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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Renegade Winter” Down in the Dirt, v154 (the February 2018 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

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A Good Death Makes a Good Life

Alex Rezdan

    I was knee-deep in digging Charles Foster’s grave when he appeared before me with that cocky grin everyone knew so well. His sparkly teeth seemed to emit a reflective flash no matter the light conditions, so much so that you could practically hear them ding.
    “This is Charles Foster from KLI News wishing you and your loved ones a good night, and a great life.”
    Ding.
    I nearly fell backwards into his grave and cursed myself for leaving the manual labor for last again. His body hadn’t even been buried yet and already he was haunting me. I flicked the switch on the tombstone to make his hologram disappear.
    “Your slogan doesn’t work so well during the day,” I said. “Now shut up and rest in peace.”
    I finished digging the hole and took a break under the yew tree with beer in hand. It was something of a tradition for me to sit there around noon every day when the sun was shining brightest, the air was standing still, and the shade staved off the glare that might have prevented me from seeing straight into Rebecca’s office inside the main building. Although her job seemed stressful to me, I found it relaxing to watch her work.
    She worked as a death planner. Now that aging had been cured and people could live as long as they wanted to, death became the biggest event in a person’s life. Forget weddings or century-long anniversaries. The real money was in making someone’s last day be the best day ever. Ironically, though, it usually just meant one of several party packages depending on the budget.
    A couple sat on the other side of her desk. The man’s arms flailed about as he animatedly described his dream death, while the woman indulged him with simple smiles every now and then and Rebecca nodded enthusiastically, pressing him to splurge on several upgrades, I’m sure.
    I took a swig of beer and looked up towards the leaves and branches. It must have been nice, I thought, to be able to afford to die like that. For someone like me, I could barely afford immortality. I would have to work for hundreds of years before I could afford a good death, and even then, who would be there to attend? It had been years—decades even—that I had a night out with friends. It wasn’t that they had all died already and I was the only one left. Nothing like that. People just tend to drift apart over the years. I think that was true even before immortality.
    A squirrel caught my attention and provided a welcome distraction from those thoughts. It scurried up a branch and foraged for food. How long do squirrels live, I wondered. Would it choose to live forever if given a choice? Probably not. I think eternity is a young person’s dream, and although we’re all young forever now, we still get tired of working to survive. Trees had it best, I thought. Just give them sunlight and give them rain. There’s no desire, no suffering, no pain. I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.
    When I opened them, Rebecca stood next to me puffing on a cigarette.
    “Sleeping on the job,” she said and shook her head. “You’ve got it so easy, you have no idea.”
    “Says the one with air conditioning,” I said.
    She smirked and coughed. A puff of smoke burst out of her mouth.
    “Those things will kill you, you know?” I said.
    She raised her eyebrows and continued staring forward. “Those must have been the days.” She smiled wistfully and took another drag.
    A few moments of silence passed between us, but she kept stealing glances towards me and I could tell there was something she wanted to say. I decided to help her along.
    “That couple you were talking to earlier. Seemed pretty one-sided about the party.”
    She shook her head. “I could tell the guy was all about it, but his wife didn’t seem so sure. Some people, they make these plans to live their whole lives together but don’t seem to realize that it doesn’t mean you have to die together.” She sighed and took another puff, angrily blowing out the smoke. “Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about that right now.”
    I shrugged and checked if there was any beer left in the bottle. “There’s something you want to talk about,” I said. “I can tell.”
    “How long have you worked here now?” she said.
    “Kinda lost track after thirty years. It’s all the same, every single day.”
    “Me, too,” she said. “Every damn day. I remember you were already here when I started, and you know what?”
    I took a swig of the remaining beer and frowned. It was warm.
    “Next month will be one hundred years for me,” she said. “One hundred years of planning people’s deaths, but do you know the really sad part?” She closed her eyes as if preventing tears from falling out. “No matter what I plan for mine, I know no one will care.”
    I smiled and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She got this way every ten years or so. “You know I care,” I said. “Hell, at this rate, I’ll be the one digging your grave, and then who will be there for me?”
    She smiled and sniffed, wiping away a sole, mutinous tear. “You’re really lucky, you know that?”
    “How’s that?” I said.
    “There’s nothing expected of you. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
    I know she was just being emotional, but the words still stung. Perhaps to her, I was no different than the tree. Trees had it best, I thought, but only if you give them sunlight in addition to rain.

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