By Gerald Kamens
Judge Carstairs approached the elegant stranger nursing a Bloody Mary. “We’ve not met. Roger Carstairs. Are you a new member?”
“I’ve closely followed your illustrious career for many years.”
“Thank you. Retired twelve years now. You look familiar. Maybe at Yale?”
“I’ve known you since birth.”
“Oh?” said the Judge, looking around for the club’s security officer.
“I’m not always dressed this way, Roger. Time to go home.”
“Home?”
“In popular imagination, I wear a long black robe.”
‘You’re a priest?”
“And carry a sickle. It’s time.”
Judge Carstairs fell, lifeless, to the floor, later diagnosed as suffering a cerebral hemorrhage.
Great story
Wow. Time hath no prisoners, except in the mirror. I only hope his last drink was a double.
Nicely thought out, great delivery.
Nobody can rock 100 words like you can. Well done.
Wow!
reworking of a better story where personified death is not confused with the angel of death – who doesn’t carry a sickle, nor is thought to do so. It takes away from the vignette that Carstairs approached the AoD, when our instinct every time is to avoid. Somewhere in the narrative has to be a reason for the approach (club members not generally approaching tyros) – a lure – some sort of rationale … even making the judge or angel of the opposite sex. Not gender bias with this – it just takes less words to infuse the stereotype.
The “elegant stranger” is not identified by sex,..
P.S. Remember, a scythe is just a scythe!. Actually, the “elegant stranger” is very short. She has to use a sickle to reap her harvest of life.
Judge – club – club security officer all suggest a particular type of club. Scythe /sickle whatever. The point is that you have not provided internal logic.