So, I almost
died today, or something.
Around noon, a
little bit later, I thought I’d fix myself some lunch,
so I heated up
some sauce and fried an egg and ate the thing and turned everything off,
or so I thought.
Then I got out
of there and went about my business,
watched the football
game, checked messages,
and all this
while a burner of the stove was leaking gas ever so slightly.
I never noticed
—I cannot smell—
well, not unless
you’re holding the thing an inch away from my face.
Gas leaked for
about three hours and then my aunt got home.
Some days ago, a
shop not far away blew up for the same reason,
after turning on
the lights, or at least that’s what my grandma thinks.
Anyway, my aunt
comes in, smells the gas immediately
and turns it off
without flicking on the lights.
Now here’s the
thing —
she could’ve lit
said lights before opening the door —
there’s a switch
right outside—
and if she had,
and my grandma’s right about the physics, we both would’ve blown up.
A fried egg, a
faulty wrist move, no sense of smell, a switch outside.
There. Death.
It really makes
you think.
How many people
drop like flies each day because of crap like that?
Even people who would've mattered.
And you, you classic
book,
you talk about
hamartia and sense of tragedy.
Poor you, fake
thing.
You seem to
think that life cares about beauty.
