Jim Masri

Jim Masri decided that today was a good day to die. There was nothing better than having a clear blue sky, or a starry night, on one’s day of death.

“It’s better than watching television. I’ll watch the sky. That’s what I’ll do. Might as well get ready for up there,” he said to Melissa, the day nurse.

“Enough of such talk, Mr. Masri. This morbidity of yours will not get you any better,” she said. “You’re perfectly well according to Dr. Petersen. In fact, you probably will not be needing me this time next week, Mr. Masri.”

“Call me Jim, dammit. And you’re right, I probably won’t be needing you this time next week.”

Going on about her daily routine, Nurse Melissa didn’t show much sympathy to the octogenarian’s drivel. Jim didn’t mind though, he knew she was trying to get through another day.

One night, when a full moon shone bright, a shadow spilled across the grassy lawn of St. John’s.

“Jim, your time is up,” Death said.

“Figures, showing up at midnight. At least it’s a starry night. A good night to die.”

• fiction
• writing