was seven years young when my gran crossed that

NECROPHILE great old barrier to the beyond, and when I was told it
had happened... well that was probably one of the
BY ANTHONY ISCARIOT saddest moments of my life. I realized then, not in any
obvious sense, but deep inside, that nothing lasts.

There was a time when I loved the dead. I still do, but Wonderful isn’t it, that our bodies will someday
in a different way. fertilize the earth? The same great being that sustains
us, that produces what we eat, what we wear and upon
My first experience with death, human death that is,
which we do all that we do, that same great being will
was when my paternal grandmother died of lung
someday devour us even to the bone and tooth, and
cancer. I vowed I’d never smoke. That turned out to
unlike us, it doesn’t do it out of greed or even need,
be the first of many broken vows. My gran was sick
but because it passes what it receives to the next
and wasn’t going to survive though nobody said it.
generation of life upon it. There’s no greater sacrifice
Buried in our back yard were two of my pet budgies. I
than the mother of us all feeding her children to her
got it into my head to dig them up to see what they
children. Nothing can live without something dying,
would look like after being in the ground so long, and
and what is death anyway but a metamorphosis.
did just that. Needless to say, they looked a little
Energy only changes shape, it can never be destroyed.
different than they did when they were happily
The worm has to die in order for the butterfly to be
chirping and flapping their bright wings in their
born. The French call an orgasm “le mort petit”,
flimsy cage. No sooner had I dug them up when my
meaning “the little death”, fitting that the very
sister happened upon my macabre little pastime. She
phenomenon that engenders life should be called such
proceeded to tell me that digging up dead things
a thing.
omened someone’s death. The perceptive reader will
have no trouble deducing what happened soon after. I
 Something
I’ve never
really
bothered
about is to
engage in
contemplations of an afterlife. Granted I have spent a
thought or two on the subject, but life and the
destination it leads to is far more intriguing. I’ve
wondered far more about what the manner of my
passing will be. Will it be peaceful or violent? Will I
know it when it comes or will the reaper take me
unawares? Looking at society today I often can’t help
but have a sardonic little chuckle to myself. Adverts
try to sell skin creams to make you look younger.
Fitness equipment is all the rage. “Buy our product
with your hard earned money and we guarantee you’ll
live forever, unless you die, then all bets are off”.
Silly really, this yearning for immortality. Entire
religions have been created around the concept of
living forever. It seems eternal life is just around the
corner, as long as the cash registers keep ringing.
I still collect bones. I don’t keep them for long unless
they’re special in some way. Usually they just get lost
or given away or in some other manner find their path
to their earthy destiny. People are uncomfortable with
the concept of death and frequently ask me why I
keep such morbid reminders. I don’t have an answer
for them except that they don’t bother me like they do
them. I’m not obsessed with it. I’m far more obsessed
with life and living it, but I feel that to surround
myself with a few symbols of our eventual fate keeps
me grounded and allows me to see things in a less
serious light. After all, there’s no need to take life too
seriously, you’ll never get out alive.
Death equals destiny. Live with it.
The end.