Irving Roosevelt Oswald Nicholas Youngston awoke at 6:13 on the morning of June 21st thinking that there could not have be a more beautiful day to die in the history of the world. Indeed, he wondered how anyone on earth would want to be alive after a day such as this. He got out of bed, put on his clothes, brushed his sparkling white teeth with minty toothpaste, brushed his thick, black hair with a comb missing a few teeth, and set off happily along his way, waiting for death to arrive and take him. You may be wondering why Irving was so eager for death at this stage of his life. The truth was Irving didn’t quite know himself. He had never considered himself the adventurous type, certainly ...view middle of the document...
The last one to do so slit his wrist and bled out all over the floor right in the middle of the morning coffee break. It had been a very silly display, Irving thought. When he went out, it would be with much more grace and flare. It would be something people remembered and talked about, not nearly as careless or flagrant a display.
“Good morning, Irving!” said Thanos Dane, Irving’s closest and dearest work acquaintance.
“Isn’t it?” Irving replied. “I mean it’s just about as good of a day as you could ask for, dontcha think?”
“It really is!” remarked Thanos. “Let’s hope it stays the same for tomorrow.
“Oh I really don’t care about tomorrow,” Irving remarked. “I’m going to die this afternoon.”
Thanos laughed. It was not such an uncommon thing to hear around the office these days.
“Make it a good one for us, huh Irv?”
Irving smiled. “I’ll definitely try!” he replied. “Say, why don’t you go along and do it with me?”
“Nah, I don’t think I’m up for that kind of thing.” Thanos responded. “Figure living is pretty okay I suppose. I wouldn’t want to risk that just for a little thrill.”
“Well, I see it exactly the opposite. I mean living is basically like death, so I can only assume that death will be like living, right?”
“That’s not a bad point!” mused Thanos. “I guess I’ll have to think about that one. For now, though, you’re on your own. I gotta get upstairs Irv, I’ll see you around.”
“No you won’t.” Irv replied cheerfully.
Checking his watch (and finding it to be an appalling 8:16), Irv sashayed to the elevator, pressed the button for the 13th floor, and rode upwards. His mind wandered to this and that on the trip up: whether he had safely clipped the hedge fund for that lovely family from Iowa, if lunch was going to be on time, and so on. It wasn’t until the elevator had dinged to his floor when it struck him that he should probably tell his boss about his impending death. Giving notice was common courtesy, and Irving had always thought of himself as a rather courteous person; he would never do anything to displease or hurt anyone else. His mother had always told him that the only way to get things in life is to be polite, assertive, and docile when asking.
At 8:21, Irving knocked on the door of Roger Jameson, the head of accounting at Shouldwe, Cheatem, and How.
“Come in.” said the curt response. Irving entered jovially and waited politely at the door for his boss to speak.
“Youngston,” growled Jameson, “it says here that you punched in a full 8 minutes late today.”
“A full 7 minutes, sir.”
“Well never mind. What did you want to see me about?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be dead this afternoon.”
Jameson seemed engrossed in the newspaper on his desk. Irving could read the title upside-down. It said something like:
TOWNSVILLE MAN KILLS 2 DAUGHERS, WIFE, BEFORE KILLING SELF
“Well, okay. Why are you telling me?”
“I just thought it would be common courtesy.” said Irving. He couldn’t help but notice that Mr....