What’s the Scariest Way to Die?

Read, fantasize, tremble in your seat, experience existential crises, and, as long as you don’t have a heart or panic attack, discuss. If you’re man enough that is. Wussies need not apply. If you can’t hack the subject matter, go bake some muffins with Mom.

I really should add something brilliant here, but I really can’t. My scariest way to die? Simply kneeling on the floor with my back to a robber, while he points a gun at me and tells me to say my prayers. There’s another person next to me, a young woman, and she’s first whimpering, then sobbing. And I just shit my pants too, by the way.

Either that or I’m in the hospital with pneumonia. I can’t breathe and I’m gasping for breath. I’m being starved for air. I almost may as well be under water for all the good the free air is doing me.

Even though everyone who knows me knows I’m dying, I’ve alienated people and made myself so hated that hardly anyone shows up to watch me die. A few friends were told I was dying on the phone, and they started laughing. The caller told them, no, it’s not a joke, it’s really true. And then they laughed even harder. “That’s even better!” they shouted, and hung up the phone.

Now here, in my last gasping moments, with an airtube stuck in my nose, a visitor finally shows up! My heart sinks when I realize it’s Heg from the Comments section, all the way from Sweden! Damn!

My life is slowly expiring around me as I gasp deeper and deeper for breaths. I physician stops by the door and looks in. A nurse asks if we should do anything. She’s alarmed. The physician looks at my chart and the machines and says there’s nothing more to do. I feel like I’m in a cave-in, gasping the last bits of oxygen. I’m nearly lunging out into the air to gobble famished bits of it. That’s when Heg starts going on about Jewish Power.

The air seems to be moving away from me as I chase the last bits. My life flashes before me over and over, like a skipping record. Heg is halfway through the Protocols when the lights all go out and everything turns black.

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5 thoughts on “What’s the Scariest Way to Die?”

  1. The scariest way to die would be similar to that scene in the movie Casino where Joe Pesci and some other guy get pummeled with baseball bats.

  2. I have a fear of dying in a plane crash. Of course that also depends how it happens. If it’s a terrorist bomb that explodes, everyone may be dead before they even know what happened. However if there’s some mechanical failure and the plane is spiraling out of control from 40,000ft to the ground while everyone is fully conscious, that is the most terrifying thing I can possibly imagine. That’s the worst as far as accidental deaths.

    Of course there’s other things that would be horrifying like dying of a slow, painful disease over the course of months like cancer.

    Then there’s intentional killing. Imagine having been captured by one of Saddam’s republican guards and being tortured. Getting put feet first into one of those shredder machines would be one of the worst things I could conceive.


  3. I almost feel this is aimed at me since Robert knows I’ve got emphesema (he maybe didn’t remember – why would he?) –

    ” Either that or I’m in the hospital with pneumonia. I can’t breathe and I’m gasping for breath. I’m being starved for air. I almost may as well be under water for all the good the free air is doing me.”

    Well, I’ve BEEN there, several times – short of dying of course. Dying’s the easy part (assuming I don’t go straight to hell, don’t pass go, don’t collect £200, don’t get an appeal – ” in that sleep of death what dreams may come must give us pause…”) – a blackout you don’t wake up from. On my several admissions to intensive care it was like being hanged ( I assume, never having been), but it goes on for days – there were times I thought of phoning up this junkie woman I know to try and get her to smuggle me in a mercy shot. But horrific as it gets, it can only go on so long until you just get used to it and it gets really boring – so Heg might be a welcome diversion, as long as he didn’ t want a reply – and he usually doesn’t seem to. Me, I always make sure I’ve got a personal radio when I go into hospital.

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