Flash Fiction: Death is Like a Box of Chocolates

This was it. He could feel it. His life was slipping away. He thought of an egg slithering into a pan. And milk dribbling out of broken glass, seeping into the carpet. There’s no use. Actually it had been slipping away for some time now. He’d had time to prepare.

But what would he say? He had so many options.

Death is like a box of — no. Even with a twist it was far too cliche. He could do better than that.

No comment? It was good. Sharp. Witty. But not his own.

What then? Think think think. It was now or never.

What about that quote from Hamlet? About the worms and everyone being the same in death.

What was that? How did it go?

No, nor women neither. That would be good. Not as good as the worms one but still.

If he could remember the first bit.

Something about man.


That’s it!

He buzzed the nurse. She would be his audience. She would be the one to hear his final words.

The nurse approached. He could hear her shoes squeaking on the floor. Getting fainter and –.

No. Not now. Just one more –.

Her face hovered above him.

He open his mouth and gasped.



5 thoughts on “Flash Fiction: Death is Like a Box of Chocolates

  1. Ugh, it’s something I don’t want to think about. For me it’s not the moment of death, the passing from life and how that’s conducted, so much as the eternal nothingness and non-being that follows.

    Sad that he/she only has relative strangers of the staff in the hospice/tal to witness their final moments. That is so true of many people dying all alone. Good, grim stuff

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