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My Eulogy
December 26, 2006 in 299 Words, Books, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Literature, Music, Poetry, reading, Short stories, Stories, Very Short Novels, Writing | Tags: Monologue, Performance, Rhetoric, Speech | by davidbdale | 10 comments
Dearly beloved, and others, we gather today with heavy hearts to mourn the passing of a cherished individual, me. The greatest loss, of course, is mine, but each of you are also now diminished, unless you hold collateral for what I owe you. Lying here mute with my jaws wired shut, I’m still the whole show, a loss you’ll not soon recover from, and it saddens me to take away the better part of you. The current fashion in funerals is a joyous celebration, but I prefer ritual groaning to sappy remembrances, so rend some garments. In order of magnitude, starting with me, we have each of us suffered a devastating loss, for I was father, husband, brother, son (most of those accidentally), cousin, grandson, nephew (no one asked if I wanted to be), a felon, an adulterer, an unnamed co-conspirator, the boss from hell, a karaoke singer, and the author of a will that should infuriate everyone it names. A complete list would require depositions. The deceased was infamous for the roles he played and for his ruthlessness: with creditors, with other men’s wives, with the mostly-female choir that will sing here tonight. I loved you all, not just your voices. But oh, what delicious backing those voices provided for mine. By way of closing let me say, in relationships with every man of consequence, an urgent intimacy needs to be petted and fed or it will jump the fence and flee to the woods. In my case, it was my dog, who I will truly miss. Dear friends, I was more to you than you knew; and you, to me, were parts that blended with mine. It won’t be much of a requiem without me singing, but do your best. You can blame your performance on grief.
Copyright © December 26, 2006
Pre-Crash Checklist
October 20, 2006 in 299 Words, Books, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Literature, Poetry, Short stories, Stories, Very Short Novels, Writing | Tags: Airport, Crash, Danger, Death, Monologue, Speech | by davidbdale | 2 comments
Slip the flat metal end into the buckle and pull the loose end to secure the belt around your hips. Get and remain comfortable. Passenger attitude is an essential component of airworthiness, which is not to say we could cause a crash by thinking about one, but why risk it. This aircraft is equipped with floor level lighting which will guide you toward the exit when the cabin fills with noxious smoke so thick you won’t see the wall of flame approaching row by row. Or at least it was designed to be so equipped and was once certified to have been so equipped, but the failure of a simple thermal switch never tested by the team subcontracted by this airline to conduct routine inspections will prevent even that laughably inadequate safety feature from providing you any life-sustainment. Sudden loss of cabin pressure, an event so unlikely it happens to fewer than one million passengers a year, will trigger trap doors in the overhead bin, spilling oxygen masks to some passengers. Yours will be functional. The thin plastic supply hose won’t kink as so many do in testing nor melt in the intense heat of the advancing inferno, but you’ll have swallowed so much smoke you’ll merely cough into the mask and, heaving forward, tear it from the pump. If only you had kept your belt secured around your hips. Blown backward by the blast from the baggage compartment, several seats from Row 8 will be wedged incongruously between the cabin ceiling and lucky Row 13, sealing off the exit door nearest you. Small comfort your seat cushion is a flotation device! Thank you for choosing to violate gravity with us today and if there is anything we can do to make you more uncomfortable, please hesitate to ask.
Copyright ©1997
Very Short Novels 