Dead Short

Death After Life (Part One)

Death came for Tony in the guise of a peanut.

He didn't even like peanuts. He'd seen the packet lying on the side, where his flatmate had left them like some sort of misleading edible booby trap, and had thought to himself 'What the heck? What's the worst that could happen?'

Getting the largest goddamned peanut in the world lodged in his windpipe turned out to be the answer to that one.

As Tony lay on the living-room floor listening to his last breath rasp out of his body, his entire life flashed before his eyes. Only somehow the tapes had got switched and instead of seeing his own life he was forced to watch the life of a seventy-nine-year-old piano tuner from Stratford Upon Avon. After that particular test of endurance, death seemed almost welcoming.

As luck would have it, Tony didn't die. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word. He'd heard about the virus, of course; the one that was going round reanimating corpses, bringing the dead back to life. But you never think that sort of thing's going to happen to you.

Unfortunately for Tony, it did.

Moments later he was back on his feet, staring sombrely at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His slick black hair was a tangled mess. His usually bright blue eyes were bloodshot and bulging. Twenty-six years old and cut down in his prime. He felt a lump in his throat, and thought for a moment that perhaps he was going to burst into tears. Then he remembered what that lump was, and decided the first thing he ought to do was get that bloody peanut out.

Which is why, when Tony's flatmate returned from the gym several hours later, he discovered Tony lurching wildly around the room with a biro jutting out his neck.

'Jesus Christ!' Craig exclaimed. Shortly followed by: 'Is that my biro?'

Tony gurgled apologetically at him, and attempted once again to remove the biro that was now lodged in his windpipe almost as firmly as the peanut that had preceded it.

'It bloody well is, isn't it?' Craig snarled. 'I've told you before not to touch my stuff!'

With one last desperate tug, Tony yanked the biro out of his windpipe. The peanut popped out and rolled across the floor. It was a short-lived victory.

'I don't believe this,' Craig said, staring down at the dry roasted bane of Tony's existence. 'You've been eating my peanuts as well! You inconsiderate wanker!'

'Craig,' Tony said hoarsely, 'I think I'm dead mate.'

'Well that's no bloody excuse, alright? You can nip down to the corner shop and get me a new packet.' He swung the door open and motioned to the hallway.

Tony knew better than to argue with a six foot tall bodybuilder, and staggered out in a daze.

'And don't think this gets you out of paying the rent!' Craig's voice hollered after him.

***

Tony went to work on the bus the next day. Didn't feel up to driving, which was probably just as well since the government had temporarily suspended his licence until he could be properly reassessed.

He had contemplated phoning in sick, but his boss Mr Stricklen frowned upon that sort of thing. 'If you're going to be ill, it better be bloody serious!' he always said.

Well, in Tony's case it was rather serious, but even so he though it best not to chance it. By Mr Stricklen's standards even death was likely to be considered a less than just cause to warrant a day off work.

Turned out Tony's instincts were right about that one.

'You're late,' Mr Stricklen said, tapping his imitation gold Rolex as Tony lurched in through the large welcoming doors of Super Duper Shopper Savers. 'In more ways than one, it would seem,' he added, raising a thick bushy eyebrow at Tony's grey-green visage.