How To Be Dead #1-3 (The 'How To Be Dead' Grim Reaper)

by Dave Turner

He let himself into the flat and walked into a living room that would have tested the euphemisms of the most devious estate agent.

Tourists scampered excitedly around it like ants around a greying lump of sugar.

Desks and filing cabinets were jammed next to each other like a giant game of analogue Tetris.

'I'll never understand human displays of affection,' Death said. 'I want to see you naked. Here, have some dead foliage.'

Any nation that could invent a game that went on for five days and invariably ended in a draw truly grasped the futility of existence.

'Under other skills, you've written "good gaydar",' Dave said. Death sipped his coffee. 'Yeah, well, I had to pad it out somewhat.'

table began to ring. War, who had no truck with new technology, was back on his feet. 'Whatever is making that infernal racket, kill it. Kill it with fire.'

You put your faith in absolutes. Good and evil. Heaven or hell. Blur or Oasis. You're so sure of the universe and your place in it and who put you there. I speak from personal experience when I say it's a lot more complicated than that. Take wasps, for example. Wasps are made entirely from bastard. Whose grand design are they part of?'

'You know what they say. Wednesday night is the new Thursday night. And as Thursday night was the new Friday night that makes Wednesday night the new Friday night. Also, Tuesday is the new Monday and May is now April. August is still August but renamed 31 Days of Awesome!' Dave narrowed his eyes. 'Have you started drinking already?' 'No. A little bit. Yes.'

How did humans cope with this? How did they deal with the prison of their own humanity? How could they get up every morning knowing that the whole world in all its form and splendour was just over the horizon, yet they would only glimpse a tiny fraction of it in their maddeningly fleeting lifespan? He switched on the

War's sword. Ooh. And a Van Morrison CD. He'd been looking for that for ages.