The Ageing of Youth
When it happened he was 22 years old. Up until that morning he had been content. He was a powerful, confident, young man. The world at his feet.
He discovered it after his morning shower.
A grey pube.
Death had finally made it’s presence felt.
The last Tuesday before Lent. Shrove Tuesday. It was Laura’s favourite day of the year. She bloody loved pancakes. All the ingredients were bought the day before. Eggs, nutella, marshmallows for the kids and lemon juice for her husband Brian.
Brian came down to the kitchen and yawned and stretched. ‘What are you making, Laura?’ Brian asked through the yawn.
‘Pancakes babe. Sit down and I’ll make you some.’
She would take Brian’s chilling reply to the grave.
‘No thanks babe. I think I’ll just have toast.’
Time to take out the bins
John hated doing the bins. It was the most annoyingly tedious job that he had to do in the house. Their driveway was a full kilometre and a half long and he had to drag the heavy wheelie bins down the rough gravel every Sunday night before the early morning Monday pick up.
One week he just couldn’t be bothered and he was fined the following week for an overweight load. Apparently one of the binmen had injured his back.
From then on John religiously dragged the bins to the road on Sunday nights. He wasn’t willing to risk another fine.
This week’s load was particularly heavy. They’d had a party the night before and someone had knocked over the crate for glass recycling. All the broken glass would have to be thrown out instead of being ethically recycled.
John reached the end of the lane. He pushed the bins into their slots and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
‘That’s it now for another week!’
It was at this point he was murdered by an evil clown.