I'm in a coffin and the coffin is in the ground and it is dry and warm and I have wifi access and I really can't complain. I was issued with a compulsory demise order by the government and I didn't mind complying. These are difficult times and I wasn't bringing much to the fiscal table. Being the anomic type, I was merely a drain on exchequer funds. Put simply, I was surplus to requirements. Actually, to be perfectly honest, I wasn't mad on the demise idea initially but as Lucinda Creighton recently said on a current affairs programme, 'if the freeloaders amongst us don't agree to die today they'll wish they were dead tomorrow'. I know that sounds like a threat, so much does these days, but really it isn't. Lucinda's indisputably keen mind was just cutting through to the truth of the matter. The state can no longer give so it is time for those who take to go. So I went.
It's not a bad deal overall. The state pays for some of the casket and a third of the funeral so your nearest and dearest are spared much of the cost. I think that's fairly generous. All you have to do is show up in a nice suit, get into the box, get yourself loaded into the hearse and be put into the ground. I could hear the soil hitting the lid and a bit of sobbing above. Not too much sobbing mind you. I would've expected a bit more sobbing than that. No one lingered at the graveside for too long either. I heard my Uncle Mick say 'so that's him then, anyone for a pint?' and then I could make out the sound of everyone trudging away. I considered haunting the fuckers but then I remembered that I wasn't even dead. I'm not dead at all really, just decommissioned. I mightn't be around long though. I'm keeping my breathing shallow because of the lack of oxygen and I can hear my belly growling with hunger. I have the computer I was buried with to keep me company but the battery icon is flashing and it's not looking good. I'm not going to complain though. I mean, we all partied and this is what comes of it. I feel I'm doing my bit for the nation. It's like the new advertising campaign says: 'Don't be a numpty, die for your country'. It's a great ad they have on the telly with all these enthusiastic people giving the undertaker a thumbs up as they lay down in a coffin and have the lid slid over them. It's kind of a cool thing to do. It's like dying in a war.
As with dying in a war, no one is really that sure why they have to die on this occasion. All they know is that they must do the responsible thing. I mean, it may not seem fair but since when has life been fair? Life is not about fairness, it's about balance. It's about balancing the books. I'm doing my bit. I'm doing my bit for Ireland.
I can hear it raining above me now as I type. At least I think it's rain. It's like a dim patter on the surface of the mud above my coffin. It might not be rain though. It might be birds. They land on the earth and hammer away on it with their beaks. They don't just do this to upturn the soil, they do it to emulate the sound of raindrops landing. That way the worms get tricked into thinking it's raining and make their way to the surface. When the worms get to the top they are eaten by the birds. I hear it happening every morning. Every morning the birds play the same trick and every morning the stupid pathetic worms fall for it. I can't help but relish the misfortune of the worms slightly. Maybe I resent the wriggling shits because I know it's only a matter of time before they're feasting on my eyeballs. They will feast upon my skull as I lie here doing my patriotic duty. Bastards.
Anyway, I'll have to leave it there. The laptop is running out of juice and I better click the icon labelled 'post' and get this online. Not sure what I'll do then. I suppose I'll just lie here for Ireland and listen to the patter of the raindrops or bird beaks or whatever the fuck is going on up there.
. . .stupid worms, the lot of us.