Death Inc. #fridayflash

Darien put a hurried red ‘X’ through an old ladies picture. Deftly swapping his pencil for his cigarette, he called out to no one in particular: ” Three in a row, New York Times. Getting close, getting close”

The lunch room was a sketch of muttering and rustling papers as the other players upped their game, rushing to fill their own obituary bingo cards.

“This world needs more drinking on the job,” said someone from the Industrial sector.

“And school bus crashes,” Mal, from Juvie chimed in.”How come those things never go off of bridges as often as they do on TV? I can never catch a damn break.” He tossed his WSJ in the trash and snapped his blue pencil. “Screw it,” he said. “We all know oncology has the inside track here. What’s the point for the rest of us?”

“Bingo, my funky be-yotches,” Alistair called out, as if on cue. Three weeks straight for the oncology department. “Two lines anyway, courtesy of Mr. M. Beller, 1930 – 2009.” He folded his LA Times and grinned.

The buzzer went off. The Reapers shrugged their cloaks back on, grabbed their scythes, and trudged off to work. Mr. Hanley was at the door, handing out  afternoon assignments as they filed out.

“Just one measly little bus crash. That’s all I ask.”

Darien put an arm around Mal’s boney shoulders. “Chin up,” he said. “I have a good feeling about the Midwest. Those farm kids are getting bored and mean faster and faster these days.”