The Dozen Deaths Between Downtown And Home

It ended with a heart attack; it began with a baby. George would rather it kept on for another hundred years but such things aren’t too be. If he had worked out, kept better care of himself he would have made it to the street where a small hatchback would hit him. If he were too remember about the hatchback and stop right before, he’d have ten minutes to make his way to the alley where a desperate man wants money and isn’t thinking straight.

George tries, and tries again. There’s a child, a wife and a beer at home and no time to wonder about the larger implications of the last dozen deaths. He’s got to move and move right this time. If he can’t stop dying, I’ll run out of rewrites and we’ll both be sad. If George can remember that the mugger has a glass jaw, maybe he can get home and I can write him a happy ending.

…Maybe George should remember not to touch bare wires and to keep his hands inside the vehicles. Damn it, he’s doing this on purpose now.