Funny Death

Death can sometimes be a funny little bitch. 

Just like she was funny for Jeister Mok, The Man Who Could Not Die.

Mok did die in the end. No one escapes the sister of Morpheus and the daughter of life. Death gives everyone a chance for a date. Last date, of course. But Mok had avoided his date for the past three hundred seventy six years to be exact. The day he died was his three hundred and seventy seventh birthday.

Death herself came to fetch him. A special man, our Mok. He knew death was coming, and he was waiting for her. 

Ready. 

More ready than he had been for three hundred and seventy six years. 

Mok sat in the balcony of his mansion, overlooking the vast sea and the mountains as a flock of seagulls flew in a perfect V formation into the sunset. The setting sun cast its orange hues all over the water and everything was made from liquid fire that God himself had used to paint the heavenly scene in front of Mok's eyes. 

He picked up the glass of vodka and took another sip that burned down his old, old throat and settled like a mini nuclear explosion in his stomach. His entrails were on fire the second the vodka reached inside him. He squirmed in his chair and slammed the glass back on the big mahogany table. (The table deserves a mention here. It was a massive piece of wood that could house a small family, a kitchen and two bedrooms under it if need be. In short, it was a massive table.)

More vodka miraculously appeared in the glass. Damn, how he loved the self filling glasses. He downed the shot, neat and fiery, inside him. Might as well drink myself silly considering how long life is now- he thought.

And so, he drank. And so, passed the hours. 

The evening turned into the night and soon the clock in the hallway struck 12. As it chimed away to a senseless world that no longer cared about time, a figure appeared in the open door. She wore a black gown darker than the night and her skin glowed a ghostly white. Black colored her lips and nails. She looked fucking ethereal.

Mok saw her and squirmed in his chair, his breath became ragged, he gasped one final time and slammed his hands on the table.

"FuckinHellFuckingSatanFuckinAllAngelsFuck!." He shouted and collapsed on the big table in front of him. Death, a little surprised, walked up to him and said, "I have come, mortal."

"So have I." squeaked Mok as a figure extracted herself from under the table and bolted for the door. Death snorted in disgust, grabbed Mok's head and slammed it in the mahogany table. 

Again and again and again.

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If you figured this out, buy yourself a beer for having a twisted mind. If not, don't bother to ask. ;) 

And forgive me if the formatting is fucked up. We are not doing too good on bandwidth here and have to make do with lot of crap floating around on the internet connection.

Next story, soon.