TRILOGY OF DEATH
by Robert Nelson
Death is a wheel....
Death is a wheel, grinding, rending, crushing. The little boy skipped gayly to the grocery store for his mother. Crossing the street, he did not see an oncoming truck. It was too late and—Death is a wheel, grinding, rending, crushing. Death is a wheel....
Death is a dollar bill....
Death is a dollar bill. A gust of wind swept a vagrant dollar bill into the gutter. It sped onward thru the streets. Onward to a jutting pier. Onward it went. A man espied it. He ran for it. Stumbled. Ran on. He came to the end of the pier. Fell into the water. But he grasped the dollar bill. "I've got it!" he cried. And then he sank beneath the waves. Death is a dollar bill....
Death is a dream....
Death is a dream. "Death, too, must be a dream," said the man in his dream. "Petty hills. Endless. Light all about. Light ... gladness ... music ... voices of women. But my throat. How tight. I am choking.... Breath, breath. My breath. Pretty hills. Endless. My breath. God, my breath. Light ... breath ... hills ... music ... voices of women. Breath...." Death is a dream....