Throw it all Away
By: Alonzo William Edwards
I hate places like this. They really get under my skin in an exceptional way. It’s like one of those weirdo movies. This dimly lit sub-basement of a public crematorium. The stench of sulphur making love to rotting flesh, climaxing into a potpourri describable as nothing less than hot death, the aroma is almost hypnotic. So much so it nearly causes me to forget why I am here. Almost forget that is until the slow drawl of the man I am speaking to thrusts me back into reality. He is a dwarf of a man quite ogrish in his appearance and not quite as bright as the dimly lit space we are occupying. I see the confusion on his face as the words begin to dribble from his lips. ‘Ok let’s get this straight. Because I am not quite sure what exactly it is you are asking me to do. I mean it’s just that… it’s that I mean you have to admit it is a strange request.” I turn up my lips in a manner that suggests I am not explaining this for the first or last time, and begin to once again divulge my masterfully engineered and up to this point masterfully executed plan to this impish blue collar worker. I stand there in my personally tailored Italian suit, my navy blue appearing black in the low light. Pinstripes from shoulders to feet accentuate my 6’1” athletic frame. Name brand frames and custom color changing lenses wrap around the corners of my neatly trimmed head of deeply waved hair. The collar of my white shirt begins to dampen from the sweat of my neck as I speak. I loosen my sapphire blue tie, thinking how much it accents the azure of my eyes, and realize that perhaps if I had not been born with these exotic optical amenities I would not even be having this conversation right now. I finish speaking to the man who I would have until this point in my life would have considered far below deserving audiences with me, but now I find myself supplicating desperately. He appears to finally grasp my concept. “Ok sir I believe I understand. You are going to pay me one hundred thousand dollars to sell you the ashes of a random John Doe. Then you want me to give them to your wife and family so they can use them at your memorial service.” I smile slightly “yes I need you to do all of these things as well as confirm the death certificate and remember you are doing this as a part of my last will and testament.” The man seems to swallow these words like warm bourbon. “Ok sir I believe I got it all. It’s just that… it’s that. I don’t understand why you are doing this sir. I mean sir you live from what I can tell a perfect life. Why would you want to throw it all away by pretending that it’s over? I mean faking your death. I mean it’s just that… it’s that you have so much. Why would you throw it all away?” I am immediately taken aback. This lowest level of man has spoken words that are immeasurably profound to me. Throwing it all away has seemed to be the theme of my entire existence. It is the reason I am standing here this very moment. He knew nothing, I was throwing nothing away. I was gaining the world. She had thrown it all away. She had done this it was her it was all her fault. He didn’t know that though, he thought I was throwing all away. Hmph.
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