Boredom, Postmortem

Hunt & Peck Parable #29 of 31

They were lined up along the street and around the corner. Fans had come from all around the world to pay last respects to the singer.

Family members sat off to the side as the procession of people made their way past the casket, many with tears in their eyes, some just looking blankly at the dead woman surrounded by a sea of flowers, a figure akin to something from Madame Tussaud’s.

An autopsy was done to confirm that it was indeed a suicide and rumors circulated of a note left behind. Because homicide has a much longer shelf life in the tabloids, the scandal sheets were fueling murder gossip. Those closest to the chanteuse had been aware for some time of her struggles with physical pain and existential anguish.

The cavalcade of people continued throughout the next day, photographers snapping at every celebrity. The following day a motorcade of black cars made its way to the cemetery.

Within a couple weeks the possibility of any wrongdoing withered and the story stopped receiving attention. The sales of her recordings, which boomed upon the news of her death, levelled off. Neither the fact that a note did exist, nor its contents, ever made it beyond the closest family.

I hereby join George Sanders who in his byebye note said “Dear World I am leaving because I am bored.” I feel like I’ve gone through one too many rounds of all the Traditions; they’ve become as transparent as dead leaves to me. That…