Saturday, December 29, 2007

Bathroom Monologue: A Matter of Life and Death

His name is Life. You had to know he existed. With all the personifications of Death out there, you knew there had to be a personification of her boyfriend. And that’s Life. Due to the company he keeps, he’s a rather pale, sickly fellow, skinny with red eyes, silver hair and a serene smile that gives away not an inkling of what’s on his mind. If you haven’t figured it out, his mind is the earth. Every so often he gets in a fight with Death, which is natural for couples. She’ll go over and sulk in some corner of the intensive care ward at a hospital. He’ll go try to cheer himself up at the nursery, though he always gets bored and goes outside. When Death gets over herself, she finds him sitting out in front of the nearest available statue. Life likes statues. He likes Art. Art is his best-known son, always imitating him. Then Life and Death will talk out their problems, the same ones they’ve had for millions of years, and kiss and make up in the twilight of morning. Life will talk to you if you try hard enough, though it’s hard to get him to answer questions. The one time I’ve asked him why he associates with Death, he smiled wanly, already beginning to fade, and answered, “It’d be real lonely without her.”

1 comment:

  1. I loved this the first time I read it, and I love it again now. It's fun and clever (as usual), and while we often see Death personified, we so rarely see Life so. Which is silly, and I quite like how you've done it.


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