Anniversary exercise

[TheEarl]

Hurrah! I've now been on this site for almost exactly a year (I submitted my first story on the 7th April 2002). I've survived discussions on 4 foot turds, trigonometry and the precise placement of commas. And I'd like to think that most of you know vaguely who I am and what I'm like (even if it's just 'That dick who's obsessed with Red Dwarf').

Anyway, onto the serious business. After a very strange dream, I have come up with a new exercise for you to completely ignore. I think many people will probably ignore this, because it may be a touchy subject, but I felt I wanted to write it, so sod you all. I'll do it on my own if I have to <sticks out tongue> .

The reasoning behind this exercise was the prediction of my death. Over 3 years ago, I had my fortunes read and it came back with the news that I was going to die. On 4th April 2003. This was in 1999 some time, bear in mind. Earlier this year, I remembered the prediction and some very strange dreams and general imaginings on how I would die occurred as the date approached. Some of them were very creative, some were thought provoking and some were just funny (getting crushed by Rick Waller stage-diving was the best IMO). So I thought I'd open the floor to you:


In less than 1000 words write about your death. Describe how you think it'll happen, what you'll feel and some hint of your thoughts at the time. 3rd person, 1st person, whatever.


I will add my tuppence at some point, but haven't time at present. Besides I'm interested to see some of your ideas.

The Earl

 

[NoJo]

Earl, Is it ok if instead I write about your death, seeing the predictions have been confounded?

Seriously, you must have been pretty scared!

I have to admit, I'm finding it hard to locate the erotic possibilites in this challenge. Not as sexy as a four-foot turd, in my opinion.

 

[MathGirl]

48 incher

Not as sexy as a four-foot turd, in my opinion.

To Joe, however, few things are.
MG

I hate to bring this up, but by the Arabic calendar, 2003 hasn't happened yet. It's a couple of hundred years away, though, so no worries.

 

[Guest]

Disconcerting, perhaps - but erotic? I'm not too sure (at least not for me).

Unless - what if this were about what kind of sex you'd have if you knew you would die soon? What would you do? (and who would you do?)

Would you try all those things you dream about? You know, the extremely naughty, truly nasty, would never even be remotely considered in polite company kind of wild monkey love?

Again and again and again?







No, wait. I already do that!


(Never mind.)

 

[NoJo]

I've always wondered if my life would flash before me, including the moment when my life would flash before me, including the moment when...

 

[MathGirl]

Autophotography

I've always wondered if my life would flash before me, including the moment when my life would flash before me, including the moment when...

You've been taking too many pictures, Joe.
MG

 

[Svenskaflicka]

If my life would to flash before my eyes, I'd like to exchange some of my male co-actors...

 

[wildsweetone]

TheEarl, I'm glad you're still around.

~~
I’m hoping when death happens that it’ll happen quickly and without warning. I’m also hoping it’ll happen before I become so old that I lose my mind and my body becomes snarled and ragged with the usual problems that old age tends to shed.

I know it’ll happen no matter what my hopes and dreams, and it’ll happen in a way that will be out of my own control, for much as I have wished it in the past, I doubt that I could have the guts to commit any form of self death.

Here's my attempt at death. (531 words)

~~
She sat on the stone wall, listening and pondering the thoughts of the last month. Three of her closest friends had up and died on her, one without warning – a car accident, the second via the slow and tortuous death of cancer and the third during the Iraq war.

Of what use was it that she still lived? Her thoughts were no clearer than they had been a month ago. This holiday hadn’t really been a holiday at all. She’d felt no freedom from the heavy weight upon her shoulders, no lifting of the loss of her friends. Even praying to that staunch and deaf God above hadn’t hurried her own death, her own freedom from the world of nastiness in which she lived.

At 40 years of age, Carina realised she was still young compared to many of her work peers. But she felt every single year of those forty and she felt them as if she’d lived each one twice.

What she really wanted was peace of mind. To have her mind cleared of all thoughts of pain and horror, loneliness and stress. She stood, agitated and uncomfortable and began walking down the hill. Within moments her feet had carried her into the dense bush, the track barely visible appeared no longer in use. Carina knew the route by heart. She’d travelled it often in times when a great need had overcome her. Today was no different.

Her steps slowed as she came to the fork, taking the right route, then her steps quickened as she eagerly sought her spot. The sunlight trickled through the heavy canopy as she took off her clothing, scattering it along edge of the track. By the time she arrived at her little niche, she was naked. She lay upon the rock, the hard cold unforgiving stone dug into her back. The wind rustled the leaves high above and the sun peeped through sending a ray of light to land upon her lush breasts.

Carina closed her eyes and let her hands wander over her body. Her nipples hardening as one hand moved downwards. She needed to orgasm badly. She had learnt what her body needed over the last year, and she knew without doubt that an orgasm would help ease the chaos in her mind.

Rubbing her clit intensified the need that missiled through her. Her back arched off the rock, the wind whipped beneath her and the sun disappeared behind a heavy cloud. A few spots of rain landed on her bare belly as her finger slid inside her warm body. Squeezing one nipple hard between thumb and forefinger she twisted it then moaned out loud. Her finger left its warm cavern and continued to rub her clit until at last the tension gripped her body tight and she screamed out in her orgasm.

Moments later she sighed, her body slumped, her arms fell to the sides of the rock and blood poured from her skull.

The hunter moved silently through the forest, his gun held steadily in front as he followed his dog towards the area he’d heard the last animal sound. He hoped he’d killed it with his first shot.

 

[Croctden]

Challange

What kind of smeg is this challange?

Honestly I can see an erotic tale, someone knowing their time is running out and how they spend their days on earth.

I guess I can try to kick it around, but I don't believe in seers, mystics, etc. at all.

 

[TheEarl]

Doesn't have to be erotic. I never said anything about it having to involve sex. And Joe, it's perfectly alright to predict my death. After all, everyone else does.

The Earl

 

[wildsweetone]

wot! not even rating a "Oh yeah that. I saw it." comment? i'm crushed!

i guess i shall just have to try harder. alright?

 

[Guest]

wot! not even rating a "Oh yeah that. I saw it." comment? i'm crushed!

i guess i shall just have to try harder. alright?

Actually - it was incredible, wildsweetone. Erotic and disturbing!

(I just didn't know what to say!)

 

[MathGirl]

WSO's death story

Dear WSO,
Two lives intersecting, one freak happening, two lifes ruined, one excellent story.
MG

 

[wildsweetone]

*blushing*

sweetsubsarahh, thank you. *smile* what you have said in your post means a great deal to me.

MathGirl, wow. thank you for your thoughts also. i appreciate you took the time to read through the story.

i'm not sure about the two lives ruined though. if the woman was feeling low, perhaps low enough to wish she had died along with her friends, then a quick death without suffering might be a godsend for her.

...or were you meaning the hunter and his dog?

 

[TheEarl]

Sorry WSO. I did see it, I was just struck dumb by its excellence. Didn't have time to find the right words to tell you how good it was.

Right: - Here's one of my death thoughts.

I'm at the wheel. Cars flash past me, headlights shining through the gloom as I sit and think. Raindrops drizzle down the windows and are swept away by laconic movements of the wipers.

I've driven this route so many times that I'm doing it on autopilot. Every movement is mechanical and repetitive: change up to fifth, accelerate, brake slightly, cause this corner's a little too tight, dip clutch, down to fourth. I reach forward and flip the button on my CD player and fiddle about with the switches until I am satisfied with the sound. Slow guitar chords sound all around me as the start of Bother fills the car. I tap the wheel in time to the music, careless of the traffic all around me. I'm travelling at 60 now, something which would have worried me four weeks ago when I finally passed my test, but now I'm completely blase. This has become my routine and I'm careless about it.

I regard the cars passing me. They're nothing more than shapes, briefly illuminated blobs, moving through the darkness at incredible speeds. For a second I consider the fact that, relatively speaking, everything in the other lane is moving at 120 mph. Scary.

I'm in control of this car. A weird sense of fatalism comes over me. I'm in charge of this moment. I control what happens here and now. I don't need to be bounded by rules and repurcussions. Fuck the future. Fuck the now. All there is, is just me in my car and everyone going past at 120 mph.

I could hit them. The thought is liberating. I could hit them and die, this second if I felt the urge. All it would take is one jerk of the wheel and I would know all the answers. Am I right to believe in God? The answer is just one movement away.

People flash past, little minds encased in little steel carriages. Little do they know that I could change their life forever with one movement of my wrist. I can feel my hand moving, turning the wheel slowly towards them, the impulse for the jerk slowly travelling down my nerves. I stop it, calmly turning the wheel back. It is an epiphany. I can die any time I want. I can kill any time I want. I can choose anything and not be bound by any strictures. This life is mine for the using.

Then there is red, a sudden flare of red in front of me, glaring through the droplets on my windscreen. I start, driven out of my reverie by the flash of scarlet pulsing in front of me, and hit the brakes, slowly at first, then harder as I realise just how badly I've misjudged the stopping distance. The wheels lock and I stand on the brake pedal, forever hopeful that the car will slow down. I won't stop in time.

I watch, almost detached as I caroom towards the car in front and wonder if this car has airbags. Then my world collapses in on me and darkness enfolds all.

Hope you like.

The Earl

 

[wildsweetone]

i like it TheEarl. it feels like a dream... or maybe a nightmare... the mere fact that i am cringing in the hope that no one else gets killed indicates that i need a reality check. thank you for the thread.

 

[Guest]

My own death..........

Well.......it ends with a smile on my face for one thing. A lesbian lying on either side of me....(both satisfied BTW) at the pleasures we've just enjoyed.

Not a bad way to go...........


I remain,

 

[DurtGurl]

Precision

Originally posted by TheEarl Hurrah! I've now been on this site for almost exactly a year

I have great respect for someone who is nearly absolutely accurate.
DG/MG

 

[oggbashan]

Re: Precision

I have great respect for someone who is nearly absolutely accurate.
DG/MG

As I have respect for DG/MG and her Morris who are unique but split.

Og.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

You probably expect this to be a droll and clever parody of death, but I've reached an age where I've seen good friends die and felt their loss and seen my own sense of immortality called into question. I know how people really die, and my morbid and fearful state of mind has led me to what I feel is a pretty accurate picture of what will happen in my case, and probably in most of our cases.

Two things have kept me alive: libido energy and my sense of humor, and I'm counting on the second to take over when the first disappears. Because libido energy will disappear. It disappears from everyone's life if they live long enough, and its disappearance is the signal that you are finally old and used up. The ultimate source of joy, the generator of life's energy has left you, and all that's left id to wait to die. A sense of humor can help here, but it only helps you as you witness the end.

Like most people I'll probably die in a hospital after some crisis. I suspect I'll be doing something innocuous years from now: maybe climbing stairs in a parking garage or shoveling snow or trying to change a tire, and suddenly I'll have a hard time catching my breath. My arm and chest will hurt, like a stitch, but it won't go away. It hurts when I breath and everything I see has a red cast around the edges. There's the smell of blood in my nose, a hot coppery, metallic taste in my mouth and the burn of vomit in the back of my throat.

If I'm alone I'll just be consumed by pain and disbelief. I've never had heart trouble before, surely this is just a warning, it'll pass. But it doesn't. Instead the pain increases until I can't even stand up. I collapse to the floor of the garage which is dirty, maybe wet. I'm terribly embarrassed, but all I really care about id the pain in my chest and the fact that I can't breath and I'm starting to suffocate.

Someone sees me and a small crowd develops. I'm terribly embarrassed now, especially because I've wet my pants. I start to lose consciousness, my last thoughts being something totally stupid, like how I've ruined by coat falling on the garage floor.
Maybe the ambulance comes and they shoot me full of dope and drugs. It doesn't matter now. Than Angel of Death has touched me with His wing and it's only a matter of time.

Maybe better to go out on the floor of the garage than have to suffer what they do to me in the hospital: intubation, IV's, tracheotomy. The drugs they give me totally fuck me up so I hardly know where I'm at. I barely recognize the anguished faces of the people who come to see me. I mean, I recognize them but I can't recall their names.

My mouth, my throat, my whole airway reeks of the drugs they’ve given me, a terrible plasticy bitter taste, and I'm dying of thirst. My body's full of my own adrenaline, but it does no good except to befuddle me more and I try and cry out in a voice that just embarrasses me more. I sound like a fucking animal with all that crap down my throat, and they treat me like a piece of meat. I've got to get out of here. It's like they're trying to keep my skin alive while inside I'm already dying.

I have another seizure while I'm lying there, and this is it. They begin to pump all this shit into me, but all I know is that my consciousness is closing like the iris of a camera. I don't know what's going on; my brain is suffocating from lack of oxygen, all I feel is fear. I'm fading in and out of consciousness like a drawning man, sinking below the surface then pushing myself up, propelled by sheer animal panic. Finally I'm not even clear enough to experience my own death.

I don't want to leave the world. I don't want it to go on without me. I have some sudden random thoughts as my brain begins to die: a memory of an old friend, a snatch of some stupid song, an advertising jingle, all meaningless. I smell roses, or perfume, or burning rubber.

Finally I smell ether, something pungent and chemical and inhuman. I still hear voices, weeping, the beeping of the monitors dimly, then all I hear is the irregular pulse of blood in my ears, and then even that stops. All goes red, then black, and then I lose the capacity to think altogether.

And then I go back to darkness.

 

[Octavian]

thinking?

Originally posted by dr_mabeuse

and then I lose the capacity to think altogether.

I know exactly what you mean. It usually happens to me on a Friday night after 6 pints of 'Old Speckled Hen'.

Octavian

 

[MathGirl]

Dr Pollyanna

And then I go back to darkness.

Dear Dr M,
My, aren't we just a bundle of joy today.
MG

 

[oggbashan]

Capacity Shortfall

I know exactly what you mean. It usually happens to me on a Friday night after 6 pints of 'Old Speckled Hen'.

Octavian [/B]

Even at my age it takes more than 6 pints. 10 is my current limit but ah for the days of my youth and unlimited capacity.

Og

 

[Octavian]

capacity

Originally posted by oggbashan

10 is my current limit

10 pints is my capacity also, oggbashan. The trouble is I am pissed out of my brain before I reach it.

Octavian

 

[TheEarl]

Wow. I'm really speechless at the quality of that. Nice work Dr M.

Interesting that out of the three attempts at this so far, two have been really dark and cold, rather than humourous and satirical as I'd expected.

Here's another death thought:

I stumble, feeling the jolt as something slams into my back, and I reel against the wall. A sharp burst of pain explodes down my nerves as skin scrapes against the harsh burr of the bricks and I flail, trying to regain the balance which has suddenly abandoned me.

I stand up straight, leaning against the wall and look down. Something is poking through my shirt, metallic, cold, impersonal. What the fuck is going on? How did that get into the front of my shirt? I touch it, my finger tentatively exploring the point as I realise that it's some kind of spear. And it's gone right through me.

Waves of heat radiate from my face as I stare at the point, disbelieving what my eyes are telling me. This is ridiculous - I can't get stabbed. It's just...ridiculous. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me.

My fingers pluck at the hole in my shirt and I notice that I have blood on my hands. I love this bloody shirt. Now this shirt is bloody. And it's got a hole in it. I laugh, but no sound comes from my mouth. Something's wrong with me, I can't laugh. Doctor, doctor, I got stabbed through the chest and now I can't laugh. What's the punchline? Where's the punchline? Suddenly my legs can't support my weight and I slide down the wall like an undercooked piece of spaghetti.

There are voices now, burbling all around me, everyone talking so loudly and so long. Can't they shut up? Don't they know I'm hurt? Can't they help me? It suddenly occurs to me that I'm probably the only person in the area who knows the correct first aid for this situation. Great. I go through eight weeks of training to deal with accidents and then I get stabbed. How ironic.

Four words cut through the noise. "Shit. It's not him." Oh, great, now there's the punchline. I focus my eyes on the source - a scrawny looking boy holding some kind of crossbow/harpoony type thing. Fan-bloody-tastic. I've been killed by a 14 year old who thought I was someone else.

My body is collapsing, slowing down in a desperate attempt to save me, but my brain is still racing, focused ever further by that last thought. Killed? I haven't been killed? Who says I'm going to die? Bring them here and I'll fucking clock them. I can't die. I've got that novel which I started ages ago. I've got that story waiting for submission on the computer. I've got a game to play in tomorrow. I'm going out on Sunday. I can't die. I'm just too busy.

Suddenly pain intervenes. I've been trapped in a weird numbness, alone with my thoughts, away from everything. Now I’m back, thundering back into reality with a clatter of nerve endings. I can feel each breath taking more effort than the last as the agony grows in my chest, burning a hole through my ribcage. I feel like I’m tearing apart with every breath and it takes a conscious effort to keep going. Connections click and I realise that this is my body’s last throw of the dice. It’s tried everything it can to save me and now all that is keeping me from death is sheer bloody-mindedness.

That’s it then? It’s me against death – one on one. Fuck you Death. You’re going down. In. Out. In Out. In. Out. See? I can do this. If you didn’t know better, you’d think I’d been doing this breathing business all my life. Oh no, stop with the jokes, my sides are splitting.

In. Out. In. Out. In. In. In. Come on, damn you, I said breath in. My chest isn’t moving. I can’t breath in. Darkness tinges the edges of my vision and I search the crowd for my assassin and his harpoon. Who the hell uses a harpoon to kill someone? Blackness engulfs my vision, encroaching across my eyes and I scream to the crowd, screaming for anyone to come help, help me, help me. The shriek echoes in my brain, but all that comes out is a strangled gurgle, as the blood choking my lungs rises to the back of my throat.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t br…

The Earl