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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 05 | volume I | October-November, 1998



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 05October-November, 1998
Prose

One Only Dies Once

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p. 1
Goran M. Petrov

Death seemed like some kind of an optical instrument, which was turning even the water-drop into a complex bee-hive of life

    Terry Pratchett
        Pyramids

One morning, I woke up dead. This may sound weird, but I don’t wake up in the morning at least twenty-five days in the month anyway. When I woke up, I didn’t know I was dead, but then Death came and convinced me. It is the truth indeed that the people are suspicious about so sensitive matters such as their lives, but when you’re dead, you are in a position to look at the world a bit wider and more objectively. Besides, Death has a lot of experience, and the logic was on Her side as well. With a lot of patience, maybe not that familiar to Her, She made me come to the conclusion that I’m dead myself.
    Everything around me was clean, but with some gloomy-gray illumination. In the local spiritual space we were alone, Death and I – and, considering the circumstances, everything was in order. I wasn’t clear about two things only: first – why am I dead, and second – why is there are mayo and ketchup on my face, draining downwards. Death helped me, explaining me that I have a temporary amnesia about the last moments of my – now past – life, and the ketchup comes as a consequence of my adaptation into the posthumous life. Nothing unordinary, She said.
    Later I remembered how I died and things became clear to me. I went out to buy me a hamburger and on my way back I was run over by a truck. I didn’t even made to see the truck, but I think that the driver was quite fat and that he wore a Ray Ban glasses. In one brief moment, a close-up of him was in my site.
    To me, it was normal appearance of Death to be in a black robe with the scythe in Her right hand, but later I found out that this form of appearance in front of Her clientele doesn’t make Death happy at all. She’s compelled to such a masquerade (as She complained in front of some dead), because of the regulations up here being so strict. Traditionally, that’s Her solemn uniform, and the folklore must be respected always and everywhere. Also, it isn’t in anybody’s interest to confuse the newcomers with Death appearing as the Minotaur in






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