A day to die for
by 
dharker
|
Posted: Thursday, December 2, 2010 Word Count: 333 |
Death!
The tarot, and the gypsy lady who had read them, were unequivocal; tomorrow was the day Helen would die.
“Utter nonsense!” she decided, “Never believed that rubbish anyway…”
Even so she decided she would call in sick and take that duvet day she’d been promising herself for months.
She woke early, making a leisurely breakfast before her ultimate luxury – a long soak in a hot bath, soft music, cup of rich coffee and a good book. When the water cooled she pulled the plug, turned on the shower then washed and deep conditioned her hair. She played the hot water all over her body, enjoying almost too much the stimulation of the powerful jets of water.
Outside, a cold and dismal sleet spat and battered against the windows, whilst inside the afternoon flew by in a flurry of Loose Women, Doctors and Midsomer Murders. Still in her fluffy dressing gown, she carefully prepared herself a pasta salad with tuna for tea.
As daylight faded, her mind wandered to other extravagances to which she could perhaps treat herself. She chose to settle down on the sofa with a chilled glass of Chablis, a half bar of chocolate, and Pretty Woman on DVD.
“Lucky cow!” she thought as Richard Gere took Julia Roberts in his arms and kissed her passionately. Her eyes nodded, warmth and the alcohol combining to further relax her, then slowly immerse her in a deep trouble free sleep.
“Time of death approximately 11:59pm” said a voice.
“WHAT!” She looked around in horror for the source of the unfamiliar voice.
She was looking down into some kind of hospital room, a young guy in a white lab coat was leaning over the body of a young woman lying on a stainless steel table.
“No signs of a struggle or bruising. Smells nice, clean and well groomed, looks like she had a lovely evening, Cause of death: Acid Reflux, combination of alcohol and chocolate… sadly she choked on her own indulgence”.
The tarot, and the gypsy lady who had read them, were unequivocal; tomorrow was the day Helen would die.
“Utter nonsense!” she decided, “Never believed that rubbish anyway…”
Even so she decided she would call in sick and take that duvet day she’d been promising herself for months.
She woke early, making a leisurely breakfast before her ultimate luxury – a long soak in a hot bath, soft music, cup of rich coffee and a good book. When the water cooled she pulled the plug, turned on the shower then washed and deep conditioned her hair. She played the hot water all over her body, enjoying almost too much the stimulation of the powerful jets of water.
Outside, a cold and dismal sleet spat and battered against the windows, whilst inside the afternoon flew by in a flurry of Loose Women, Doctors and Midsomer Murders. Still in her fluffy dressing gown, she carefully prepared herself a pasta salad with tuna for tea.
As daylight faded, her mind wandered to other extravagances to which she could perhaps treat herself. She chose to settle down on the sofa with a chilled glass of Chablis, a half bar of chocolate, and Pretty Woman on DVD.
“Lucky cow!” she thought as Richard Gere took Julia Roberts in his arms and kissed her passionately. Her eyes nodded, warmth and the alcohol combining to further relax her, then slowly immerse her in a deep trouble free sleep.
“Time of death approximately 11:59pm” said a voice.
“WHAT!” She looked around in horror for the source of the unfamiliar voice.
She was looking down into some kind of hospital room, a young guy in a white lab coat was leaning over the body of a young woman lying on a stainless steel table.
“No signs of a struggle or bruising. Smells nice, clean and well groomed, looks like she had a lovely evening, Cause of death: Acid Reflux, combination of alcohol and chocolate… sadly she choked on her own indulgence”.