If you ask a person how they want to die,
Most people quite agree.
The best way to go is quietly,
Sleeping in, utterly carefree.
But if you ask a Viking, it’s a different matter,
As this is what they’ll say.
Die with honour and vigour, sword in your hand,
And it’s worth having to go away.
Away to Valhalla where you’ll sit among,
The greatest warriors ever to die.
Odin himself is sat not far from you,
As you listen to the battle cry.
So what will it be, if you had to choose?
Sleeping peacefully in, or the never-ending booze?
A/N: Another Friday gone by, another story written in the very last minute… enjoy!
“I got the job,” I told my dad as soon as I had started the car.
He grinned at me, pride evident in his face, and I smiled back at him, equally proud of myself. I had wanted to be an artist ever since I was a little girl, and my dad had always supported by ambitions. As a single father he’d had a hard time, and working two jobs to pay for my tuition at the School of Art didn’t help. Thankfully I’d gotten a part scholarship. Otherwise there was no way a blue collar like my dad could ever afford it no matter how hard he worked. My job at the local book store hadn’t paid off that much either.
My mother had died when I was pretty young, and I was used to it just being my dad and I. We’d scraped by. We hadn’t gotten everything we wanted in life, far from it, but we’d survived. And now our hard work was finally paying off.
“Can you believe it?” I asked him. “Christopher is one of the biggest names in the world of art. Like, at all. To be his assistant is huge, I mean; I know it’s not my own collection or anything, but it’ll get my name out there, you know? In a couple of years my name is going to be known. Not world-renowned, but known. And I can finally make more than a few bucks of my art.”
Continue reading Dad
A/N: I really should stop writing these an hour before I’m supposed to post them… Anyway, everybody says that it is impossible to change Death’s mind, but is it really? Please like or comment… or both. Both is good.
Georgiana Evans had been born in 1913 and had grown up in Britain during the war. Since then she had travelled the world, buried two husbands, moved to the states, become a more than locally known photographer, as well as a mother, a grandmother and a great grandmother.
She was now over a hundred years old, and though her mind was as sharp as ever, her body wasn’t keeping up with it. The doctors had told her that she had a year left, tops. Georgiana, however, had stopped listening to what the doctors told her. This was her third promise of Death, and Death had yet to deliver. During her lifetime Georgiana had not only had a hip replaced, she had also gone through two heart surgeries, and had a breast as well as a lung removed on two different occasions.
Though she’d been told her time was up, Georgiana wasn’t ready to die, so she had simply decided not to. She knew her family expected her to do so soon, but there was simply so much she hadn’t done yet. Georgiana Evans wanted to live forever, and damn it if she wasn’t going to!
Continue reading A Deal With Death