Half past eleven on a Tuesday morning is most certainly not the most appropriate time to have one’s arm inside their own body. When considering the task at hand, mid to late afternoon would have been much more agreeable. Regardless; there was Gerald, arm down his corpse’s throat, attempting to reattach his detached organ.
“I don’t think I can reach,” he said again.
“Perhaps you didn’t use enough?” The Grim Reaper offered the near empty tub of butter toward Gerald.
Wincing as he began coating more of the spread on his arm, Gerald reassessed the plan that Death had laid out for him. Granted, he didn’t have the most experience in these matters, but he still wondered at the possibility of reattaching your own appendix by way of mouth.
“I told you; there is always the other entrance. You seemed rather squeamish about that for some reason though,” Death said, as if sensing that he was replaying the conversation again. “It’s quite simple really. When one dies, their muscles completely relax, which means your arm will just stretch your throat a bit. It might make things a little messy down south, sure, but I’m normally gone before all of that. Come to think of it, I guess I can understand opting for the top entrance.
“Really though. How is it that your wife hasn’t even noticed that smell?” Death asked.
“You’ve never smelled her cooking.”
“That would also explain the pizza belly there,” Death poked a foot into the corpse’s stomach.
“Wait. Do that again,” as Death prodded at the body again, Gerald’s freshly buttered arm slipped further down. “I think I’ve got it!”
With a sigh of relief, Death lifted the reconnected silver thread and pulled out his unicorn scissors. He paused momentarily, considering the past few hours with Gerald before he passed his final judgement. “You know Gerald. You have been an infuriating waste of my time and a pain in my side. But. . . I do wish you well and hope that you don’t end up in the bad place. That place is horrible. Cheerio!”
The scissors sliced effortlessly through the silvered chord, permanently severing body from spirit. Gerald pondered on the surreality of the moment. Surely he should feel something? Then again, his entire experience since dying had been underwhelming. He sighed. A satisfying release of the tension that had been building over the course of the last few hours. Finally accepting his fate, he resigned himself to moving on.
The moments ticked by as he waited for the oft-mentioned reliving of past memories. Did he feel lighter? Was it happening?
“Well shit,” Death said plainly.
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