Stupid Deaths of BBC Ghosts

Thomas Thorne

I might rewrite at some point if I have a better idea. But anyway, here it is for now...

Stupid Deaths, Stupid Deaths

They're funny 'cause they're true

Stupid Deaths, Stupid Deaths, 

Hope next time it's not you!

"Right." Death rolled his eyes at Louie. "I thought I had some bad puns, but that..." He shuddered. "Next!"

A man strode into the room. He had dark, curly hair, and wore an outfit which might once have been nice if not for the dark crimson stain on the front. "Good afternoon!" he announced, smiling pleasantly. "Or is it good? Is it even the afternoon? I don't know anymore." His smile crumbled, and the melodrama in his voice increased throughout the statement.

"Good heavens, or hells, not another one." Death muttered to himself, before raising his voice. "And who might you be?" He sighed.

"Why, don't you know me?" Asked Thomas, the surprise jolting him from his melodramatic episode.

"No."

"I am Thomas Thorne." He said grandly, and paused, as if waiting for a reaction. Death simply shook his head. "I am greatest poet of the Regency period." He said, even more impressively, but this time with a hint of desperation.

"You were the greatest poet of the Regency period." Corrected Death, and then something dawned on him. "Is Thorne a pseudonym for Lord Byron?"

"Do not speak of that charlatan! I am not him, and I am glad of it. I would never be a lying, cheating, plagiarist scumbag like he is!" Thomas raised his voice indignantly.

"Oh, right, sorry." Said Death, sounding bored and not remotely sorry. Thomas inclined his head, accepting the weak apology. "So, how did you go?" Asked Death, wanting rid of this annoying self obsessor as quickly as possible.

"I beg your pardon?"

"How did you die?" He clarified.

"Well, it was a lovely day in 1824. The sun was shining, the birds were a-tweeting, and I was visiting my love at a wonderful party. My cousin and I rode into the driveway of the house that was hers, and....." Thomas continued to ramble, telling his version of his death, as the real Death leant his head against his palm, trying not to fall asleep. But it was in vain, and he started to drop off, only being awoken when his head slipped. He looked up to see Thomas, who was staring into space as he spoke, presumably in way he thought to be rather romantic and grand.

In Death's experience, it was better just to wait these types of people out, rather than try and quell their enormous egos. And so he waited. And waited. And waited.

Eventually Thomas ended his monologue, and looked to Death.

"You're through to the afterlife." Death muttered, waving his hand groggily.

"Oh a million thankyou's!" Said Thomas, and he turned and strode through the huge arch.

"Thank goodness for that. He can go and annoy the others now." Death said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Yes, Louie, I know it wasn't a good death, but I wanted rid of him!.....What was that Brenda? You know what actually happened?......He was shot in the back while duelling over Mary Shelley??"

Death cackled - a welcome change from the last hour's sleepy zoning out. "How do you know that?" Death asked, when he came to his senses.

"You were there, were you? Oh, that was your last pick up before you retired and came here, was it? Well, who says work is boring? Not me. And on that note, NEXT!"

Stupid Deaths, Stupid Deaths, 

Hope next time it's not you!

I feel kinda bad for essentially bullying Thomas for all of this, so I apologise for that. Hope you all had a good Christmas!!