He’d promised to give up but it certainly wasn’t proving to be easy. Laura was always coming home from school with leaflets about good health for parents and she’d made him promise that he’d give up. He’d agreed half-jokingly but, as she’d reminded him, he’d never broken a promise to her in his life and this was important. He had to give up smoking.
Frank thought about his daughter for a moment, looking forward to the moment when he could see her again. She’d probably be in bed by the time he got home but he’d still go into the bedroom and give her a kiss, like he did every night. Even the thought of her brought a smile to his face.
The insistent buzzing of the phone removed it again. Frank sighed wearily and inspected the screen once more, as if by looking at it with such resignation would somehow make it stop.
It didn’t.
He checked to see that no one was watching then flipped the phone open and pressed it to his ear.
What he heard almost made him drop it.
28
For the first time since waking up, he thought about death.
Strange, since he’d been encased in a box designed specific ally for the storing and disposal of the deceased, but the thought of his own demise hadn’t hit him so powerfully up until now. To see it slipping away second by second, breath by breath, was almost unbearable. If the coffin contained enough air for a thousand breaths then the clock was running. Each inhalation was bringing him closer to the end. Five hundred breaths and he was halfway to death. How many times did an average person breathe in one minute? How many breaths did they take? Was his end to be measured in minutes?
‘Stop it,’ he snapped. ‘Stop it.’
He didn’t know to whom the words were directed. At his internal voice or his own mind. Either way he wasn’t too hopeful of blotting out the less than savoury thoughts zipping around inside his head or of silencing that irritatingly logical and insistent voice that seemed impervious to all admonishments.
Everyone thought about death in his or her darkest moments, he was sure of that. Anyone who’d been on a plane when it had hit a patch of bad turbulence, or anybody who’d been in a car that had inexplicably swerved on a wet road must have entertained brief and terrifying thoughts of their own mortality. Any person admitted to hospital for an operation must consider the possibility that something would go wrong and they’d never leave the place. It was human nature. Unavoidable. One of the perils of being the most intelligent species on the planet. With that intelligence came the ability to contemplate your own death. Then again, dolphins were supposedly intelligent. Did they give thoughts to being attacked by sharks? To getting caught in the nets left for tuna? Cows were supposed to be stupid but he’d read or heard that they sometimes became more agitated upon entering a slaughterhouse. Were they really more astute than people gave them credit for, or was it just that they smelled the blood of others of their kind at that time and sensed their own fate? No one knew and no one ever would.
He himself had even given it a passing thought before now. But only ever in passing. Never in this way. Never in a situation where what life he had remaining was literally being sucked away moment by moment.
Then again, he’d never been in a coffin before with nothing else to think about other than his own demise. It focused the mind, the thought of slipping helplessly into eternity. And then, after the coughing and choking and the pain and the suffering were over, what then? Where to?
Heaven or Hell?
Don’t start. Not now.
A sea of clouds or a lake of fire?
What do you think you deserve?
He clamped his jaws together as tightly as he could, until they ached, until he wondered if he might crack his back teeth. The thoughts drifted away slightly. They didn’t leave completely, they just retreated a short distance. He knew they’d be back.
Where are
Frank thought about his daughter for a moment, looking forward to the moment when he could see her again. She’d probably be in bed by the time he got home but he’d still go into the bedroom and give her a kiss, like he did every night. Even the thought of her brought a smile to his face.
The insistent buzzing of the phone removed it again. Frank sighed wearily and inspected the screen once more, as if by looking at it with such resignation would somehow make it stop.
It didn’t.
He checked to see that no one was watching then flipped the phone open and pressed it to his ear.
What he heard almost made him drop it.
28
For the first time since waking up, he thought about death.
Strange, since he’d been encased in a box designed specific ally for the storing and disposal of the deceased, but the thought of his own demise hadn’t hit him so powerfully up until now. To see it slipping away second by second, breath by breath, was almost unbearable. If the coffin contained enough air for a thousand breaths then the clock was running. Each inhalation was bringing him closer to the end. Five hundred breaths and he was halfway to death. How many times did an average person breathe in one minute? How many breaths did they take? Was his end to be measured in minutes?
‘Stop it,’ he snapped. ‘Stop it.’
He didn’t know to whom the words were directed. At his internal voice or his own mind. Either way he wasn’t too hopeful of blotting out the less than savoury thoughts zipping around inside his head or of silencing that irritatingly logical and insistent voice that seemed impervious to all admonishments.
Everyone thought about death in his or her darkest moments, he was sure of that. Anyone who’d been on a plane when it had hit a patch of bad turbulence, or anybody who’d been in a car that had inexplicably swerved on a wet road must have entertained brief and terrifying thoughts of their own mortality. Any person admitted to hospital for an operation must consider the possibility that something would go wrong and they’d never leave the place. It was human nature. Unavoidable. One of the perils of being the most intelligent species on the planet. With that intelligence came the ability to contemplate your own death. Then again, dolphins were supposedly intelligent. Did they give thoughts to being attacked by sharks? To getting caught in the nets left for tuna? Cows were supposed to be stupid but he’d read or heard that they sometimes became more agitated upon entering a slaughterhouse. Were they really more astute than people gave them credit for, or was it just that they smelled the blood of others of their kind at that time and sensed their own fate? No one knew and no one ever would.
He himself had even given it a passing thought before now. But only ever in passing. Never in this way. Never in a situation where what life he had remaining was literally being sucked away moment by moment.
Then again, he’d never been in a coffin before with nothing else to think about other than his own demise. It focused the mind, the thought of slipping helplessly into eternity. And then, after the coughing and choking and the pain and the suffering were over, what then? Where to?
Heaven or Hell?
Don’t start. Not now.
A sea of clouds or a lake of fire?
What do you think you deserve?
He clamped his jaws together as tightly as he could, until they ached, until he wondered if he might crack his back teeth. The thoughts drifted away slightly. They didn’t leave completely, they just retreated a short distance. He knew they’d be back.
Where are
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