Short Tall Stories

A Different Perspective

Hi, my name is Joe. I've a wife three kids and I work in...a...well, it's complicated, it's certainly not a button factory. And I don't have a boss as such (as the next line of the song would indicate), just two somewhat irritating colleagues, Lucy and G-Dog. Lucy's a large bloke, tall and slightly intimidating with a bizarrely pointy chin, but he's a sweet guy really underneath the aggressive work façade and slightly weird obsession with fishing for sarcastic fringeheads (he insists it's possible). Whereas G-Dog (not his idea for a nickname by the way, Lucy came up with it and has refused to let it go) well, let's say he's a bit haughty, we leave him to his sculpting mostly, but he does throw fantastic parties.
Myself? I suppose you could describe me as a gardener. It's a tough job really, but it has it's moments. The other day I had some contract work with Frau Weber. I had knocked on her weary little splintered door, each rap of my knuckles sounding like gunshots down the dank narrow alley and waited quietly for her shuffling footsteps, whilst rain dribbled onto my hood. No shuffling came so I walked through the door, the wood sighing with soft memories. I found her slumped in her armchair, like a beloved rag doll that had been tossed aside for dinner, the light from the fire flickering on her drooping skin, pale as freshly fallen snow.
"Hallo, Joe," she sighed, smiling warmly at me, "You've brought your hoe, I see, you never bring your hoe," she added playfully in a husky voice.
"Scythe, Frau W, it's a scythe," I corrected, smiling back and walking over to my customary chair next to hers, the rickety one that squeaked whenever I sat on it. Frau Weber always smiled at the squeak.
"Does the hoe...scythe then," she corrected herself, smirking at the expression she felt on my face (for she could not see it), "mean it's time?" Her voice was hopeful. Through it I could hear the wheezing and crackling of her lungs as her earthbound body struggled to breath.
"Time?" I asked in mock confusion, "Time for...wait it's not your birthday is it?! I didn't get you a present!"
This caused Frau Weber to laugh as uproariously as she could, before descending into a fit of harrowing coughing. My heart went out to her.
"Just give me a fishing rod and I can show that old Luce of yours who can fish sarcastic fringeheads," she coughed.
I cocked my head to one side, "No partying with G-Dog? I hear you were quite the swinger," I asked trying to imagine her old yellow eyes on a young flappers body, but I found however I imagined her they always had that ancient fire in them.
"I always got kicked out of nightclubs," she supplied, "No, I think I shall have a far better time with those adorable hell puppies you mentioned," the fire guttered out and smoke whispered up, a cold flew into the room, Frau W shivered, "It'll be warmer anyway."
I nodded, "Have a safe trip them," I reached out a hand.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice cracking, eyes shining.
I put my hand on hers.
She died.
Joyously.