almost 38 years later, as I cradle my son’s babies in my arms and rock them to sleep, I sing In My Life and I remember John. 

NAR Β© 2018